I’m up in the night with the moonlight and critters who explore in the dark, though this almost full Strawberry moon offers light.

The last few days I’ve spent time with my neighbor’s mother who is suffering from memory loss, or is she suffering?  It’s her experience, yes, but there is an immediacy to it, a presence.  Perhaps it is that she’s been through the anger stage of losing control, of not being able to live on her own, or drive, and so now there is a settling into gentleness, a tender rhythm.

I feel embraced in a softening sea as I lose fear around one more thing I might fear.  Yes, it requires the help and patience of others, but perhaps there is a gift in it, too, a gift for the neighborhood as we absorb memories flickering like stars.

Steve and I were married 53 years ago on this day, June 19th.  Now, it’s a legal holiday, Juneteenth, honoring the end of slavery in the United States.  May we continue to honor and cultivate the interconnectedness that brings peace.

I’m re-reading Annie Dillard’s wonderful book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.  I’ve read it many times over the years, each time with new receptivity and absorption.

Today I’m with this: What if I fell in a forest?  Would a tree hear my fall?

I’m reminded that we can feel warmth from the moon shining in the night if we pause to receive.

This weekend we were at a house with wire fencing to keep the animals out of the gardens.  Grandson had seen butterflies and a caterpillar, and with concern he went into the house and returned with a long strand of yellow yarn which he proceeded to weave through the wires an inch or so above the ground.  He said it was so the insects would see the fence and not be hurt.

Annie in her book invites us to return to seeing like a child.  I see yarn weaving through my thoughts.  

Last night, a warm night, I sat outside to watch the changing light.  Birds were twittering away until a parting flash of gold and the crickets began their song.  I’m with these words.  

Once upon a time… there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.

– Terry Tempest Williams

I listened last night and again this morning as I honored these words.

In an age of constant movement, nothing is so urgent as sitting still.  

– Pico Iyer

Listening to the birds on a warm, clear morning, I allowed myself to stay still as I watched the ball of the sun rise over the hill.  I resonated to the words of T.S.Eliot.

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards, Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,

There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where. And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.

I read about a message found in a fortune cookie: About time I got out of that cookie.

I laugh as I consider the boxes we navigate in a world, both complex and simple. 

President Biden spoke at West Point yesterday.  He said to the Cadets:

Hold fast to your honor code, which says, quote, “We will not lie, steal, or cheat, nor tolerate those who do,” end of quote.

And above all, hold fast to your oath. On your very first day at West Point, you raised your right hands and took an oath — not to a political party, not to a president, but to the Constitution of the United States of America — against all enemies, foreign and domestic.

West Pointers know better than anyone: Freedom is not free. It requires constant vigilance.

I would add to vigilance, education fueled by the complexity revealed in literature.  In the May 27th New Yorker, there’s an article by Anthony Lane, Abridged Too Far.  At first I thought it was a joke. It’s about an app called Blink.   “It takes an existing book and crunches it down to a series of what are called Blinks.” 

The article ends with a look at Blink’s presentation of the fallen angels in the book Paradise Lost. 

“They’ve just lost their first big battle against God and plummet to hell. But despite their defeat, Satan wants to continue the struggle against God. He assembles his demons to talk strategy.”

Lane comments “Talk about the 7 Habits of Highly Effective People!”  He continues that Blinklist with its high-tech alchemy transmutes “literature into business, turns the inhabitants of literature, even the ones with tattered wings, into businessmen. Listen, rapt, as the devils crunch the numbers and kick around ideas for going forward:

Moloch suggests open warfare against heaven. Belial advocates for doing nothing. Mammon argues for making hell a little nicer so they can all live a happy life of sin.

And Lane concludes: “I’m with Mammon, all day long. Life is short, and so, if you look at your phone, is literature. Blink and you’ll miss it.“

And with that, honor this day by remembering all that’s been sacrificed to hold in place an honor code that states “We will not lie, steal, or cheat, nor tolerate those who do”.