I watch a video of a newly born baby, sleeping, gurgling, a little peep of adjustment here and there. What is it to be born, to be thrust out of a womb after nine months of containment?
Isn’t it happening all the time, these waves spreading and shared?
Surprise is the seed of gratefulness. Become aware of surprise. Relish surprise as life’s gift.
Br. David-Steindl-Rast:
A father and son were fishing today at the beach. The young boy, perhaps five years old, opened a bag to show me the fish they’d caught. They were small and not so many so he said next time he would give me some. Generosity on an exquisite winter day as the Holidays are on gentle and seasonal approach, reflecting the tides.
I offer words of Howard Thurman:
Christmas returns, as it always does, with its assurance that life is good. It is a time of lift to the spirit,
When the mind feels its way into the commonplace,
And senses the wonder of simple things: an evergreen tree, Familiar carols, merry laughter.
It is the time of illumination,
When candles burn, and old dreams Find their youth again.
It is the time of pause,
When forgotten joys come back to mind, and past dedications renew their claim.
It is the time of harvest for the heart,
When faith reaches out to mantle all high endeavor,
And love whispers its magic word to everything that breathes.
Christmas returns, as it always does, with its assurance that life is good.
A friend was able to be with a friend as she passed away, not with her in person but through technology. She said the woman, a very spiritual person, literally became radiant in the last hours. I look at the clarity in the light this morning, as though it tilts down like a slide for us to climb, beckoning.
One more week of deepening into the dark, into reflection and memory, and then we immerse in the return of young light. We emerge to release and reform what matters to us now and now and now!
Each day a little more darkness, a little more velvet in which to wrap. The trees may be bare but inside we decorate with exuberance. For over forty years we’ve met with a group of friends for an early brunch and a journey to a Christmas tree farm to cut down a tree. Covid put an end to that but we did risk a smaller meeting on Saturday. These people love to decorate for Christmas. I share some photos from their home and this quote on which to lift even as our roots nestle even closer together to warm these long, cold nights.
I once asked a bird,
“How do you fly in this gravity of darkness?”
And she replied, “Love lifts me.”
– Hafiz
We enter awareness of passage more deeply this time of year.
As I observe the memories of some friends slip apart, I wonder about construction. What memories come together, and why, and how. What stays and what departs?
Meanwhile, I await the birth of a friend’s grandchild. My heart beats with excitement for the journey before him, and for how the entry of a little one affects each one of us.
I keep returning to the image and support of this wooden Christmas tree puzzle, considering how we each stand with our center support as pieces gather around and in us to make a whole.
We’ve been delighting in rain, rain, rain, and then yesterday despite sprinkles, we headed out with our three year old grandson to Muir Beach. He chattered all along the way, both coming and going, and then, we crossed the bridge, and heard the waves, and then saw the bliss of a winter-time beach when the sun shines down and warms the wet sand to a perfect consistency for sand castles and construction for roads for boats.
I’m reveling in memories as I pull out recipes and decorations. The weather adds to the mood as it’s cold and rainy. We’ll have a fire in the fireplace tonight. Candles are lit and music is playing.
My sons and I, and now my grandson, love the scented book The Sweet Smell of Christmas. Grandson is coming to stay with us, so I’ve filled the house with scent: pumpkin pie, pine, candy canes, and oranges. Grandson and his dad made gingerbread cookies today so they arrive tomorrow with the scent of ginger and spice. Lights are twinkling around the windows and along the fireplace mantel and in my heart.
I titled my last post Birthing the Light.
It comes from the title of the Advent Calendar at the Community Congregational Church in Tiburon where last evening I attended the ordination of a friend to become a Zen Buddhist priest. If you are looking for inspiration for this time of year, check this out:
It’s the first day of the last month of the year. I open my Advent Calendar as I listen to the wind and rain.
Yesterday I was at the Community Congregational Church in Tiburon attending the ordination ceremony for a friend becoming a Zen priest. It was an interesting juxtaposition as the ancient ceremony was shown on Zoom so on one side of the altar was a huge screen and on the other a nativity scene. In the middle was the ceremony with rituals handed down for centuries.
Behind the altar is a view of the bay and through the ceremony the sky moved from light to dark, from seeing outside to seeing the reflection of what was happening within.
This is a sacred time of year no matter what our beliefs, a time to light candles and swell in trust that dark turns to light and all revolves as One.
What I love about where I live is that after 45 years, I can still discover something new, and that is also true everywhere. My friend Elaine Chanscherer and I met by the bay on the East side of the Golden Gate bridge on Sunday. We discovered a bar/restaurant with a view and thrilled to the up and down dance of a sea lion. These are some of Elaine’s photos from our day.
Today I curl and unfold within the words of Alan Watts:
In the process of growth the oak is not better than the acorn.
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