In 19th century novels, the weather often sets the mood, the tone, for the scene.  Perhaps that’s still true in books as it anchors our response to our natural surroundings.  Sometimes where I live the fog comes roaring in, but not today.  Today I rise and feel a difference in the air, a resting place, support. I walk out to see and feel soft fog resting on the ridge.

This morning I stayed in bed and gave myself time to sense what’s happening within.  There’s a lovely rhythm there, safety. My world is safe.  I’m surrounded with what I love, a gathering of gifts.

Yesterday I took this survey which takes only a few minutes.

https://med.stanford.edu/covid19/covid-counter.html?fbclid=IwAR1WDbbnjjx0XiPm6pkM-onFe_SswCEPi2SltoAtjuJ3btObQ_EUUnob95I

It’s my teeny-tiny contribution to what’s going on.

Today I received an email where I checked how I am today: better, the same, or worse.  Of course, it only relates to the virus but part of me wants to go into more detail, to analyze how I am today, and I recognize this survey has a focus and a mission, and doesn’t need a broader analysis of the details of my life. Somehow though I want that, want some unseen force to listen. Hey, I’m here, and I’m not the same as I was yesterday, and I understand that’s not the point.

I answer that I’m fine, no symptoms, which is true.  All is the same, somewhat but there’s a stirring of curiosity as to how much more one might ask.  We’re still dealing with Steve’s hands.  Are they a symptom?  Next week our dermatologist will open her office to deal with those who can’t wait.  She’ll do a biopsy.  Meanwhile, I check the box on the survey.  All is fine, the same.

Today I read that during the campaign when Trump insulted and demeaned a war hero like John McCain and got away with it, it unleashed what we continue to see.  He has no reason to change, so people will die so we can have chicken, pork, and beef.  A leader would point out that eating vegetarian for this time period would help our health, the environment, and save lives.  Beans and rice make a complete protein, but no, money is made off factory produced meat, and that’s what matters more than people’s lives.

Anyway, I’m letting all of this dissipate as the fog seeps in even closer, a blanket inviting comfort, serenity, interiority, and rest.

About a mile from my home is a community of seniors. Every Friday afternoon, for years and years, they’ve been out by the road every Friday afternoon around 4:00 with signs for peace. It’s possible there’s wine involved, or perhaps something stronger, but what I’m saying is what matters is the message. “Honk if you’re for peace.” Well, who could not honk for peace. Honk! Honk! We sound like geese.

After my own now earlier than usual glass of wine, since Steve works from home and we eat dinner at four, this comes my way.

I love it!! Enjoy!! These are my neighbors and though perhaps slightly older than I, they are immersed in the game, and I love them, and this beautiful and evolving world we love, cherish, trust, generate, and share.

I was looking forward to the end of shelter-in-place while also enjoying it, thinking this is quite nice, and then, when I learned it would be another month, I became a Grumpy Gus.  What?  Another month?  Hmmmm!

I understand the reasons and I have everything I need right here, and it’s a beautiful day.  

The words of The Doors come to mind.  “People are strange.”  Yes, that must be it.  We are strange. I wonder if contrariness has contributed to our survival.   Is there something in us that wants to say harumph, that enjoys the clenched fist and stamp of the foot?  Is that a survival technique, a mobilization of force?

You can’t push me over; I’m fierce.  

I just finished reading two books by Hendrik Groen, The Secret Diary of Hendrik Groen, 83 and ¼ Years old, and then On the Bright Side, a continuation of the diary after a year has passed.  The books  are about life in a care home in Amsterdam, and the author says, “Not a sentence is lied, but not every word is true.’  Hendrik Groen is a pseudonym.

The books deal with serious issues, aging, loss of control, dementia, death, and yet, somehow they are so funny, touching, and sweet that I couldn’t stop reading, and am inspired.   Years dance before me; I am alive. 

A group of the more lively and rebellious in the care home form the Old But Not Dead Club.  One theme is that we need people around us, so it’s interesting to read in times where though we connect on-line, we aren’t in physical touch.

And as I type that, I take it back.  My fingers are on the keys; the keys bounce back.  I touch my hand, tummy, head.  Physicality is here.  Shared breath.  Rejoice.  This living tosses challenges to us, like wedding bouquets, and I know for some, the challenges are overwhelming and there is no track, and for others of us it’s the train we’re on.   

Click-clack!

Unless we’re on a maglev train and then we’re propelled in a hover as we advance.

I placed a photo from the cover of a book I love in the last post. You can see images from the book here. It’s a beautiful meditation so watch and listen.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVTEtmLPljc

“The Night Life of Trees was conceived when Tara brought Gond artists down to Chennai to work with them; the Gond live in the northern state of Madhya Pradesh, 600 kilometres from the city of Bhopal. ‘We noticed there was a tree in every story they told — ask them to draw a person, they draw a person under a tree. Ask them for a river, they draw a river running past a tree. Ask them for a bird, and it’s a bird sitting in a tree.’ ”

‘The Night Life of Trees’, Tara Books Art: Bhajju Shyam, Durga Bai and Ram Singh Urveti. Design: Gita Wolf and Rathna Ramanathan

It’s beautiful where I live sheltered-in-place.  I rest in gratitude as I look out, allowing the outside world to enter in and sink into me.  Baby raccoons, skunks, squirrels and crows have been born and emit different squeaks and tweets both day and night.

I peruse my book shelves and this morning open space to Charlie Mackery’s book, The Boy, the Mole, The Fox and the Horse.  It’s a simple book about friendship, kindness, and love.

“Being kind to yourself is one of the greatest kindnesses,” said the mole.  “We often wait for kindness but being kind to yourself can start now.”

“Nothing but kindness,” said the horse. “It sits quietly beyond all things.”

The book ends with this. “Sometimes all you hear about is the hate, but there is more love in the world than you could possibly imagine.”

A few days ago one of my sons pointed out that I was obsessing on “he who will not be named”, and this was not a healthy way to live and be.  He sent me this link.

It’s not new and yet it turned my boat around.  I’d been looking backwards and spinning in circles.  Now I’m aware I hold the oars as I observe and learn from what’s here.  I monitor my response.

When I was in fourth grade, I was the fairy in the play Sleeping Beauty who waves her wand and says, “I give you kindness.”  I do that now for myself and for this world we share as it moves and evolves. We breathe together as we honor and respect sheltering-in-place and all that’s here to explore as we go within, and open out.

Today I’m reminded of Stanley Kunitz’s wonderful poem “The Layers”.

It’s worth reading the whole poem, following the journey that leads him to words that came to him in a dream.

“Live in the layers,

 not on the litter.”

When I work with the practice of Sensory Awareness, I feel layers, layers in my eyelids, eyeballs, skin, both on the outside and the inside.

Yesterday I was led in a session to sense what happens when I come from sitting to standing.  It’s quite a journey as I explore that transition from sitting to standing, and then the return from standing to sitting, or is it a return, or simply a unification?

I watch dark turn to light, listen to birds.  The turkeys are active gobblers these days and ground sound to the earth as birds in trees tweet.

It’s a beautiful spring day, and I’m aware that home is within.  This time of sheltering-in-place has me moving through memories as though reading a book.  All seems to be happening at one time as I sift through layers of childhood to adulthood to now.  

The last words of Ram Dass were, “We are all just walking each other home.”

Yes, and home is within, so I settle more deeply and contentedly into couches and chairs within as I watch the tide move in and out.  It’s a new day, a day of grace, and all that matters is how I meet what comes, the flowing through.

I like to live and post positively so today I struggle with what to say.

Not to be irreverent but I just read a tweet from God.  “One treatment you might consider for COVID-19 is Amendment-25.”

I agree.  Either Trump is mentally ill or he wants us to set him free, or perhaps both.

Being released due to mental incapacity might save him from the trials and most likely jail that he will face if defeated in November.  

Nobody wants to imprison the mentally ill, and he continues to demonstrate that he is. His illness is dangerous to those who believe in and follow him.  

I love to sit outside with the stars at night. These last few nights I watch for meteors.  Even when I don’t see a meteor, I’m struck with awe at this wide expanse we share. 

Jane Hirshfield, one of my favorite poets, says, “My life has been tuned to making of myself a radar dish for the reception of epiphany. … Writing a poem for me is always the search for—large or small—epiphanic knowledge. If I can find in a poem that surprising realization which in any small way changes the molecules of my life into a broader knowledge or new perception, I’m a very happy writer that day. … A poem is a small machine for creation of a discovery. When I feel that sense of awe, I know I have a poem.”

I haven’t been able to write a poem lately but seeing Trump removed from office out of kindness for him and for us, would be an epiphany that seeds, heals, and broadens our perception like the wake of ducks in the bay.

Yesterday my grandson turned six months, so today I am 70 and six months.  The day comes to light early and I sit in the greatest peace. What is this transition from angst at times, suffering, to this unfolding and reception of the light as it feathers unseen wings?

Breath is easy today, trust. Again, why the change?  I don’t know but I felt a shift in my cheekbones when I meditated this morning as though they’d been in a bit of a frown and now were reversing course to shift up to hold all the beauty and giving in living and loving this life.

I’m equipped with hand sanitizer and face masks, none of which I bought.  All are gifts, and I have enough to give away and so we cycle all we share.

I’m reminded of a John Cheever story.  Christmas is a Sad Season for the Poor.  I read it years ago and was struck by how we want to give, and then there is this place to receive, and give again.

The story is different than I remembered, and yet, it is to give and keep the cycle going of giving and receiving, and the light comes earlier these days, and today where I live it’s bright with warmth and sun.  I receive this new day with intention to unfold like origami and return to the blank sheet with which I began. Peace.

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1949/12/24/christmas-is-a-sad-season-for-the-poor

This shelter-in-place is an opportunity, as all life is, of course, but I find myself more and more aware of relationship, specifically relationship with myself, intimacy there, as an exploration.  I’m curious. What’s going on in my heart, lungs, and gut right now? What creatures roam and shelter in a place which is part of me and yet may see itself as living and surviving on its own?

I see this sheltering-in-place as bringing us closer together, and I know that those who are struggling don’t like hearing that we’re all in this together as there is a vast and clear difference between the possibilities and opportunities for each of us and yet, as is also true, it’s how we meet what comes.

Last night I went outside to watch for meteors, but though I didn’t see any, the stars were there, sparkling and anchoring like the shine of dew as my heart responded to near and far, and in and out.

A friend yesterday spoke of yesterday her “private excitement”, and I’m with that this morning.  What is my private excitement, and what’s yours? How do we sparkle and anchor our day?

This morning I slip into awareness of relationship with myself, and the birds, animals, and plants outside this room, and across the valley, and with you too.  Where and how do we meet in, on, and through this new day?

I’m reading a memoir by Weijian Shan, Out of the Gobi: My Story of China and America.  It gives me space on what’s happening here, and what it is for individuals when leadership foments chaos for their own gains.  How is it for the microbes in me when I lose control and stamp about? My intention for today is to be a good, kind, and generous leader for all that’s happening within, and with that intention perhaps soften my influence in the wider world too.  

We’re told this is a time to “forest bathe” even if our environment is small, and it’s only to hold a tiny plant in our hands, and breathe back and forth this exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide that fuels our lives. May we come together in understanding differing points of view even as we unite to benefit the whole.