The Moth

I had never heard of The Moth but a friend recommended the book How To Tell A Story and now I’m intrigued.  I read the Foreword and stopped to contemplate, and then, the Introduction, and another pause.  I was caught on the alignment that occurs when we tell and listen to a story, and discover and uncover the theme.  

“Sometimes you have to figure out who you’re not before you can become who you are.”

Those words affirm my belief that we’re here in a testing ground, exploring, interacting, responding, and learning the steps to climb to higher ground.

Reading the stories, I thought I had no story to tell but then I read: What are the moments from your life, big or small, that stick with you?

Immediately I was in Mexico City at the age of 19 when I learned my beloved, healthy father had died in a motorcycle accident.  Alive, then dead.

There’s a saga in the challenges of my return, and a three month break from school as my mother, brother, and I navigated logistics and loss.

Even now, 55 years later, my heart swells with the increasing moisture of love and tears come.

At the time, and even now when someone I love dies, I feel space open up as though life here is a matte painting, and they are showing me what’s beyond container and containment.

There is much for me to explore in continuing with this book, and so I ask you now:

What moments come to you that you want to examine and share, with yourself, and perhaps in that, with others?

Opening the veil
The labyrinth at Commonweal: January 7, 2022
Above and Below
Through the trees
Magic and Healing at Commonweal
Branching

Change

We have an Aura, a moving picture display that changes every 30 seconds showing an array of photos of our grandson from birth to his current age, four years old.  It’s a reminder of change.  It’s so obvious in a child; we see and talk of change each time we see him.

As an adult, we may come to forget our moment to moment change.  We glance in the mirror and may not even recognize who or what we see.  Habit-formed, we launch into our daily tasks.

President Biden gave a stirring State of the Union speech last night.  We live in a society that has exclaimed over youth perhaps to the denigration of elders.  I would like to see younger people in politics but we have two men of nearly the same age competing for the presidency.  The difference between the two is unimaginable, and yet, here we are.  

President Biden is an inspiration for us all, young and older, that it’s never too late to continue cultivating wisdom, as we bring forth our inner power, perseverance, determination, compassion, love, energy, humor, and care.  

Yesterday, I re-visited Jacques Lusseyran’s inspiring book And There Was Light. He shows us how to bring forth our inner light to overcome and defeat the darkness that needs to be met and expanded around until it disappears in an open web of connection and trust.

The California Poppy in Spring
Flowers show the way from bud to bursting to letting go
We stand between
Moving in Stillness and Change

Our Gifts

This comes today from The Center for Action and Contemplation, Richard Rohr’s Daily Meditations.  

Robin Wall Kimmerer, Potawatomi botanist, writes of our place in nature:

In the indigenous view, humans are viewed as somewhat lesser beings in the democracy of species. We are referred to as the younger brothers of Creation, so like younger brothers we must learn from our elders. Plants were here first and have had a long time to figure things out. They live both above and below ground and hold the earth in place. Plants know how to make food from light and water. Not only do they feed themselves, but they make enough to sustain the lives of all the rest of us. Plants are providers for the rest of the community and exemplify the virtue of generosity, always offering food….

Many indigenous peoples share the understanding that we are each endowed with a particular gift, a unique ability…. It is understood that these gifts have a dual nature, though: a gift is also a responsibility. If the bird’s gift is song, then it has a responsibility to greet the day with music. It is the duty of birds to sing and the rest of us receive the song as a gift.

Asking what is our responsibility is perhaps also to ask, What is our gift? And how shall we use it?

How is our reach centered to stretch and climb?
How contained?
How high?
How bright?

Dreams

The rain continues and my dreams these days are about children, saving the children.  I’ve been spending time with my four year old grandson, so perhaps that’s part of it, seeing his innocence and division into “good guys” and “bad guys” and wondering how we might navigate balance and come to peace.  

He was into swords for a time, but now he has become Robin Hood so the swords have become a bow and arrow and he wears them on his back tucked into his Robin Hood mask and shirt.

The two of us were at Coyote Point this week, and I was intrigued with this sign. I had no idea how close we came to imitating the East coast with our own Coney Island and Atlantic City. The pungent odor of sewage dumped into the bay saved us from that.

Adaptation
Robin Hood with a furry band of men
Robin Hood banding his men together
No need for a push these days
Enchantment of water, sand, and a stick
He draws himself in the sand – a perfect likeness
Lunch atop a dragon.

The World Around Us

In his four years, I’ve taken a multitude of photos of my grandson but in the last few months, I’ve started asking first, and when I saw him yesterday, he said he appreciated that, and he would let me know if he wanted his picture taken, or not.

I replied that when I don’t see him, I take photos of birds, plants, animals, the landscape, and the ocean.  He asked me if I ask them first, and I’ve been thinking about that.  I think I do, not directly but with sort of a heart tug of connection and acknowledgment.

Recently I read an article on getting rid of “clutter” and why sometimes it’s difficult. It suggested the “stuff” might also be attached to us.  It’s a two-way street.  This has allowed me to be more respectful of what, where, and when I release.  I find it comforting to acknowledge that it isn’t all about me, but that I live in a world of connection, attachment, and bonds that come together and sometimes fall apart.

Low tide outside the medical office yesterday
Mirrored

Leap Day

This year we have an extra day to mold like clay.

I’m with the words of Mary Oliver:

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

With your one wild and precious life?

I have an eye appointment and then head south to spend time with my grandson.

Yesterday I scraped my hand and watching blood surface and flow thought of  how when we mature, our skin becomes thinner and thinner.  We become more and more permeable to the moment, to the beauty, joy, connection, and sharing of each day.

Mount Tam from Sausalito yesterday
Looking south to San Francisco
Reflecting
From the Bay Model

A Taste of Spring

Yesterday I walked down Tennessee Valley to the beach. Access to the beach is currently closed due to the threat of storms breaking through the dam, but I could see and hear the ocean, and was accompanied by the sounds of chortling streams, birds, frogs, and a gentle breeze.

Beginning of the Path
The ocean appears
Bird with an ocean view
Pussy willows appear along the stream looking like caterpillars
Mourning Cloak butterfly of which there were many
Ty, a mini horse on the path
Happy to Pose

Nature

Yesterday I saw two Great Blue Herons resting by the path along the bay.  Today I went out Tennessee Valley planning to walk to the beach but there was a troupe of elders yakking away so I turned right to visit Hayseed Camp which is closed for the winter.

Memories flooded in.  When we moved here 46 years ago, Chris was almost one and Jeff was four.  In an exploratory mood one day after moving in, I followed a narrow road to the end and parked. Putting Chris in his stroller, and holding hands with Jeff, we went wandering down the path.  A cow came over and nuzzled Chris in his stroller. 

It’s changed over the years, and now there are no grazing cows. The area, a national park, is kept natural for the plants and animals, with some winding paths for the two-legged.

I used to take Jeff and Chris to a pond that was up and beyond the camp but it’s overgrown now so again the land is kept sacred and quiet for the critters.

My meditation today was on the elements.  What a gift to see and be so clearly earth, water, fire, air, and the space that allows it all to move, grow, create, and cohere.

A Great Blue Heron embraced in, and embracing, the day.
Another stands nearby.
The winter path to Hayseed Camp
Looking Up
Returning
Miwok Stables

Mushy

Meditating this morning, I was aware of my heart, this pinkish-red organ generously pumping air in and out to nourish and keep me alive.  My heart felt soft and spongy, sensitive and receptive, and I felt the weight, the wet weight of so much horrifying news that comes my way each day.  None of it is particular to me so perhaps I could avoid it but then a feeling of compassion poured in, connectedness, and happiness to feel the tenderness in meeting joy and sorrow as one.

Because we’ve had so much rain, the ground outside is mushy. In its wetness, mushrooms, Mush Rooms, have sprung up like lanterns for leprechauns and mycelium. Perhaps my feeling of mushiness today is a reflection of what I don’t always see like mushrooms proclaiming the underground presence and connection of mycelium. Today I give myself time to be in a Mush Room and reflect on receptivity, hidden connection, and change.

Mushrooms response to rain
A nearby store doubles its image in a flooded parking lot and street
Camellia resilient through the storms
Blossom open to feed and reproduce

Hard and soft

Wind

The wind and rain are wild today.  I kept expecting Mary Poppins to drop in as the windchimes swing announcing change.  In my study of the four elements of which we’re composed, earth, water, fire, and wind, for some reason wind can sometimes be elusive for me. 

I know it is the breath, spirit, pushing, pulsing, moving, vibration and support, so I feel awareness and awakeness blowing through, and then I pause, and listen. With that, the tolling of the chime slows and stops, for a moment.

I’m reading In Praise of Listening by Christian McEwen.  Two tidbits round my thoughts.

John Cage, a composer and musical theorist wrote this about listening for the muse.  

When you start working everybody in your studio – the past, your friends, enemies, the art world, and above all, your own ideas – all are there. But as you continue painting, they start leaving, one by one, and you are left completely alone. Then, if you are lucky, even you leave.

And there’s the inspiration of the Zen name of Leonard Cohen who practiced Zen meditation for more than thirty years. His name in the monastery was Jikan, “the silence between two thoughts”. 

A friend  spoke recently of feeling his hands as clouds.  I know the sky above today’s gray, roiling turmoil is blue, even as the clouds of touch, change, thoughts and feelings blow through.

Blossoms in the rain
Look closely – tiny birds are here