Last week we toasted marshmallows over an open wood fire. It’s so tricky, the matching distance to embers and fire to get the golden brown, or perhaps a black end, torched.
I sit here now considering the textures we are, the warmth and movement, heat and fluidity.
A woman I study with, Miren Salmeron, says “Give yourself your sweet attention.”
I do that now, feeling a coating respond to my environment and melt to the sweet.
Last night we watched the movie The Lost King about Richard III and how history was misaligned with the truth. One woman changed that. I remember when the news came out, and with this movie even more people will know the power of a vision in uncovering the truth.
Again, where I live is wrapped in fog and mist. It’s an invitation to meld even more intimately with the air, and the in and out of the nourishing and living chords and cords of breath.
I’m disappointed to learn that Elizabeth Gilbert is removing a book she wrote that was to be published on Feb. 13, 2024. The reason is criticism from readers in Ukraine. Their criticism is that the book, The Snow Forest, is set in Russia.
The book is inspired by a true story of a religious Russian family, who, in the 1930’s, left Russia for a life of solitude in Siberia. They moved “to resist the Soviet government and to try to defend nature against industrialization”.
In a video message to her fans last week, Gilbert said, “This is a book that is going to take you into the deepest realms of the Siberian taiga, and into the heart and mind of an extraordinary girl born into that world, a girl of great spiritual and creative talent, raised far, far, far from everything that we call normal.”
I would love to read this book, and I find it puzzling that we are sending weapons to a country, to a people, that then tells us what we can read. I recognize this is probably a few frightened people, and I also recognize that not all Russian people support Putin or this invasion.
I worry that the next step will be that I’m told I’m not allowed to read Tolstoy’s War and Peace because it’s set in Russia.
Life is complex; people are complex but censorship is clear. It’s wrong to take away my right to choose what I read.
As we come down and root we rise like a flower or tree. The maturing process brings one more and more into release, into the grounding rise that produces, distributes, and returns to the ground.
This morning I’m with these words of William Blake.
He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy
He who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sunrise
This week a calendar for 2024 arrives in my mailbox. It’s from The Nature Conservancy. I understand their need for money to preserve our natural areas, and yet, immersed as I am in the past right now with memories ripening like fruit, I feel a calendar from the 1950’s would be more appropriate for me and there’s this quote from Charlotte Joko Beck:
Joy is being willing for things to be as they are.
The ocean is one of my special places. My plan is to have my ashes scattered there. Perhaps honoring each wave, so unique, yet part of the whole is what guides me as though I know I have lived more of my life than remains to come, this is the time to integrate and prepare for that final crash or gentle meeting of the shore where water dissolves and lifts.
The little wren is sitting patiently on her nest waiting for her eggs to hatch. She was busy building it, and now, she sits, and when the chicks hatch, she’ll be busy again. Meanwhile, either she or her mate chirp away.
I sit between, on, above, and below the notes.
I received sad news this morning. My younger cousin has pancreatic cancer and will begin chemotherapy. Where do I put this information in the melody and harmony of the day? The metronome is so precious in its song, a song beating with my heart and the larger heart we share.
Yesterday I read an article on how to respond to another in need. We ask: Do you want to be helped, heard, or hugged? Of course, hugs are preferably done in person though we do send them through space on the internet.
And right now, a ding, and I receive a text of an emoji of two kitties hugging with a heart above, and then, an explanation from my beloved niece.
I was at a retreat recently for work and the somatic instructor said we need 4 hugs a day for survival, 8 hugs a day for maintenance, and 12 hugs a day for growth
And the best part is that our nervous system doesn’t differentiate between a hug from someone else and a hug from ourselves
So hope we can all hug ourself today
I embrace her hope and send it to you and to me. May we all reverberate in and celebrate a loving circle of care.
Birds are tweeting in the early morning light as I reflect on these words from Joanna Macy in “Positive Disintegration”.
We can place the self between our ears and have it looking out from our eyes, or we can widen it to include the air we breathe, or at other moments we can cast its boundaries farther to include the oxygen-giving trees and plankton, our external lungs, and beyond them the web of life in which they are sustained.
Our family gathered on a ranch 1000 feet above Half Moon Bay to celebrate Steve’s 75th birthday.
Yesterday I saw an egret standing like a sentry in an open field where once there was a Chevron. There are signposts everywhere.
Paying attention acknowledges that we have something to learn from intelligences other than our own. Listening, standing witness, creates an openness to the world in which the boundaries between us can dissolve in a raindrop.
– Robin Wall Kimmerer
And there’s John O’Donohue:
Fluent
I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding.
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