When I drive to Pt. Reyes I go up over the mountain, down to Stinson, along the Bolinas Lagoon, and this time of year past hills of gold to Pt. Reyes Station, and then out to Inverness.  The bookstore in Pt. Reyes is pure delight.  I brought three books and a Kindle but just in case, three more enter my life:  Wanderers: A History of Women Walking, In Praise of Walking, and The Unwinding and Other Dreamings.  I branched between four books last night even as I was entranced with and embraced in the landscape, the land of the Coast Miwok, the land where the native people welcomed Drake, not knowing what was to come.

Now, early morning, still dark, I warm by a fire and contemplate what we’re seeing from the James Webb telescope.  Perhaps it’s like when people realized the earth went around the sun.  We’re drawn back into time, time as one with now.  Surely this will expand our vision to this communal living we share.

If you held a grain of sand up to the sky at arm’s length, that tiny speck is the size of Webb’s view in this image. Imagine—galaxies galore within a grain …

—NASA Webb Telescope’s Twitter account

I feel stretched by the photos of our universe, remember as a child standing outside feeling the universes within me, and the universes of which I’m part.

I’m up early to water in the fog, the moon, now partial though more than half, shining through.  The days are shorter now and all branches, including us, to reach and utilize the summer light.  I eat plum offerings from the trees.

Edith Wharton wrote: Set wide the window.  Let me drink the day.

I open all my cells to receive, filter, drink, and feast on and with this beautiful new day.

With the challenges of these days, I now open Mary Oliver’s book Devotions in the morning.  I let it fall open and receive.

Today I open to “Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End”?

“Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around 

as though with your arms open.”

Just that enough to begin this day, a day where the fog is softly settled in, and squirrels are chirping as they scamper up and down the redwood tree and birds are singing.

She goes on as she does and comes to this: 

“And now I will tell you the truth.

Everything in the world

Comes.

At least, closer.

And, cordially.”

Yesterday, inspired by her invitation to go into nature I went to Hawk Hill and Rodeo Beach.  Clear here, the fog was playing its dance at the Golden Gate of in and out, hide and seek, form and dissipate. I walked and sat, embraced, expanded, entranced.

My mantra continues to be: Be loving awareness, breath blowing through everywhere.