I’m reading the book Wintering by Katherine May.
As we approach the excitement and celebration of the summer solstice, I’m with these words of D.H. Lawrence:
We must get back into relation: vivid and nourishing relation to the cosmos and the universe … We must once more practice the ritual of dawn and noon and sunset, the ritual of kindling fire and pouring water, the ritual of the first breath and the last.
My father passed in 1969 so fathers and feathers go together for me. Fly Light!
Little breath, breathe me gently, row me, for I am the river I am learning to cross.
– W.S. Merwin
Yesterday a friend and I took the ferry from Larkspur Landing to the city. We enjoyed lunch with our book group at MOMA and walking back to the ferry I was struck by a sculpture that I wanted to find the name of which led me to an on-line exploration of sculpture in San Francisco. Check it out:
We went up to the gardens at the SalesForce building, rather an eyesore from where I see it in Marin, but up close, it rises beautifully, and the gardens are amazing, so I offer a taste.
It’s worth reading all of Heather Cox Richardson today but tears come as I read the conclusion.
President Biden spoke yesterday when world leaders and more than two dozen U.S. veterans of D-Day gathered to commemorate D-Day. They met above Omaha Beach at the Normandy American Cemetery, where the remains of 9,388 Americans, many of whom were killed on D-Day, are buried.
Biden: “Let us be the generation that when history is written about our time—in 10, 20, 30, 50, 80 years from now—it will be said: When the moment came, we met the moment. We stood strong. Our alliances were made stronger. And we saved democracy in our time as well.”
During the ceremony, the past and the present came together. Ukraine president Volodymyr Zelensky shook the hand of a U.S. veteran in a wheelchair. When the man tried to kiss Zelensky’s hand, the Ukraine president instead stooped and hugged him. “You’re the savior of the people,” the man said. Zelensky answered, “You saved Europe.” The exchange continued: “You’re my hero.” “No, you are our hero.”
As the crowd cheered, the old man turned to look at the younger one and said, “I pray for you.”
I’m re-reading Annie Dillard’s wonderful book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. I’ve read it many times over the years, each time with new receptivity and absorption.
Today I’m with this: What if I fell in a forest? Would a tree hear my fall?
I’m reminded that we can feel warmth from the moon shining in the night if we pause to receive.
This weekend we were at a house with wire fencing to keep the animals out of the gardens. Grandson had seen butterflies and a caterpillar, and with concern he went into the house and returned with a long strand of yellow yarn which he proceeded to weave through the wires an inch or so above the ground. He said it was so the insects would see the fence and not be hurt.
Annie in her book invites us to return to seeing like a child. I see yarn weaving through my thoughts.
Last night, a warm night, I sat outside to watch the changing light. Birds were twittering away until a parting flash of gold and the crickets began their song. I’m with these words.
Once upon a time… there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.
– Terry Tempest Williams
I listened last night and again this morning as I honored these words.
In an age of constant movement, nothing is so urgent as sitting still.
– Pico Iyer
Listening to the birds on a warm, clear morning, I allowed myself to stay still as I watched the ball of the sun rise over the hill. I resonated to the words of T.S.Eliot.
At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards, Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where. And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
For four nights, my family gathered in a house in the Redwood trees on Kings Mountain in Woodside.
I’m still vibrating with the beauty and clarity – sun, mist, stars and the rising embrace of trees from a ground moist with the clasp, movement, and release of fog. The first days were hot and clear and then the fog moved in and out, a meditation on the elements reflected and shared with all. Here’s a shared taste beginning with the path down from the house.
I read about a message found in a fortune cookie: About time I got out of that cookie.
I laugh as I consider the boxes we navigate in a world, both complex and simple.
President Biden spoke at West Point yesterday. He said to the Cadets:
Hold fast to your honor code, which says, quote, “We will not lie, steal, or cheat, nor tolerate those who do,” end of quote.
And above all, hold fast to your oath. On your very first day at West Point, you raised your right hands and took an oath — not to a political party, not to a president, but to the Constitution of the United States of America — against all enemies, foreign and domestic.
West Pointers know better than anyone: Freedom is not free. It requires constant vigilance.
I would add to vigilance, education fueled by the complexity revealed in literature. In the May 27th New Yorker, there’s an article by Anthony Lane, Abridged Too Far. At first I thought it was a joke. It’s about an app called Blink. “It takes an existing book and crunches it down to a series of what are called Blinks.”
The article ends with a look at Blink’s presentation of the fallen angels in the book Paradise Lost.
“They’ve just lost their first big battle against God and plummet to hell. But despite their defeat, Satan wants to continue the struggle against God. He assembles his demons to talk strategy.”
Lane comments “Talk about the 7 Habits of Highly Effective People!” He continues that Blinklist with its high-tech alchemy transmutes “literature into business, turns the inhabitants of literature, even the ones with tattered wings, into businessmen. Listen, rapt, as the devils crunch the numbers and kick around ideas for going forward:
Moloch suggests open warfare against heaven. Belial advocates for doing nothing. Mammon argues for making hell a little nicer so they can all live a happy life of sin.
And Lane concludes: “I’m with Mammon, all day long. Life is short, and so, if you look at your phone, is literature. Blink and you’ll miss it.“
And with that, honor this day by remembering all that’s been sacrificed to hold in place an honor code that states “We will not lie, steal, or cheat, nor tolerate those who do”.
This weekend I pause, reflect, and connect the present which encompasses honoring the past and what we create now.
This morning I was drinking my coffee looking out the window at the redwood tree which is one at the base and rises as two. I watched a squirrel scamper up, then, turn around, and perch in the sun. When I went to get my camera I figured he or she would be gone, but there was my friend still there even as I opened the door and went outside.
A good friend passed unexpectedly on Wednesday. I was surprised when her daughter and husband led Sensory Awareness today in her place. She was meant to lead today and clearly she was on the Zoom call as we experienced when we shared.
Her husband led something that sounds simple and yet is profound. I offer it now.
After coming to quiet, come to standing. Using your dominant hand, write in the air the name of the person who passed and your own name, and see and feel what happens. Give yourself at least ten minutes for this.
You may end up using both hands, and writing large or small. Creativity. Guidance. Trust.
I won’t share my experience, only offer the invitation as a way to heal and connect with someone who has passed, or maybe someone who is still “here”.
Today we shared the kindness, generosity, creativity, and joy with which this woman lived. We connected in the heart-opening warmth and sharing of tears, memories, and breath.
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