Cathy's Blog!

I’m up in the night with the moonlight and critters who explore in the dark, though this almost full Strawberry moon offers light.

The last few days I’ve spent time with my neighbor’s mother who is suffering from memory loss, or is she suffering?  It’s her experience, yes, but there is an immediacy to it, a presence.  Perhaps it is that she’s been through the anger stage of losing control, of not being able to live on her own, or drive, and so now there is a settling into gentleness, a tender rhythm.

I feel embraced in a softening sea as I lose fear around one more thing I might fear.  Yes, it requires the help and patience of others, but perhaps there is a gift in it, too, a gift for the neighborhood as we absorb memories flickering like stars.

Steve and I were married 53 years ago on this day, June 19th.  Now, it’s a legal holiday, Juneteenth, honoring the end of slavery in the United States.  May we continue to honor and cultivate the interconnectedness that brings peace.

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.