I’m reading a book about the first years of a child’s life called The Wonder Weeks.  It speaks of how the nervous system grows and expands in leaps.  Before a leap, the baby may be more clingy than usual, crying and fussing, and then there’s a leap.

I didn’t post the last two days, unable to formulate cohesion in words, and chose to consider it the gathering pause before a leap.  As I’ve said, I feel in sync with my new grandchild, 13 days old today. I look at him and wonder how we ever go to war, how people come to lie and deceive.  He is perfect bliss right now, and I think of how water, a fluid we are, 60% on average, and on which we and the earth depend, is made up of two gases, hydrogen and oxygen. I wonder what’s coming together in me to form what’s new and currently unseen.  How do I become more fluid, and in that fluidity, more intimate in my flow?

Yesterday I was in Point Reyes Station for the launch of the 9th West Marin Review of prose, poetry and art.  I listened to poetry and prose, and wisdom on why it’s important to bring forth the visual arts. One woman spoke of how creating art forms the mind, and again I thought of how water is formed, two gases coming together to support our living and growth.  In listening and viewing, I felt my head expand out from the news of the day. I could breathe in the air of sensitivity and creativity, exploration of laughter and integration of horror.

Barbara Heenan read from her piece, “Grabbed by the Pussy”. She began, “I owe it all to Donald. Without him it would have been erased forever.” His words brought back an assault fifty years before when she was twenty.

The air cleared with reflection, with gathering and connection as words and images were shared. My aliveness returned; my synapses connected, rejoiced. I’m here, alive, and I believe the world will return to balance, to love and respect for all as we embrace, embraced knowing there’s more than enough for all when we inwardly and outwardly share.

All is calm in my realm right now.  The sun is shining, birds are singing, and leaves on the trees are offering oxygen to my lungs.

I dip within to feel the similarity between branches in the trees, and branches in my lungs.  I give a little nudge to the alveoli in my lungs, a tiny hug and squeeze to the tiny sacs allowing oxygen and carbon dioxide to move between my lungs and bloodstream.

There’s something about the smoke that’s been filling the air that has me wanting to honor all that pumps in me, pumps freshness, newness, and connection with what’s inside and outside this being I perceive of as “me”.

There’s a deeper awareness that I am here.

I settle into a widening peace as I ingest these words of Chung-tzu:  When we understand, we are at the center of the circle, and there we sit while Yes and No chase each other around the circumference.

I sit here now centered in the campfire I am.  I allow indecision to chase its tail in the dark, a darkness not relevant to the center of the hurricane, the eye, the I, the whole, the being I am right now, this moment, this reception that is core. 

Today I sit with a changed reality.  We have power, heat, lights. It will take time for the local grocery stores to restock but we are fine.  We were always fine, despite the continuing alerts and warnings to prepare to evacuate, which went out when the cell towers overloaded and closed down.

What I’m with this morning is how fragile “civilization” is.  When our local grocery store knew it had to close, they gave away ice cream.  People were fighting over free ice cream. No one was hungry. In this affluent area, people probably rarely eat ice cream anyway, but I think there is a sense of survival that when activated means eat while and what you can.  My cats ate more than usual. They seemed to know it was important to stock up. Who knows when food will next appear? It’s primal.  

What I’ve come to understand in this short lesson in how fragile survival can become, as one becomes concerned with the basic needs of food, warmth, and feeling safe.  Next comes cleanliness and internet connectivity. I’ve now ordered an AM-FM rechargeable battery powered radio like we had in the old days so I know what is going on.  

I’ve also realized that we often classify homeless people as mentally ill, but I must admit I saw people wandering around looking for ways to charge their phones, and they did not look their most competent best.

What does a week on the streets do to a person?  How would I do? I could feel my nervous system unraveling as I was on constant alert.  Will I be evacuated? What should I take? How much can I carry? What about my cats? I smell smoke.  Where is it? How close?

Today, I’m allowing myself to come back to center, to let my nervous system feel it can soothe, and return to a calmer way of being, but the truth is that the infrastructure where I live is fragile.  It has not been maintained. As a country, we have not looked toward the future. We’ve been short-sighted. Will we change, or is it the beginning of the end of life as I’ve known it? I’m an optimist and prefer to look on the bright side but I think we need a leader right now.  We need leadership and I hope this election allows a leader to emerge and deal with the challenges of these times.  

This is quite a journey when one doesn’t have power or yesterday even cell phone availability. Yesterday I went to Sausalito hoping to post but their wifi was overloaded and I couldn’t get on, so I’ll post here what I would have said and then make a new post for today. Perhaps what’s most challenging right now is it’s cold, but Steve’s office got power this morning and though our home is still dark, I’m here in warmth and light.

Tuesday, October 29 –  Checking In  

I haven’t been able to post as there’s been no electricity or wifi in the county in which I live.  I’ve been keeping track though so may go back and share a piece of these last few days.  I understand that there is now power around me so perhaps I can go to another town today and connect to my blog and post.

It’s 6:20 in the morning and still dark, and rather cold.  I sit in meditative mode much of the time though yesterday we went to San Francisco for gasoline for our car, and the generator we borrowed from our son.  It powers our refrigerator much of the time, a lamp, our phones and computers.  Our barbecue uses propane so we have coffee in the morning.  Last power outage a few weeks ago, we lost thousands of dollars of food.  I tossed everything out, so now we’re trying to save the food that replenished what was lost.    

One could hardly call this roughing it and yet it is a change, and that’s where I come to Michael Lerner and Commonweal.  The world as we may have thought we knew it has changed.  Marin County is one canary in a mine.  The counties north and south are others.  

There are many reasons for this change, social, political, technological, but perhaps the biggest is climate change.  A friend of mine lives in Guerneville.  She was evacuated from her home in the spring for flooding and now in the fall for fire.

Resilience is now required of each of us.  If you have power, and are reading this, check this out: Google: http://www.resilienceproject.ngo

And now I’ll go backward and return to Sunday morning, October 27, which seems a long time ago.  I was sitting outside with my computer observing how clearly, “a moment is a moment”.  The power had been turned off the day before, and we were learning to navigate like bats in the dark.  It’s amazing how dark it is when all lights in your county are off.  Candles help, yes, and lanterns, and yet, there is an awareness when darkness comes, a primal awareness that it is time to prepare, and when morning comes, a different awareness that it’s time to utilize the light.

We spent Saturday with family, which now includes a “young-un”.  When I woke the next morning, I stayed in bed, watching the world come to light.  Without power, I felt no need to rise. 

Lying there, I noticed I was resting in the same position as the little guy, the five day old grandson I’d been with the day before.  I’d spent hours watching him and somehow had become him. 

I was holding my hands like his and my head was tilted just so.  Then I noticed my fingers. I’m enchanted with his, with the intricacy, length, and aliveness.  I could feel my fingers reaching, stretching, receiving, bending, exploring, in and touched by the world.  

And there are the eyes.  I’ve never thought of myself as a visual person. I’ve been myopic since fourth grade, preferring to read and see internally. I like to sense the energy around me, but after so much time looking into his eyes as he looked into mine, I feel a transmission of a new way to see or maybe a reconnection with how I saw when I first came, an intake without division, wholeness.

I remember the morning of my 44th birthday in Nepal.  It was 1993 and we were camped at the steps of Tengboche Monastery at 13,000 feet in the Everest region of Nepal, Khumbu.  I was trekking with two woman, and one still slept in her tent, but my friend tapped at my tent door and said, “Come,” and I did. We walked up the steps to enter splendor, a spiritual extravaganza of monks and horns,  chanting, and guttural singing, and splendid dress.  

We were offered a hot drink and sat to the side with flickering rows of yak butter lamps.

As I listened, I felt myself carried on a journey of expansion, the beginning and ending of formation and time, all of it happening all at once, birth and death, all One, over and over again.  

That’s what I feel and see when I look into, and with this Little One’s eyes. I feel the wisdom of the newly arrived.  This little bundle in his snug cap transmits.  My guru is here. 

Sunday I attended a sacred hula performance at The Palace of Fine Arts.  My friend Elaine was part of the performance.  The ending consisted of over 200 people in red shirts honoring the Hawaiian mountain Mau Koana.

Mau Koana offers the best place on earth to place a telescope and see into our past.  It’s hard to argue with scientific advancement, and yet, the Native People want to honor this sacred mountain and keep her as she is.  There are protests, and those protests pit family members against each other as the community is small, so the one arresting may be a cousin, a friend.  There are many sides to what’s involved.  Is the telescope a desecration or a next step?

Patrick Makuakane, who directs Kumu Hula, and creates and orchestrates their performances, this one called, “A New Current”,  has been to the mountain, has seen the protests, and is changed by them.  He points out that tourism has simplified the Hawaiian heritage, well,  first it was brutalized, and then, simplified. The word “Aloha” is used as hello or goodbye, or Love.  

The deeper meaning though is Empathy.  Empathy. The protesters honor the word and meaning of Aloha with empathy.  There is no violence, only a knowing that those hauling them away are doing their job to feed their families, and those protesting are doing their job to say we don’t need this telescope right here, right now.  This 30 meter telescope desecrates a holy site. 

I sit with that as I look up.  Is that fog on the ridge?  Or smoke?  In this light, it’s hard to tell.  When I go outside, I’ll know by the smell.  And now it’s gone, a momentary swell within the light.

What I do know now is that when it comes to looking into our past and where we come from, we can pause and look into the eyes of a newborn child.  Our ancestry is there.

Aloha!

I’m inspired by Elijah Cummings, yes, but listen to this by his wife, now widow, Maya. Integrity. She spells it out loud and clear.

I’m also inspired by my grandchild Keo who asserted himself yesterday. On his fourth day, it was not easy to change his diaper and swaddle him again. He wants those hands and feet free. My son said how strong he is and how it wasn’t easy to change his diaper and wrap him up again. I remember, and think how it is for each of us when we claim our strength and space, and, in that, proclaim what it is to live with Integrity, aware that in proclaiming our individuality, we are one with All.

We’re driving down to visit Keo and his family today, and will probably return to a house without power. I’ve again pulled out the flashlights and lamps. Candles are ready for a spark to the wick, and I think of how it could be if money that’s been wasted on war, weapons, elections, and outlandish salaries for corporate executives went to infrastructure, education, and preservation of the environment we all share.

Peace!

Lately I’ve been feeling like an amphibian, like I’m living in two worlds, in that I inhabit young and old.  I know age is a number, but when one has a 7 followed by a 0, there is a sobering pause to digest. I feel young.  My heart dances lightly, and then there is the thought of that many years. When someone kindly commented that I was entering my eighth decade, again I had to pause.  That’s a long time, and my life has been rich and exciting, calm and nurturing, tender and stimulating, all separately and at one time.

Now, today, I find myself integrating.  I feel so tied with Little Keo as we both negotiate this new world.  I feel us entering a new life together, this little guy grandchild and Oma, me.  

Keo had a busy day, was checked out by his pediatrician, and now tonight his dad says this.

Wow indeed. He’s magic. Showed him around the yard today.  And he helped with composting.

I find myself listening to Louis Armstrong tonight, “It’s a Wonderful World.”

I saw Gail Collins speak today at Book Passage on her new book No Stopping Us Now, The Adventures of Older Women in American History.

We’ve gone up and down, and backward and forward and yes, there’s an obstacle right now which is falling away as men and women share equally in life here. You can read Gail Collins column today and decide who you think is the worst one in Trump’s cabinet.

And to counteract that, here’s Keo.

This morning, I took my car in for new brakes and walked home along the marsh. Children were riding their bikes to school. I felt like I was in Europe as they pedaled along, some with determination, and others with a sauntering smile.

My request for photos was answered as I walked. Here is Chris “skin to skin” with Keo. It’s a wonderful new world when fathers get paternity leave too.

More and more I’m feeling a curving to embrace.  Rivers don’t pour in straight lines. They meander.  I feel as though I’m forming a womb with myself, an awareness of softening more and more as I curve to embrace.

Yesterday I saw a Monarch butterfly, a sign that fall is truly here.  He/she sat on the Rosemary bush as I watered the yard. We shared time and space.

Then last night I lay on my deck with Tiger and Bella watching for shooting stars.  I saw one but began to realize that wasn’t the point. The longer I lay there, looking up, the more I realized it didn’t matter if I saw a piece of Hailey’s Comet or not.  It’s so clear I have no control, and in that letting go, I released into the moment, this moment and the next, reception, simple as that – reception that comes with release.

Meanwhile beneath the deck there was munching and scurrying as raccoons, a skunk who pungently released, and deer, each filled their niche.  

Now this morning light comes to my realm with the turning of the earth.  I’m reading David Hinton’s book, Awakened Cosmos: The Mind of Classical Chinese Poetry.  It’s about emptiness, about a poet revealing emptiness in his personal way.  Hinton writes: “And what is that emptiness? It is, finally the wild existence-tissue Cosmos open to itself, awakened to itself in the form of human consciousness.”  

What does that mean? I don’t really know but I feel a curving to embrace fullness and emptiness, night and day, life and death, wild and tame, the patterns and transitions harvesting what breathes and manifests in me, and there is ease.   

Yesterday I was at Kaiser Permanente Oakland Medical Center.  My friend is recovering from surgery there and has a wonderful private room with a view.  Looking up one sees sky and hills. Looking down one sees a huge bulldozed area where a new project will soon arise.  

Leaving, I exited the multi-level parking lot to face crowded rows of tents.

We know the homeless problem is huge and complex, and because San Francisco and Berkeley have clamped down, the problem is spreading. 

I’m shocked though to be reminded of the powerful book Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, death, and hope in a Mumbai undercity by Katherine Boo. 

The book contrasts life in the luxury hotels in Mumbai with the people who live right next door, right under high-rise views.   

The following comes from an article in the San Francisco Chronicle written by Roland Li and published on June 17, 2019, and I share this with no intention to attack Kaiser which provides excellent care.   

Health care giant Kaiser Permanente plans to construct a 1.6 million-square-foot headquarters in Oakland, creating one of the largest new buildings in the Bay Area — larger in space, though not height, than San Francisco’s Salesforce Tower.

The article concludes: Last year, Kaiser committed $200 million to fund affordable housing and mitigate homelessness, including preserving 41 units of affordable housing in East Oakland.

Kaiser also partners with the Golden State Warriors on health and youth sports programs and is sponsoring the plaza around the basketball’s team new arena in Mission Bay.

It is said that “In Zen, We don’t find the answers.  We lose the questions.”

I sit with that wondering how we care for All, and how far 41 units goes to handling what I saw yesterday.