Good Morning

I wake early today and go outside to look at the moon.  The owls are hooting and now I know this is the mating call of the Great Horned Owl I’ve been hearing, and male and female are back, and if all goes well, we will have baby owls in late March.   What an omen of Joy!

Yesterday I was watching the crows and the hawks screeching across the sky.  Was it battle or play? It looked like play as though each was perfecting its flight and hanging out as our weeks of rain lead to sun today.

Nature shines through more clearly with the leaves fallen and coating the ground.  Branches stroke the heart with their reach and bend.

I’m with this haiku by Issa this morning.  This is one translation.

Does the woodpecker

stop and listen, too?

evening temple drum 

May your day be one of beauty and peace!

Morning Sky to the East

Morning Sky to the South

Morning Light!

This morning I rose, fed kitties, sat down to meditate. Bella came and sat down on her blanket next to me.  For her, meditation means petting and kissing and she returns the gift by licking me. Bella sees living as reciprocal; she always gives back.  

Finally we settle, Bella and I, and come to rest.  I feel how deeply in this moment I have nothing to do and nowhere to go.  That settling falls through me. I rise in response, a spring, motion, movement, process, though I appear still as a mountain, or do I?  Thoughts pop in – are mountains still?

My lids close over my eyes, gently, tenderly.  After awhile, still covered, the balls of the eyes shift, gently, tenderly, right, then, left.  I’m by the window and feel the coming of light.

I allow the lids of my eyes, the center of my head, to rest and rise as gently and tenderly as the coming of the light.  All is ease. Might I keep this as I move through the day?

My teacher of Sensory Awareness, Charlotte Selver, would bring us to a state of bliss, and then, say, “Forget it!” I didn’t want to forget it, wanted to hold on, but now, I’ve learned, release, and something new comes, so I release as the light meets the sky, meeting me, touching, digesting, through and through.

Pittosporum offers scent to air.

A Spring Is Sprung

Last week I participated in an improv workshop.  Me? I know, and I had fun.

We laughed and bonded, bonded and laughed.  We began with a “Yes, and …” exercise.

Partnered, one person spoke and then the other would say, “Yes, and” and would augment a response. Back and forth it went.  It’s very different from saying simply, yes, or no, and a yes does not mean agreement but it does allow the sharing to expand. My partner and I solved the problems of the world in our back and forth.

Then, Saturday, I attended a “celebration of life” for my neighbor Louise Jenkins, a magnificent woman, who passed easily and gently in the home she and her husband built together after World War II.  Louise was 91 and her children will keep the home and land as it is, property fragrant and vibrant with a lifetime of care, laughter, block parties, bread making, knitting, gardening, connecting, sharing, and fun.

Her children shared that they’d never heard their mother say anything mean about another.  Oh, and then, one chimed in, “except for her grandmother”. She said her grandmother was mean. I’ve been sitting with that, seeing how quickly we may rush to condemn or judge another.

Perhaps, as a child, watching her grandmother, Louise saw the power of words to hurt and divide and she chose not to do that.  I’m not saying she was a saint because Louise wouldn’t want that, but I saw photos of her when she was young and she was beautiful, but truly those photos of her as she aged simply glowed.  Her whole face and being was radiant, a light.

Louise Jenkins philosophy of life is my intention for my remaining years.  That, and “Yes, and ….”


And here again is Jeanine Aguerre’s photos of two hawks, monogamous and ready to mate again this year in our “hood”.