Because many of us are affected by this time of bombardment from world events outside of us, events we hear or read about, it’s a time to be tender with ourselves, to cultivate and allow inner knowing and, in that, to respond with nourishing calm.
Rather than closing our hearts to so much pain, or becoming debilitated by it, we can let our hearts break open and allow energy and life to move through us, as us.
We can be the example we want to see in the world.
Thich Nhat Hanh who had to flee Vietnam wrote: “When the crowded Vietnamese refugee boats met with storms or pirates, if everyone panicked all would be lost. But if even one person on the boat stayed calm and centered it was enough. They showed the way for everyone to survive.”
A gift of tomatoes from my neighbor’s gardenIris are in bloomClear bats from the belfry of our mind
Yesterday I fell into Erling Kagge’s beautiful book Silence: In the Age of Noise. He is a Norwegian explorer and the first person to reach the South Pole alone.
He writes:
Americans have built a base even at the South Pole. Scientists and maintenance workers reside there for several months at a time, isolated from the outside world. One year there were ninety-nine residents who celebrated Christmas together at the base. Someone had smuggled in ninety-nine stones and handed out one apiece as Christmas gifts, keeping one for themselves. Nobody had seen stones for months. Some people hadn’t seen stones for over a year. Nothing but ice, snow and man-made objects. Everyone sat gazing at and feeling their stone. Holding it in their hands, feeling its weight, without uttering a word.
Rocks near the top of Mt. TamLooking west from the mountain, a crow flies by
On Wednesday a friend and I sauntered the path that circles around the top of Mt. Tam. We climbed up to the Lookout Tower, the first place to catch a fire in the area. I’m still vibrating with the peaceful trampoline feeling of each cell bouncing within the sacredness of an open, expanded, and shared view.
Looking south and west toward the Pacific OceanMill Valley, Tiburon, Angel Island, and a tip of San FranciscoThe lake holds our waterNearing the tip-topAnd up!We’re here!Circling back down on a less obvious and unmarked trail
My grandson turned four yesterday and was celebrated and honored with a Halloween birthday party of 50 people, most of them small. It was a feast of princesses, dragons, and Spiderman. A Harry Potter character arrived, and Madeleine, and the Cat in the Hat.
A castle Bouncy House was a hit as children climbed in and slid out.
Watching children bounce, slide, and play, I thought of how peace might be obtained. We each have a Bouncy House, or maybe every block in a neighborhood has one, and we gather to bounce and feast where there’s a place for everyone at the table and more than enough to share.
Bouncing in and Sliding OutA cherished giftSpiderman rocks the drums
This weekend, we watched the movie Finding Nemo with my almost four year old grandson. Having seen it as an adult, I didn’t expect it to be so traumatic for a child that age. First, Nemo is lost and the father is frantic. Then Nemo is captured by a diver attempting to save a life, but to grandson it was torture to see Nemo trapped in a bowl.
After the movie we went online to look at all the sea creatures in the movie, and to explain the story a little more clearly. What’s with me now is how our planet is like a fish bowl. We share an aquarium that circulates water and air, and right now the disturbances, for us all, are huge.
Thinking of Wendell Berry’s poem “The Peace of Wild Things”, I went to the marsh to “rest with the grace of the world” and be free.
Great White Egret watching the tide flow in Avocets looking for an early lunch Outside the Bay Model in SausalitoOn the wall at my doctor’s office created by Dr. ZandNestled in the trunk of a redwood tree – downtown Mill Valley
My youngest son is 46 years old today. It’s a warm, sunny day with so much twittering it sounds like spring, but the Monarch butterflies are flying about which means fall.
Perhaps a day of celebrating birth unites all the years, brings the seasonstogether like a womb holding and preparing for emergence of a new coherence and birth.
I read recently that when two sand dunes approach, come together, and part, they leave behind a tiny sand dune. I’ve never observed this for myself but I immerse in the image of connection, separation, and birth.
The windows are open, unusual for here, and in the night I heard all the critters that come out to explore and feed in the dark. I forget how active the night is, and perhaps that’s another entry into appreciation of where life leads me now as I age and mature.What am I coming to see that I didn’t notice or acknowledge before? What fills and guides me now?
I just finished reading Returning Light: Thirty Years on the Island of Skellig Michael by Robert L. Harris.
The book is a poetic meditation on his 30 years as a caregiver and guide on the Irish island of Skellig Michael. He’s there from May to October, observing and living with thousands of birds, especially puffins, and the memories of the monks who a thousand years ago built on this rock a place to isolate and meditate. It’s a place for the waves of light to unite loneliness and belonging.
Harris writes: Emptiness. And light changing, and changing, the vision of ourselves.
Light! Change! Vision!
Who likes it?
I do!
Iris in early morning lightIris as the sun risesCircling
My husband and I traveled a great deal in Asia back in the day. Now, my son is traveling in Kuwait and Oman. He’s there on business as were we. I now know camels don’t spit, are friendly and sweet, and certainly they are beautiful animals adapted to their environment. Chris slept alone under the stars. What a gift!
Beauty and GraceIf only we were as adaptable as camels – the water bottle seems out of place. Ramiat Al WahibahMuscatMutrah FortFrom Mutrah FortMuscat
Feeling the shift in light, I put out pumpkins and change candles to yellow and orange. I breathe more deeply, receive the fresh stirrings in the airactivating and energizing the moments remaining to me. I read that people my age are happy because they recognize the gift of each breath, the air moving in and out.
Yesterday I walked to and from Tennessee Valley Beach. Photos speak in the mist.
Rock outcrops view the seaThe Pacific beckonsA dam holds the creek to make a pondA face in the rockLow tide reveals wreckage from the steamship Tennessee landed here in 1853Daisies, poison oak, and horsetails twine the agesThe mist pours in Bridging the autumn dry creek The path beckonsFulfilledMiwok Stables
