I know many of my friends, like me, are depressed with the political situation, and yet we just spent time with our five year old grandson, a time of wonder, beauty, exuberance, inspiration, innocence, and trust. He believes in Santa, and I think of the story I love:”Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus”. We must focus on children, become like children and believe in generosity and sharing the abundance that is here knowing there’s more than enough when we each cultivate our own knowing and experience of enough.
We’ve been with our almost five-year old grandchild for the last three days.
I sit here now lifted on wings thinking of how a child can run and their feet don’t even touch the ground.
Yesterday we went to the Children’s Discovery Museum on a foggy day. By the water, we saw a huge flag and people gathering in uniforms. It was a memorial/funeral for the line-of-duty death of Lieutenant Brian Kyono, who passed away after succumbing to occupational cancer. Bagpipes played in the fog, and Amazing Grace rang through the air. As the fireboat sprayed water, the sun broke through.
We then went to the Railroad Museum in Tiburon, a 19 year achievement put together by ten men. Grandchild talked on an old-fashioned phone with a man on a cell phone. He loved the adding machine, seeing the numbers print out when he pressed them.
At the ice cream store, grandchild chose fresh orange juice over gelato, and after dinner we sat outside and wished on stars and engaged in a round-robin of questions and raising our hand to answer, and so today, a quiet morning of absorption and missing an exuberant, cuddly, and unique being.
View from the Playground at Stinson Beach on TuesdayView from the Discovery Museum of the Memorial FlagThe fireboat sprays by the Golden Gate BridgeWingsHonoring a fallen brother fireman Tiburon is Changed. Condos, not water through the front windows. Angel Island outside the back windows of the museumA docent shows him how to use the phone. Communication in the pastThe fun of learning numbers on an adding machine!
On Thursday I walked with a friend to the beach at Tennessee Valley. It was finally cool enough to be outside during the day and perhaps people didn’t realize it because we were almost the only ones there. What’s stayed with me is three women I watched start down the path. One was conservatively dressed in black, and the other two were completely covered in black burqas with only their eyes exposed.
We passed them more closely on the way back as the trail was narrow, and we all said hello to each other as we passed. Their voices were young and sweet. I had no idea of their age before that but their voices were clearly young.
Even though the weather had cooled, it was still hot, and they were enclosed, and I’m not sure why their voices have stayed with me, but they are here with me this night, with a crescent moon alight in the sky.
Tonight I listened to and watched Anne Lamott and Mirabai Starr speak at Book Passage. Since I can’t see to drive at night these days I watched online. They discussed Mirabai’s new book, Ordinary Mysticism: Your Life as Sacred Ground.
In the discussion, Mirabai, raised Jewish, pointed out we’re in the Days of Awe, the period between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and yet, my sense of her book is we’re in moments of Awe when we are awake to them.
Anne Lamott ended the evening by reading Rumi’s poem “The Guest House”. It is to honor the guides as they come, and depending where we live, enjoy the moon and meteor showers again tonight.
PassageIntimacy of meeting – land and seaSo closeResting nests.
Yesterday, we celebrated one son’s 47th birthday at the Alpine Inn in Portola Valley. The creek was still running and there was some shade from the heat with the trees. The record-breaking heat has continued for seven days. It’s a wonderful invitation to work with the mind. And now, again, today, sunshine!
Decorations honor the passage of life and deathA giant pumpkin that required 15 men to lift and place overseen by what is to come.Celebrating Fall
We have a huge redwood rising up and spreading in our yard. It was about twelve feet tall when we moved in 47 years ago. Now, it towers, and a young redwood has appeared next to the house. I know we should remove it, and yet, I resonate to the words of Jane Hirshfield who understands.
It is foolish to let a young redwood grow next to a house. Even in this one lifetime, you will have to choose. That great calm being, this clutter of soup pots and books. Already, the first branch tips brush at the window. Softly, calmly, immensity taps at your life.
Growing up outside an upstairs windowRoom for two redwoods, an oak tree, and a wind chimeRising
Yesterday we went to an apple orchard to pick apples. The trees beckoned, and branched and bent beautifully to offer their fruit. At first, it seemed like an Easter egg hunt, a search for the “best” apple, and then, I slowed, overwhelmed with the abundance and an environment that was more than I thought I’d come for. I was surrounded with hills, as I stood on soil that though still was tangled and ribboned with active, nourishing roots.
After picking, we ate apple turnovers scented with the cinnamon scent of fall. It felt too sacred for photos, and enough to be part of the landscape of an orchard for a time.
We returned to Jeff and Jan’s for a feast they created for us and friends. We celebrate Thanksgiving on the fourth Thursday in November, and yet I feel how the gratitude of Thanksgiving begins with the return of autumn and its offerings and gatherings of all that is produced.
Jeff’s Tarte Soleil – puff pastry filled with tapenadeInvitation to teeth to sinkFall ColorsA time for candlelight
If you’ve been reading this blog for years, you know my love of Great Blue Herons, so when I read about Jarod K. Anderson’s book, Something in the Woods Loves You, I knew it was for me.
The book opens with this:
“There’s an old story about Great Blue Herons. It says that while hunting the twilight shallows, herons can produce a strange, luminescent powder, pluck it from between their feathers with their spear-like beaks, and sprinkle it on the dark water to attract fish.”
He says yes, it’s a myth, and yet, picture how this is to the fish. “The fish are not curious in an intellectual way. It’s a physical thing, their bodies called forward to witness the inexplicable. There, in the shallow winter waters, they are ready to believe in miracles.”
The heron allows Anderson to build the meaning he needs for the moment. “Making meaning in this way is like creating harmony with two voices. I sing my portion. The heron sings hers. The harmony is woven and meaning exists in the world.”
I’m feeling the joy of exploration these days, an inner walk to explore what connects, how evolving connects and expands.
I’m with these words of H. Richard Niebuhr:
“Pilgrims are persons in motion – passing through territories not their own – seeking something we call completion, or perhaps the word clarity will do as well, a goal to which only the spirit’s compass points the way.’
Different Great Blue Heron HabitatsThree Great Blue Herons In Richardson Bay
The garden is complete, well, gardens are in constant motion and change, but it offers a respite to pause and peruse. I sit by the fountain and see and hear birds in the Maple tree above and frolicking in the fountain and among the rocks and plants.
Today I learn of a website where I can check the migration of birds where I live. You can do it too. https://birdcast.info
A hummingbird plays with its water reflection.A dance of faces and curves A Study in Complexity
I’m reading a book called Lotus Girl by Helen Tworkov. It’s a memoir that gives a history of Buddhism coming to the West. Where I am now she is discussing the bardos with Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche. She is adjusting to her aging process and realizes we go through some of the stages of being, adjusting to impermanence and change, the bardos, while alive. She’s in the “Bardo of Old Age”.
When she asks Yongey Minyur Rinpoche about the bardos and tells him about George Saunders book, Lincoln in the Bardos, he asks, “What’s a Lincoln?”
Of course, one might answer a car but it shows how much we rely on what we consider “common knowledge” in our conversations.
Last night when I read Trump’s garbled and incoherent reply to a question on childcare, I felt sorry for a man who is being primed to run for president when he is clearly incapacitated. I’m grateful Biden was persuaded to step down, and now when I read the words of a man who is off the rails, compassion swells. Why is he being protected? So he can be manipulated. Elon Musk would essentially be our president if he were elected, Elon and other fascists.
What is it to keep someone propped up for your own benefit?
Not acknowledging Trump’s deterioration is an inability to honor and see the cycles of life and death, the evolving transformation that connects the two. I walk more slowly now, think more slowly, as I pause and connect the dots to flow and dissolve, and, in this, I give my family time to see, and adjust, appreciate, and gather around impermanence and change. I am a campfire, once ablaze, now softening to a glow for toasting marshmallows, turning softly and tenderly to ash.
I savor my rejuvenated garden. The older plants are vibrant with new soil and mulch. They are teachers for the young ones now brought in. They are elders sharing their wisdom on seasons, impermanence, adaptation, and transformation. Grace!
We’ve been in Carmel for five days to celebrate my son’s fiftieth birthday. Everything was perfect. One daughter-in-law and I enjoyed a behind-the-scenes tour of Monterey Bay Aquarium. What a gift to see the attention and love that goes into caring for every creature there. We designed a toy to entertain an octopus and played a game where we were giant sea bass. Each bass gets its own food so is trained to go for a red circle or blue square.
Naturally we enjoyed the beach, the book store, and The Secret Garden, always a given, and the greyhounds were welcome everywhere.
Another daughter-in-law and my niece had a surfing lesson at 7 in the morning so I explored a beach, solitary except for rocks and sand dollars. I rescued three. I learned that a sand dollar given gently back to the ocean may live another six to ten years.
Looking out from the house where we stayedOutside The Pilgrim’s Way book store in Carmel Pure Joy!We spy a spider web off the deck.Tossing krill from the top of the kelp forest on the tourWe test the salt water for the kelp forestSmall rocks make a tapestry with their shadows in the early morning light Shadows like SailsHonoring pet friends at the Morgan Hill dog park Ginger and Ebi are tired!
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