Gratitude

I woke this morning in a field of gratitude, not just gratitude in one place, like heart, stomach, and/or lungs, but I woke as though I was immersed in a field, held in a gathering of sunflowers, daisies, and strawberries. 

Rumi’s words fluttered through me like butterflies.

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.”

Then, on Nextdoor, I saw a photo of a whale frolicing and waving its tail.  It was taken at Stinson Beach yesterday.  The whales are here.

That led me to open Amanda Ripley’s book, High Conflict, Why We Get Trapped and How We Get Out.  One focus of the book is the tightly knit community of Muir Beach, ten minutes from where I live.  It’s peaceful there and yet the community became embroiled in conflict.  

My intention is to read this book this weekend. I suggest it as a tool, guide, refuge for us all as we navigate through pain and trauma to meet in a field “out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing”.   Let’s meet there.

The hills are turning gold

As we honor and resound

In our yard, Oak and Redwood root together and share a cleansing air

Spring

Each season brings its own meaning and teaching.  This weekend we celebrate in different ways, each of us with our own beliefs.

I love how the word spring, springs.  This morning it brings me to honor the sacrum, the bone at the base of the spine that hosts the four dignities: sitting, standing, walking, and lying down.  The word sacrum means “sacred” in Latin.  The Romans called this bone “os sacrum” which means “holy bone”. The Greeks called it “hieron osteon” which also means “holy bone”.

I sit here now, my holy bone moving back and forth, side to side, floating waves and springing joy in the nature that is my life.  Tissues wake.

I’m with these words of Eckhart Tolle from Stillness Speaks.

Wisdom is not a product of thought. The deep knowing that is wisdom arises

through the simple act of giving someone or something your full attention.

Attention is primordial intelligence, consciousness itself. It dissolves the

barriers created by conceptual thought, and with this comes the recognition

that nothing exists in and by itself. It joins the perceiver and the perceived in a

unifying field of awareness. It is the healer of separation.

Life is both fragile and strong allowing us to balance, ground, rise, and connect, trusting the spring to life.  

It rained all day yesterday, and the creek in Mill Valley went from dry to rushing and gushing.  This morning, sun.  

Morning View from my deck

Surrender

Lately I’ve felt myself flowing down the middle of the stream, recognizing so many things are happening both personally and globally that it’s easiest and best to center in that flow.

A long-time friend passed away yesterday.  Steve sent her husband the Mary Oliver poem “White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field “. He responded that he hadn’t known the poem but had bought a white owl sculpture last week.

How can we not believe in the support of the earth, water, and air that connects us with every breath and beat of our heart as hearts branch out through lungs and the reach of arms, wrists, and hands?

Ukraine

Today in a meditation for peace I felt the words U Crane – and thought You Crane, as we each reach with the beauty and long curving necks of the bird, and the strength of the cranes that raise buildings into the sky to create a halo of peace for this region.

This morning I read of the deaths of a woman and her two children killed by Russian military artillery in Ukraine.  She worked for a software company with one location in Palo Alto, and now I read of the destruction of a maternity hospital. Where do we put such pain?

I focus on the intricacy of the sunflower, a symbol of this region.  The sunflower is a bouquet, a composite of many smaller flowers. It’s thick stalk holds a heavy flower to the sky and gives us oil, the new gold.

May we each gather and focus the energy of desire, like a magnifying glass focuses the sun, radiating spirals of smoke to signal a return to peace.  

Family

We have returned from a family trip to the island of Kauai.

Though she wasn’t with us on the trip, Gnoc is married to my son’s wife’s brother.

She shares her story here.

https://www.wbur.org/hereandnow/2021/08/20/refugees-vietnam-afghanistan-fall?fbclid=IwAR0NVO_Ro2gqX-MfByP_rh8TJm5s4_R61oMYEnTcBnTxElwAI4R_obm-82Q

Ricky, my niece’s partner, was with us. His family escaped from Cambodia. You can check out some of what he does now on You Tube at adobofishsauce.com.

From the balcony of our house in Kauai

Trees

More and more I find myself sitting with trees.  Last night I was with the Maples as twilight came, dusk.  Birds were twittering so that I could have been in the jungle but I was here, listening, feeling, absorbing, touched.  And then with darkness, an owl with it’s who, who, who.

Herman Hesse wrote:

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.

Redwood Tree rising as two