Category Archives: Nature

Interconnectedness of All Beings

This video was shown in church yesterday, and it left me in tears of awe, joy, and gratitude. It is set in the Sea of Cortez. A group of people encountered a Humpback whale that appeared to be dead but was instead deeply entangled with a fishing net. They labored to free her, and it’s all on film. Dive into a marvelous encounter.



Click this link if the embed doesn’t work: Amazing Whale Rescue

Michael Fishbach and Gershon Cohen established The Great Whale Conservancy to protect them and their habitat.

Rain!

Look at what we woke up to!

rain

We’re praying for much much more of it.

And, from one of my favorite poets:

A Rainy Morning

A young woman in a wheelchair,
wearing a black nylon poncho spattered with rain
is pushing herself through the morning.
You have seen how pianists
sometimes bend forward to strike the keys,
then lift their hands, draw back to rest,
then lean again to strike just as the chord fades.
Such is the way this woman
strikes at the wheels, then lifts her long white fingers,
letting them float, then bends again to strike
just as the chair slows, as if into a silence.
So expertly she plays the chords
of this difficult music she has mastered,
her wet face beautiful in its concentration,
while the wind turns the pages of rain.

–Ted Kooser, Delights and Shadows

Farewell Stella

My dear Fur Person friend, Stella Bella the cat, died today. She was 17 years old. She had tumors in her bladder and on her lung. Sometime I will write about the adventures we had with her, and her many catly qualities. But today, just this.

Farewell Stella

I stroke your fur
no purr
frail limbs give
no resistance
laid out tenderly
no movement
eyes half open
no vision.
It was a good life
a long life
and we let you go
before we wanted
to spare you suffering.
It is the least we could do
for all the joy and love
you gave us.

–Kathryn Harper

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Because He Was Himself

When a cat begins to lose his fur, it is a very humiliating and terrible thing. He looked and felt so forlorn that he lost all appetite. And about this time it occurred to him that his housekeepers might give notice, that if he became a permanent invalid, they would no longer care to look after him. He knew how much they enjoyed stroking the top of his head and now there was nothing to stroke. And how often had he heard them exclaiming about his large green eyes, which grew marvelously dark at night and marvelously pale in the morning. Now they looked at him and said humiliating things like,

“Poor puss, he does look a sight, I must confess.”

And one day Brusque Voice said, “Nobody could love him who had not known him before. But we love him, don’t we? And we won’t abandon him.”

It was she who brought a disgusting bottle of greasy stuff with a hospital smell and rubbed it into his fur twice a day. Tom Jones was by now beyond caring and had gone into a depression so deep, that he allowed her to do this, from sheer inertia. His purring machine even creaked a good deal and it hurt him to purr because it reminded him of the days when his purrs were sheer poetry and he himself a swaggering, handsome Gentleman Cat with a white tip to his tail. Ah, he thought, taking a surreptitious look, after all I still do have the white tip to my tail. And I must not despair.

…Only a strange thing was happening little by little. He was coming to understand that even if he never got well at all, his housekeepers were now more than housekeepers, they were true friends and they would not abandon him. He was really and truly safe. They did not love him for his glossy tiger coat, nor for his white shirt front and white paws, nor for his great green eyes, no, not even for the white tip of his tail. They loved him because he was himself.

-May Sarton, The Fur Person

farewell snuggles

Stella, age 17, fading

In Memory of Snow

Taken last year at Yosemite… This year we are not going to the snow. There are some resorts open that are making artificial snow, and a few high peaks may have snow left from last year. But there has been no snow this season. None anywhere.

Look up at the miracle of the falling snow,—the air a dizzy maze of whirling, eddying flakes, noiselessly transforming the world, the exquisite crystals dropping in ditch and gutter, and disguising in the same suit of spotless livery all objects upon which they fall.

-John Burroughs

after the snow
snow blossoms
stream at crane flat
getting ready to go down
vivid blue sky

For comparison: photos of 2013 and 2014

The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event. You go to bed in one kind of world and wake up in another quite different, and if this is not enchantment then where is it to be found?

-J.B. Priestley

Coloured State of Grace

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Taken spring 2013 at my parents’ garden in Syracuse, New York.

Shut your eyes, wait, think of nothing. Now, open them … one sees nothing but a great coloured undulation. What then? An irradiation and glory of colour. This is what a picture should give us … an abyss in which the eye is lost, a secret germination, a coloured state of grace … loose conciousness.

-Paul Cezanne

Some Things Dinosaur

Bean’s class sends home book biweekly. Students are to read it and make a project to show and tell to the class. This week was Bones, Bones, Dinosaur Bones by Byron Barton. She wanted to make fossils, and so we dug up some toys, mixed salt dough, and made some. Dinosaurs are a beloved topic for Bean.

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The public image of dinosaurs is tainted by extinction. It’s hard to accept dinosaurs as a success when they are all dead. But the fact of ultimate extinction should not make us overlook the absolutely unsurpassed role dinosaurs played in the history of life.

-ROBERT T. BAKKER, The Dinosaur Heresies

If you ever find yourself in Houston, I enthusiastically recommend a visit to the Morian Hall of Paleontology at the Houston Museum of Natural Science. And here’s a list of some dinosaur books that we read often.

Light did spread from corner to corner like a blanket above her. But it also touched in and out of tall trees like a thread.

Day was sharp, but the shadows were soft, and she liked the way they curved around into night.

There was a strange moistness to the air, a little like tears, that was sometimes warm and sometimes cold. She could not tell if it was winter or summer or something in between. But there was a murmur all around, of bees and trees, of showers and flowers, of tadpoles and tide pools and crinkly grass.

The murmur turned into a name. Spring!

–Jane Yolen, Eeny, Meeny, Miney Mole

Fine Lines

The line between magical thinking and metaphor is razor thin. Walking to school this morning, Bean asked why we say frost was created by Jack Frost. I replied that before people understood the science behind it, we made up stories, and that humans like to give personalities to nature. She then stated, “I don’t believe in dumb stuff like Jack Frost. I don’t need to give natural events personalities. The earth is our mother and we are her children. She changes her outfits with the seasons.”

And yes, she still believes in Santa and eagerly awaits the first visit of the Tooth Fairy. I love this age. So much to discover, and such possibilities.

Which?

Keiji, a long-time Zen student, approached his master and said: “I don’t see how there can be any enlightenment that sets you free once and for all. I think we just get ever greater glimpses of Buddha-nature, the vastness that is our true Reality. It’s an ever-expanding process.”

The master replied, “That may be what you think. But what is your experience, your experience right now?”

Keiji was confused, “My experience right now, Master?”

“Yes. Do you know yourself as Keiji, having ever-expanding experiences of Buddha-nature? Or do you know yourself as Buddha-nature, having the experience of Keiji?

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Flow

A whole month passed without a post, though I’d thought about it. I’ve been immersed in some personal work and stepping out into new areas that feel exciting. The depression has abated. I feel a need to write but am doing so with interruptions by my little girl and husband every so many minutes, so this post will be less polished.

We’ve been camping twice and will go again soon for the last summer trip. In June we went to Pfeiffer Big Sur, and in July we camped at Prairie Creek Redwoods. Our next trip is to Calaveras Big Trees. We like big trees and rivers a lot, and we like the ocean some. Camping is uncomfortable and requires more work, but it’s also relaxing and restful. My body aches in the morning from the less-than-ideal sleeping arrangement, but the peace I feel compensates. I am bathed in Being, in nature, in the Mystery; living outdoors brings complete contact with the world that creates itself.

After exploring the Quaker Society of Friends, I talked with Hub about where I’m at and what Bean wants. She wants to go to church. Hub was raised Unitarian Universalist and I attended as one years ago. It’s the best fit as far as spiritual community goes. Bean loved it the first time we visited two years ago. The Quaker group only had children’s program once a month, and unfortunately the one time I brought her no one else with children came, and there was no program. I realized, too, that I need and enjoy the ritual of a service. The Quaker service was traditional silent meeting with socializing after. The UU service includes the usual ingredients of a service: hymns, readings, sharing of joys and concerns, a sermon. Hub isn’t a seeker and doesn’t have the same community needs, but we came to the conclusion that the UU church is good for me and Bean. I attended the UU Fellowship in Los Gatos the past two weeks; both Bean and I enjoyed it, and the members are very welcoming.

I had a pilot zazen session on the first Saturday in July. I got cold feet and cancelled on the one person who’d signed up; then another friend last minute showed up. As I set up the small altar on my coffee table, it felt right, like putting on a perfectly fitting outfit. I also reached agreement with Hub that I will go to Hazy Moon Zen Center a couple times a year to attend sesshin and meet with my teacher.

I’ve continued attending salons called Intimacy With Truth, led by a dear friend. They occur in a format similar to Honesty Salons but move into deeper exploration within and between ourselves. I’m learning to listen to, trust, and speak from my intuition and truth. I’m also sitting with the idea of becoming trained to facilitate Honesty Salons or becoming a Getting Real Coach with Dr. Campbell.

I’m re-reading and incorporating the practice that Eckhart Tolle’s books explore. One thing I appreciate about his work is that he echoes my favorite quote, a koan I have cherished for years:

The secret is within your self. – Hui-Neng

Tolle claims that he’s not teaching anything that we don’t already have within us. His work is guidance to excavating it.

In conjunction, I’ve started to explore the process of healing offered by Al-Anon meetings.

After years of thinking about it, I attended a mixed-media collage Meetup at Lori Krein Studios. I immersed myself in the process and enjoyed it, as well as enjoyed the other people who attended. I’ll be going back.

This encounter with collage at the studio prompted me to rearrange my art supplies so they are stored in the same room as my work desk. Proximity will probably inspire more play!

I gathered my many small pieces of art into a binder, and I was astonished at the variety and amount. Seeing them all together gave me a surge of excitement to make more. A friend has suggested I have my own art show at home; I’m not ready to do that yet, but I’m ready to show and share from the binder.

I enrolled in a November training to learn a process called SoulCollage and to facilitate in groups. SoulCollage is a creative, meditative process of exploring one’s inner wisdom in all the ways it manifests. It’s rooted in Jungian psychology.

I’ve emphasized boundaries in certain relationships by limiting what I can listen to and discuss. The immersion in repeated stories about the problems of people I love when I cannot do anything to help was contributing to the depression.

Lastly, I’m contemplating becoming a volunteer at a hospice. For many years (since the mid-1990s) I’ve felt a pull toward it, and in 2004 I took steps in a parallel direction by training to provide grief support to survivors. It was the Centre for Living With Dying. However, my father-in-law was dying of cancer at the time, and I just didn’t have the energy to serve. Since that time the Centre was bought by another social service provider, and it seems they don’t use volunteers any more. But hospice does.

The call to hospice coincides with the sad news that a friend — Jen Bulik-Lang — who is only 35 is dying of stage-IV lung cancer. She began feeling ill in October 2012, and it took awhile for professionals to come to the correct diagnosis at the end of January 2013. She’d been shopping in December for engagement rings with her boyfriend, Jeffrey Lang. She got aggressive treatment, and there was hope they eradicated it, but in mid-June she received news it had metastasized to her spinal fluid. My insides quicken with grief and love as I watch her live with this news. She chose to celebrate life, and she and Jeff got married in a marvelous wedding. I admire Jen for embracing what is and fully experiencing it as a transformation with the faith, as she says, “that [it] will benefit the highest good for all those concerned.”

So in all, the shift in my life is toward community and participating in healing myself, others, and the world. As I wrote that last sentence my self-talk was, “Boy, that sounds lofty and new-Agey, and grandiose.” And yet… The world is broken and insane and aches for love.

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Harvest / 9″ x 12″ mixed media collage on canvas

Sometimes a Retreat is an Advance

I’d sunk into a swamp of depression. Why bother going? It was only overnight. I cancelled, one day too late to get a refund. So I went.

Nearly there, I found the road blocked. The tunnel said “Under construction.” What next? Go back home? Try to find another way and arrive late? No and no.

So I broke rules. I drove around the barricade and through the tunnel. There was no ditch to fall into, no rubble to hit. I arrived. I showed up.

Teacher saw me and leaped with joy – literally! She hugged me, and I began to cry. Twenty of us sat in slience; we walked in silence. Zazen is painful drudgery. But the tears subsided.

I sat. I counted my breaths. I walked. I ate. I slept. I met privately with my teacher.

Sick of being mom, managing my child? Then be an easy mother!
Lonely? Get out of the Internet echo chamber. Talk to a person.
Bored? Reflect on what resonates; listen for my voice.
Scared about new responsibility? Just show up. Do the next task.
Stop hiding in the house. The world is right here and now.

Later, walking on the beach alone, I found rusty rose starfish washed ashore. It fit the palm of my hand. It was alive! Waiting for a return ride on the tide.

Hello, friend.

I looked up. Saw a man. Decided this discovery was too good to keep to myself. So I went up to him and shared. And he smiled and marveled. And then I did it again, with a woman jogging. And again, with another woman!

Their eyes widened, awakened. They smiled with the joy of the encounter.

Hello, friend.
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Words swept from my mind
Scatter like moths in the wind
Wave meets rock meets wave

seal rocks, or

Daffodil Time

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It is daffodil time, so the robins all cry,
For the sun’s a big daffodil up in the sky,
And when down the midnight the owl calls “to-whoo”!
Why, then the round moon is a daffodil too;
Now sheer to the bough-tops the sap starts to climb,
So, merry my masters, it’s daffodil time.

–Clinton Scollard

Where I’m At

Allie Brosh sums it up beautifully. While I am not soul-crushingly depressed as she was, even a bout of soul-pinching depression has deleterious effects. It’s insidious. I’ve known something is askew, but stumbling in the fog I wasn’t clear about it specifically. Until I read Allie’s Depression Part 2 post, and found myself re-reading it about 10 times a day since, as well as her first post about depression. The fog cleared just enough to identify that yes, I am depressed. I used to get into a bout of it in springtime in years past; it had been a few years, and I’d forgotten about that.

First: Adventures in Depression by Allie Brosh @ Hyperbole and a Half

Second: Depression Part 2 by Allie Brosh @ Hyperbole and a Half

Over the past months I have slogged through feeling:
Hopeless
Helpless
Unmotivated
Pessimistic
Irritable
Angry
Sad
Exhausted
Isolated
Disconnected
Listless
Restless
Insomnia
Foggy-brained
Absent libido

You might argue that this is the human condition. And while that is true to a point, experiencing all these feelings consistently for the past many weeks signifies something is wrong.

The Unseen Ground of All Existence

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Analysis has its peculiar scientific value, but the Spirit which passes from one person to another as a flame leaps from one coal to another grasps truth in its wholeness as a living thing united within itself. …Spiritual truth cannot be sharply defined like scientific truth. It exists on the dim edge of the unexplored region beyond the horizon of self-conscious thought. The language of the Spirit is symbolic and its suggestions are not so much facts as signs which point beyond themselves to the unseen ground of all existence. So inarticulate sometimes is the voice of the Spirit that it can be expressed only by a sigh, or even by complete silence.

-Howard Brinton