Praise for clear and present

Also wrapped in the blankets of Winter are all the growing, maturing, harvesting seasons of life. What ends at midnight? What continues?

Right Now

Across the way horses have left the snow covered meadows and gone into the shelter where the open south face so generously scoops up brilliant morning light. A flock of geese catch air in their wings. The patient trees hold up the sky.

Inside, outside, upsidedown

Scoop up a tumbler full of water. Then set that tumbler of water in the flowing stream. Where is the water? Now, let's talk about body and soul.

Thankful Christmas

Wrapped in all her fresh innocence five month old Lucy is the evidence and sample of regenerative hope that comes wrapped in every infant. Isn't that the promise we celebrate over and over on this day? The promise we experience at this darkest time of the year, as we turn to the time of light renewed once again in the world. Blessings be.
_______ 
Now sunrise comes over a white-clad world: snow cover, moderate fog, and through it comes early sunlight turning everything luminous. Am I, in the fog of my struggles, luminous too? I think you are luminous, my friends whom I know occasionally read here. That's how I experience you, as through a veil of separateness and translation, and yet with a beautiful sheen.

"Do what's right. Don't forget your roots. Speak up for those who don't have a voice." Senator Daniel Inouye, Hawaii. 1924-2012

Life is good and we are thankful.

One couple sent us an Arbor Day Foundation card, honoring us with the gift of a tree planted in one of our National Forests. Living in the woods as we do, we share that value, and they know.  

With pen, she wrote, "He has had a few set backs, including heart valve replacement..." and yet closes with, "Life is good, and we are thankful." 

Amen. Thank you.

Some necessary mourning

Taste of a Deeper Rainbow

some necessary mourning—

hours, days, years—falls

as a drape across a window

drawn without intention 

until a gradual shift begins

the release

and you start to open

again in a world

where marquees and trees

costumes and cloud plumes

now appear to hold more

subtle, dusky colors

(from Inherited Estate: A Song Cycle)

Some necessary mourning. 

After the Sandy Hook massacre in Connecticut. After Hurricane Sandy. After another health setback. After, after, after...

Fibromyalgia/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome is such a dumb illness. So incapacitating, but not terminal, not even vaguely life threatening. Not diagnosed with any direct, overt tests, it is a catch-all clinical diagnosis from a list of symptoms. 

I live with it and look quite normal and carry this load of pain and fatigue. Sitting in a straight chair becomes a challenge. Climbing a flight of stairs or transferring wet clothes from the washer to the dryer become details to really notice, to be sure to allow energy for, to practice breathing through pain for. And some days it's just crippling. 

Other illnesses are invisible to the naked eye, too. Mental illnesses comes to mind in the chatter and noise of current events. Not invisible to the close and caring observer, but how many of those do any given one of us have?

And what can any one of us do?

My friend sent me a card of support that says, "Breathe deeply and hold your heart with gentle hands." Such a kind, humane way of being. As I practice, I find myself holding others' hurting hearts more gently, too, in my thoughts, breathing in and out. It's the best I can do.

Practice breath, practice compassion, allow time and attention in this season of Joy and Giving, between the celebratory highs, also allow time and attention and a space for some necessary mourning.  

Free will

Every sunrise opens a new door.Yesterday entered your living being, invited or not. You step over this day's unblemished threshold, life embodied and continuing. 

What you carry with you, what you pick up today, what you set down-- of those, what part is governed by free will?

Survivors

The most dazzling creeks
tumble on rocks,
they dance, glitter and sing.

The most resplendent sunsets
transform clouds
to silver, crimson and gold.

The most perfected lives,
kiln-fired by sorrow,
grow tender, gracious, serene.

(Carol Bindel, Inherited Estate: A Song Cycle, Trace Hay Publishing, 2012, 91)