November 30, 2015 - Bittersweet Sunset

The sun sets on another day I can’t have back.  It seemed like an ordinary day when I woke up.  I made breakfast, just as I always do.  I got dressed and went about my chores.  I spoke with many people.  I went into town to take care of some business.  I paid some bills.  I read some poetry and some beautiful prose, just as I always do.  I had many outdoor tasks to complete.  I took care of my animals, as usual.  There was nothing different about this day than any other day.

Seize the day.

But every time the sun goes down, I realize that I’ve lost another day, and I can’t ever have it back.  And I wonder to myself, didn’t I realize just how special today was?  Because it was special.  Every day is so very, very special.  Why didn’t I pay more attention?  Why didn’t I seize the day while it was here?  What could possibly have kept me from realizing it?

Bittersweet reflections at the end of a day.  It was a good day, and I have no complaints about it.  It was a fine day and much was accomplished.  It was a day that anyone would be proud to have.  Except now that it’s gone, I see it was more precious to me than I realized.  I tell myself that I must pay more attention.  Tomorrow.  Tomorrow I will pay more attention.  Surely, I will not squander yet another day.  Tomorrow there is much to do.  Already I am thinking of my chores.  Surely, there will be plenty of time tomorrow to seize the day.

November 29, 2015 - Stealth Camping

Thinking about doing some stealth camping under the stars.  Have you ever slept outside at night?  In the warm weather, the problem is the mosquitoes.  In the cold weather, well, it’s the cold.  Both present difficulties, and in either case, those difficulties can be conquered, but sleeping under the stars is not about overcoming difficulties and hardship.

There’s something that happens when you sleep outside.  I can try to explain it, although if you haven’t done it, these might seem like shallow words.  See, you really become a part of the outdoors.  You might get a tiny feel for it here and there in a regular camping situation, but in that kind of situation, you often have a grand tent or trailer, lights, fires, music, etc.  That’s all very fun and does bring us closer to nature, but it’s not the same as stealth camping.

Moving to a secret rhythm.

When you sleep the night in nature, you leave no trace.  There is no fire and not much of a setup.  The idea is to blend in.  A tarp strategically placed here or there, draped over a rope or branch and anchored to the ground with rocks can be very helpful.  Depending on the weather, you may use bug nets or subzero sleeping bags.  But it’s not about the equipment.  It’s about what happens when the sun goes down and there is no fire and no flashlight and the sky is awash with billions of stars.

The world doesn’t go to sleep at night.  On the contrary.  The world comes alive, perhaps even more so than during the daytime, and because you’re not frightening it away with fire or lights or noise, it dances at your feet.  There are sounds and scents that will amaze you.  There are forms of communication between animals and plants that will surprise you.  Yes, plants communicate.  And there is fear sometimes, too.  Most of that fear exists in our minds only because we fear what we do not know or understand.  A real lesson in self-control and faith is learned in the woods at night.  For free.

I think the best part is the “humming.”  I don’t know about other people, but when I wake up outside at the crack of dawn, it is because of the “humming.”  I actually hear a sort of “hum,” a kind of rhythmic pulse.  It seems to go back and forth, closer and farther away, like a giant top spinning somewhere.  It seems louder during the two equinoxes--equally at spring and fall.  It’s the humming that wakes me up, not the dawn.  It’s the humming that announces the change in rhythm.  Then the light comes and the humming goes away and the secret night creatures hide for the day.  It’s the humming that makes the announcement.

When I go back into civilization after a few nights like that, all of the buildings look smaller than usual and are strange to me.  It’s as if they’re slightly wavering and shimmering back and forth, as if they are some sort of mirage that can come and go at any moment, as if they are “humming” somewhere in their own sphere but I can’t hear them.  Then after a few hours, my eyes adjust and everything seems “normal” again.

Sometimes I wonder about the humming.  I wonder if it’s taking me from one reality to another.  Is it really that easy just to jump across to the other side?  I think it is.  Sleep a night under the stars and see if it isn’t true for you as well.

November 28, 2015 - A Silver Promise

Often this time of year, the sun comes to us through silver curtains that move in the breeze.  Sometimes it’s very bright, and sometimes it’s dimmer and filters through to us like a shimmering dream.  Sometimes it’s completely obscured.  But on those days when it filters through the thinnest of silver curtains like a shimmering dream, I think then it looks loveliest.

A silver promise.

It’s like a secret promise spoken between two lovers in a dark hallway at a dance hall as they momentarily pass by one another.  No one knows of their love.  No one suspects.  He goes on his way to his destination, to his bachelor friends at the bar.  She goes off to her wallflower friends at the dance.  But the whispered secret shines brightly in their hearts.

This is the sun through the silver curtain.  It whispers, “I love you.  I will come back for you.”  And for now, we must have faith.  The dark days are coming, and the silver curtain will grow thicker and hide our dreams.  No matter, though.  We have the promise.

November 27, 2015 - The Right Direction

It’s hard to keep going in the right direction.  There are so many distractions that take us off the path.  We linger in some areas longer than others, forgetting about that weathervane we were given when we were very little.  Some paths take us in strange directions, and sometimes we get lost on those other paths.  One path will lead to another and another and another . . . Finding your way back is very difficult.

Did I turn here?  Or was it there?  Or maybe I didn’t turn here at all.  Maybe it was further up the path.  Maybe I should continue on.  It’s all so confusing.  Why did I leave the path I was set on in the first place?  It was a nice path.  Ah yes . . . there was that shiny piece of jewelry I saw.  There was that never ending party I wanted to attend.  There were people calling to me, waving to me, encouraging me to leave my path and enter the jungle.  And so I did.

It always points the right way.

I languished in a land of new experiences, or so they seemed, until I found out they were all the exact same experience just wearing different masks.  I trotted on to a land of seeming luxury, but it was always out of my grasp.  The more urgently I reached for it, the further it receded.  I went to a land of bitterness and anger, and I set up shop there for quite some time.  I was never very successful there, though, because everyone was so angry and bitter.  I kept on to a land of laziness and despair.  The lazier I became, the more I despaired, and vice versa.  It was like the snake consuming its own tail, round and round and round . . .

There were many lands to visit, many lands where I spent a lot of time.  Some were good, many were not.  But what each one did was rob me of some of my allotted time, my precious, precious time.  Wasting a month here, a year or two there, a decade just beyond the bend, another couple of decades at the last turn . . .  Only to find out that the path came to an abrupt end, and the prize was nowhere in sight.

But there was always that weathervane deep down inside, the one I was given so very long ago.  I took it out and shined it up and placed it as high as I could.  And then I waited, but I didn’t have to wait too long.  In fact, right away, it placed me back on my old path.  Of course, there it was.  Right there.  The path was there all along.  How could I not have seen it?

Now when I come to a crossroads, I look up to the old weathervane.  In what direction is it pointing?  That’s the path.  That’s where I go.  I’ve got a way to travel yet, but I’m getting there.  I’m in pursuit now.

November 26, 2015 - A Cup of Kindness

We Americans are often derided for being thankful on only one day of the year only and being self-absorbed for the other 364 days.  Certainly, there are times when we are not thankful but should be.  However, perhaps the 364-day part is a bit of an exaggeration.

It all depends on what is meant by the word “thankful” or “grateful.”  When our cupboards are full and our homes are warm and possessions are many, it’s so easy to be thankful and grateful then.  Here in America, the land of plenty, there are many people with full cupboards, warm homes, and countless possessions.  It’s easy to shout from the highest mountain how grateful and beholden you are when your life is full of abundance, although there are many who still will not express it.

Thankfully simple.

There are, however, many people in America who do not share in that “plenty.”  They do not find it easy to broadcast their gratitude and thankfulness.  They are exhausted and tired and weakened.  They are hungry and poor and insecure.  Smiling and saying that life is wonderful is not easy for them, although you will often find them doing it.

If we forget to always be thankful when we have plenty, are we selfish and rude?  If we are angry and sad because we do not have plenty, are we just sour and jealous?  I think not in both instances.  I think we are just human beings caught up in typical human feelings.  It’s okay to be human when we are human.

But on those other 300 or so odd days when we are not expressing gratitude out loud, we are still sending a message loud and clear.  We are waking up early--much earlier than we want to--and we are working hard all day.  We are caring for children or parents or relatives or others.  We are donating and sharing when we can.  We are shoveling our walks, raking our leaves, cleaning our homes, taking our children to school.  We are fighting through the traffic, giving our seat to the elderly on a bus, making meals for our loved ones (often out of very little food).

We do not do these things all the time, but we do them very often.  Some of us do them more than others, but this is not about who does more and who does less.  It’s about us.  It’s about living our lives the best way we can, and that’s different for each person.  It’s about trying hard, failing often (more often than we can count), and getting up the next day and trying again.  It’s about pushing ourselves when we’re exhausted, loving others when we’re hurting inside ourselves, and caring for stray animals.

It’s also about trusting in the benevolence of the Earth when we plant a garden, knowing that we will reap her abundance.  It’s about still believing in goodness and kindness when anger and rage are all that we are shown.  It’s about holding out hope when all odds are against us and have been against us for decades.  It’s about that tiny light that we cannot seem to let go of.

And if these things do not represent gratitude, if they do not represent thankfulness, I don’t know what does.  Words are just words.  Symbols are just symbols.  In the end, they only have the meaning we give to them.  It’s the cup of kindness that endures, that lifts the tired and blackened soul up to heaven.  And this is what we are.

November 25, 2015 - The Goldsmith

THE GOLDSMITH

How wealthy must that goldsmith be!

He who lives in the heavens.

He who carves and shaves and cuts.

He who presses and molds and shapeshifts.

How rich must his treasure chest be!

Filled with pearly moons

and diamond stars that light the darkest heart.

Spilling rubies, gathering emeralds,

raining golden chains upon the Earth.

Raining golden chains.

 

How lavish must his table be!

Even his servants adorned in gold.

The poorest of his household

dining from silver platters.

With golden candles lighting the way

to a black onyx paradise

surrounded by amethyst gates

clothed with golden silk

the secret Elysian Fields.

November 24, 2015 - The Homely Pitch Pine

I know I have written about pitch pines before, but I love them and they are what I see as being immortal trees.  They’re not terribly long-lived, perhaps a century or so, which is not very old at all for a tree, but they have a certain secret that the other trees do not.  They have the ability to regenerate branches all over the tree.  These branches are called epicormic shoots, and they are what give the pitch pine its immortality. 

Epicormic shoots are little fresh shoots of growth that can spring up anywhere on the pitch pine.  Other trees have this ability but none like the pitch pine.  Even when it doesn’t feel threatened, the pitch pine will send out bizarre little shoots here and there right through the thick bark of the tree.  When it is threatened, say through a forest fire that destroys an entire wooded area, although the pitch pine may look dead, it will send out fresh little shoots everywhere.  Other trees are dead and gone from the fire, but you will always find new little shoots on the pitch pine.  If that isn’t immortality, I don’t know what is.

The homely pitch pine.

The pitch pine hangs on to its cones because it takes them two years to mature.  So whereas you will not see cones on other pines all the time, you will see them on the pitch pine.  It just doesn’t want to let them go.  When no one is looking, it spreads its seeds in the winter.  It can’t self-pollinate, though, so it needs other pitch pines.  Dropping its seeds in the winter helps to ensure that more pitch pines will grow close by.  Also, the cones are so horribly spiked, that you do not dare to pick them up.  You will not find pitch pine cones on a Christmas wreath, and that’s a good thing (for the pitch pine, anyway).

I am told that even the oldest pitch pine will die at about 200 years maximum.  I wonder if that includes the little shoots.  I’m inclined to believe it does not.  The incredibly high resin in the pitch pine preserves the wood, adding to my idea of immortality.  They used to make railroad ties out of pitch pine because the wood stayed so well preserved.  But it’s gnarly and strange looking, too, because of all the odd little shoots and twists and turns in growth that the tree goes through.  This makes the pitch pine a perfect little Bonsai tree capable of beautiful horizontal shaping.

The pitch pine is not a graceful-looking tree.  It’s not beautiful like the white pine, the Maine state tree.  It’s not stately like the red oak.  It’s not flamboyant like the sugar maples.  It’s often twisted and bent and rather ugly.  Yes, it’s true.  It’s just darn ugly for the most part.  But it grows in absolutely terrible soil where other plants and trees refuse to grow.  It thrives on difficulty.  The more difficult its life becomes, the more it hangs on and continues to smile up at the sun.  That’s a beautiful quality.  Is it no wonder, then, that I love this homely little tree so much?

November 23, 2015 - The Architect

Everything we bring into our lives comes to us first as a thought.  Without thought, nothing but the natural world would exist in our surroundings.  With thought, we become co-creators of our world.  Even the greatest accomplishments of mankind must all first start out as thoughts.

For example, the architect has a thought about a magnificent building.  But it is just a thought, an idea.  He keeps at this thought, though, thinking about how he would like the building to look, how it would be used.  From there, the thought gets its first “solidifying dose” and it becomes words.  Now the architect is discussing the building with other people, and the thought is “gaining weight.”  Then he writes his idea on paper.  He gives the thought clothing with words on paper.  He further solidifies it with letters to business partners, etc., and they in turn add to this “weight” by also writing about the thought (the building).

What you place in the canoe and bring to the other shore is up to you.

Next, the architect begins to draw up plans.  Day after day he pores over his plans, drawing, scheming, fantasizing, until the whole building has been drawn on paper.  Now the thought is even heavier.  Then the architect builds a small model of the building.  Now the thought has really gained weight.  It can actually be carried around and shown to crowds and might even be a little heavy.  Other people see the thought (the model building) and they add their own energy and ideas to it, their own hopes and dreams for it.

Finally, the decision is made to go forward, the construction company has been selected, the financing has been obtained, and the materials have been purchased.  Construction begins.  The thought--that thing that existed only in the architect’s mind--is now manifesting in the physical world as a real and actual building.  When it is completed, the thought will have reached its physical conclusion.  It may have taken many years to get to the final form, but because the thought was continued, was persisted in, had energy continually added to it, it finally manifested.

The thought is the cause and the building is the effect.  When other people begin to “realize” the effect, i.e., people begin working in the building, playing in the building, living in the building, etc., the building now becomes its own cause and new effects will be on the horizon.

This is how thought works.  This is how it cascades down from the mental/spiritual world to the physical world, and how its appearance in the physical world then begins its own cascade of effects and so on.  Not all thoughts will materialize.  In fact, most will not, and that is not a bad thing.  But when we truly want a thought to materialize, to “manifest,” then we simply become the architect.

The canoe is on the shore, and anything can be placed into the canoe or taken out of it.  If we are so inclined, we may push off the shore and drift along the watery currents and allow ourselves and our cargo to find another shore.  We can take something from one place and bring it to another.  From a dark and hidden shore in our minds, we can take our canoe and oar and travel across the watery abyss with our secret cargo of thoughts and plant them one by one on another shore.  And we know that they will materialize because this is who we are.

This is what sets us apart from the animals.  We are the architects of our world.

November 22, 2015 - The Cold Beach

Don’t let the sunlight fool you.  The days of lying on the beach are over.  For me, they never began because I only rock climb when I go to beaches.  From now until April or May, the beaches in Maine are only for brave people, that is, people who don’t mind the cold.

The cold beach.

There is always a tremendous and constant wind blowing, and with no wind break in sight, you can imagine the cold.  And this is only November.  The trick is to wear at least a few layers of thin clothing and then a coat over them if you wish.  When nature insulates things, she does not use thick substances.  She uses the thinnest substance of all:  air.  It’s the secret of the birds.  They have their little “down” feathers that trap in their body heat.  Any heat that escapes gets trapped between the small feathers and a layer of larger feathers.  Birds can also “puff up” their feathers and create even more pockets of warm air.  Add a layer of oil to the feathers, and they are waterproof as well.  And voilà!  Warmth and coziness.

If you can be a bird, you can go to the beach in Maine in the winter.  You can see the kind of waves you will never see in the summer, crashing and magnificent.  You can be refreshed with startlingly crisp, cold air.  You can be renewed with a true sense of freedom and open space.  You can feed your inner hermit with the brazen solitude the cold enforces.  You can reconnect with the cycles of the tides and the patterns of the beach animals and birds.  You can worship the sun in a way you never thought possible.  You can escape the din that is man.

That’s the true beauty of the beach in the cold weather, of course.  Escaping man.

November 21, 2015 - Railroaded

The old railroad bridge running from Brunswick to Topsham gets some of the best sunset action around, and there’s no one to see it.  Amazing beauty, night after night, and no one would even guess.  And now we know the answer to the old question:  If a tree falls in the woods and there’s no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?  No matter what your answer is to this question, people always say, “How do you know?  Can you prove it?  If no one was there to hear it, maybe there was no sound.”  As if the world had no existence outside of the experience of man.  Oh, the ego.

Sunset on the old railroad bridge.

Of course, the idea is that sound is just a manmade idea, a word to describe one of the senses of most people.  Because it is a sense, a feeling, an experience, it is automatically subjective.  And anything that is subjective, as opposed to objective, is ridiculed in our [pseudo]scientific society because it can't be measured or quantified.  If it isn’t “peer reviewed” and you haven’t got 30 studies to back it up, the intellectual wizards want nothing to do with it.

But I finally have the answer.  Yes, the tree does make a sound when it falls, even if there’s no one around to hear it.  And yes, the sun does set beautifully behind the rusty old railroad bridge, even if there’s no one to see it anymore.  I haven’t got even one peer-reviewed study to prove it, but I’d bet my life on it.

Imagine that:  The world continuing on day after day in its magnificent splendor without the permission of man.

November 20, 2015 - 250 Years Or So

In the mid-1700s, Maine was not yet a state of the U.S. but a territory of the state of Massachusetts.  The town of Harpswell, which had grown huge at over 800 people, was finally incorporated into a town in 1758, separated from North Yarmouth by the Massachusetts General Court.  But before becoming a town, Harpswell had become a “parish” in 1751 under the director of Reverend Richard Pateshall.  Becoming a parish in those days was a big deal.  However, Reverend Pateshall only preached for a couple of years.

Reverend Elisha Eaton became the town pastor in 1753 and he had the old Meeting House built, which served as church and everything else for the town.  It was completed in 1759 (or maybe 1760), and that building is still standing in Harpswell today.  I have walked by it many times myself, and I have shown many photos on these very pages from the Old Harpswell Common Burying Ground attached to the Meeting House.  Reverend Elisha Eaton himself was buried in 1764 in that boneyard.

The old Elijah Kellogg Church.

People continued to use the old Meeting House until 1843, but quite a controversy built up over the ownership and control of it.  So the Harpswell Center Congregational Parish was formed, and they built a new church.  The Reverend Elijah Kellogg was chosen as pastor.  That church is still standing and in use today.  When Reverend Kellogg died in 1901, they changed the name of the church from the Harpswell Center Congregational Church to the Elijah Kellogg Church, in his honor.  The church still bears his name today.

And here I am gossiping, but that’s because things happen slowly around here (that’s as good an excuse as any I’ve heard).  It has only been about 250 odd years, give or take a few decades, so you can’t expect too much change.  And, in fact, you’re not likely to get much change anytime soon.  I’ve always wondered what the folks from long ago would think of the town if they could come back.  The truth is, other than being bewildered by the one paved road that runs through it and by the electrical wires running to the church, nothing else has really changed.

There are no stoplights, no fast-food restaurants, no supermarkets, no malls, no theaters, etc.  Things in that area are pretty much how they always were.  Old Elijah Kellogg’s church, a fine example of Greek Revival Architecture, still stands out, looming over the horizon.  I’m sure the ghosts would recognize the town just perfectly and feel right at home.  And rightly so.  It remains to be seen what the next 250 years will bring.

November 19, 2015 - Heaven Pours Down

On a dark and dreary day, a day that is cold and wet, the head is bent in deep thought.  Some might say sorrow.  Some might say defeat.  Some might say the heart is weary, the mind is weak, the soul is beaten down.  Some might say the spirit has left.  But they would be wrong.  The outer world is just fleeting finery, after all, like a pretty dress.  Or maybe it’s shabby like old woolen gloves missing most of the fingers.  What does it matter?  It is just the façade.

Inside the glow remains, and it cannot be taken away.  Not with a thousand men on a thousand horses.  There is no blade so sharp, no arrow so quick, no sword so piercing that it can touch the inner world.  And it is not for lack of trying.  Oh, the blade, the arrow, the sword--they have tried.  How they would love to pierce through to the inner world, to the secret light, but their efforts are thwarted again and again.

Heaven . . . escaping.

It is a light so tiny, we sometimes forget it.  When days are sunny and bright, when friends are near, when laughter is heard, the tiny light within is forgotten because it is not needed.  When there is hard work to do and much of it, when there is a mountain of bills to pay, when responsibilities weigh heavily and concentration is continually demanded, the tiny light within is forgotten because we are too busy.  At these times, it just seems so small, so useless, so unnecessary.

And then the darkness comes, the real darkness.  Then the sorrow that tries men’s souls pours and seeps into places the blade for all its sharpness could never even dream of entering.  The fear enters into the secret wounds that the piercing sword never knew existed.  The defeat slithers into pockets of the mind too quick for even the swiftest arrow. 

It is all in vain, though, because in the tiny place is the tiny light, the one that we had forgotten about but had not forgotten us.  And now it is not so tiny.  Now it burns as hot as a star, shining like the Sun, and saying, “You may come no further!”  Once more, as has happened many times in the past, the sorrow, the fear, the defeat are stopped in their tracks, cursed, thrown out to join the blade, the sword, and the arrow.

Heaven pours down again, and not a moment too soon.

November 18, 2015 - Twilight

At that “in between” time again.  Twilight.  It’s not day and it’s not night.  Every day we hover here for just a minute or so while the Earth tries to make up its mind which way it wants to go.  This confusion appears to permeate all of reality during those precious few seconds.  Here you see that the sky and the water have become confused.  Each thinks it is the other.  For a very brief time, the clouds forget where they are and they drift through the water instead of the sky, and the sky forgets itself and reflects everything like a giant pool of crystal-clear water.

Magic Mirror.

This is the stuff that legends are made of.  “Magic Mirror up so high, who’s the fairest in the sky?”  Surely the Evil Queen from the Snow White story would have asked that question had she seen twilight in Maine over a river.  And to that question, she would have heard the following answer:  “Famed is thy beauty, Majesty, but behold, a lovely tree I see.  A barren season cannot hide its gentle grace.  Alas, it is fairer than thee.”

What then?  Would the Evil Queen have sent the huntsman to Maine?  But he is already here!  That noble Prince of Thieves has secretly dwelled in our woods since time immemorial and would no sooner hand over the sublime beauty of the Maine twilight than betray Marion, who is often reflected therein.  I am afraid the Queen will have to live with being second.

And then the time changes.  The few precious seconds of twilight are gone, and we sail off into the night, assured again in our course, the Earth once more sailing diligently onward.  The Queen, the huntsman, and the maiden all drift back to their secret realm, waiting for their chance to slip through again.

November 17, 2015 - Life Is Good

I saw an old man coming in from his field tonight, right beside the Muddy River.  He was wearing a button-down, old, wool plaid coat with big pockets in the front.  Remember those?  My father used to wear one.  This was before we had new-fangled things like gortex and whatnot decked out with shiny zippers and sticky velcro.  In those days in the winter, you either wore leather/fur or you wore wool.  If you were poor, you wore wool.  We were very poor, so my father wore wool that had seen its better days decades earlier.  Hand-knitted wool mittens and ancient greased leather boots completed the ensemble.  We were so fancy.

Life on the river.

But anyhow, the old man was coming in from his field.  He lives a bit away from me, so we don’t know each other, but I’ve been watching his field for a long time, year after year.  I’m always interested in knowing what people do--not their “job,” but what they “do.”  His field is just across the road from his house, which is hidden nicely in some trees.  It’s not a big field as fields go, but it’s plenty big for his needs.  Every spring he plows it up and plants.  I can tell by what he plants that he grows all of his own food, certainly a lot of good storage crops.  If you’re planting for one (and he is because he lives all alone), the field really doesn’t have to be too tremendously large.  He always has a good harvest.

There he was at the edge of the field near a wooded area that extends beyond.  He was moving some fallen branches and fixing a bit of fence.  He’s always out there working.  It was starting to get late and dark, and I wondered how long he’d stay out there.  I imagine until the job was done.  I doubt he wears a watch, though.  There was no lighting nearby, and the road has no street lamps.  Of course, he probably knows it like the back of his hand anyhow.

He’ll be back at it tomorrow, winterizing the property, gathering wood, splitting what he already has, fixing fences, and then fixing them again.  He has long since “retired” from his job in the outside world, and now he works at his job in the inside world.  It’s a lot harder but considerably more peaceful.  I doubt he misses the outside world with jobs that require the moving of one large stack of paper from one side of a desk to the other side of a desk every day, and every morning, there’s a new stack.  It’s maddening.

The big concerns now are making sure the food is all stored properly, checking on the fermentation, bottling the wine and beer, keeping the woodpile accessible during the coming ice, making dinner, and planning next year’s crop.  I hope there is a next year’s crop for him.  I think there will be.  Someday the planting will end, of course, but not yet.  For now the cycle continues, there is much work to be done, and life is good.

November 16, 2015 - On Truth

It occurs to me that the thing lacking the most from the world these days is an understanding, an instinctual knowing, of what Truth is.  Note that Truth, itself, is not lacking in the world, just the understanding and knowledge of it.  Truth can never be lacking because it is everywhere and it is everything.  There is nothing that can exist without Truth, and therefore, everything is Truth.  But mankind, because he has freedom of choice, may choose to see Truth or may choose to ignore it.  He may also choose to soil it and use it in ways it was not intended to be used.

And what is Truth?  Truth is the harmonious and perfect laws by which this universe is run.  Truth states these laws and follows them exactly and proclaims them from the highest mountain.  Truth is immutable and permanent.  It is etched in stone.  It does not compromise because it does not have to.  Nor does it make deals or exceptions or indulgences.

The Truth is unmistakable.

Truth demands an absolute comprehension of the perfect functioning of the universe.  This comprehension is innate and dwells within every living being.  No schooling is needed to understand the laws of the universe, and these laws are accessible to all--prince and pauper.  There are no favorites when it comes to the application of Truth.

No university holds the essence of Truth.  No secret society is alone privy to the secrets of Truth.  There is no striving necessary to find Truth, no woeful path beset with trials and tribulations necessary to win Truth.  It is freely available to the brilliant scholar and the most humble farmer.  It is freely available to the strongest and the weakest, the richest and the poorest, the nobleman and the common man.  Because in the eyes of Truth, there is no difference.

And how do we find Truth?  It is at our fingertips every second of every day.  The easiest way to familiarize yourself with Truth is to study the natural world.  In studying the natural world, certain things will become evident.  Certain things will be noticed, and they can be relied upon to always behave in the same manner.  Certain things will always be harmonious.  And all of these “certain things,” upon reflection and studying, will produce a “feeling” within you, a “knowledge,” a “flow.”

You then take that feeling, that knowledge, that flow, and you apply them instinctively to other aspects of your life.  And if they “feel” right--and you will know in no uncertain terms if they do--then they are Truth.  And if they do not, there will be an instant lack of harmony.  Everything will feel wrong.  If it cannot be held up to the simple basics of the natural world, no matter how complicated or beautiful it may appear, then it is not Truth.

Here are some simple aspects of Truth to consider.  They are so simple that they might seem ridiculous.  Surely, Truth must be more complicated than this?  But I say no:  Up is up and down is down, and what goes up must come down.  The sun is still the sun and the moon is still the moon.  There is light and there is darkness, and both are necessary in our world.  Without one, the other cannot exist because they define one another.  Black is black and white is white, and every color in between is just a part of the whole.  Male is male and female is female, and both are necessary in our world.  But as with light and darkness, each is different, and this difference is cause for celebration.  The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

That’s how you begin.  You notice in the natural world the “constants,” the things that are immutable, the things you can bank on, the things that happen the same way over and over with good results.  And you notice that these things are not improved upon because there is no need.  Smooth function and simplicity of existence are hallmarks of the Great Alchemist, and when you find these things, you are on the right track.  When you become confident in them, you can apply them to other aspects of your life.

But remember:  Truth is etched in stone.  No amount of beguiling words or outer beauty can make it otherwise.  Truth is enduring and changeless.  If something changes willy-nilly, it is not Truth because Truth is constant and steadfast and fixed.  Truth does not compromise, and it cares not one jot for mocking derision at its permanent and perpetual nature.  Truth does not care when deceptive people try to label it and call it stubborn, pigheaded, and narrow minded.  Truth does not give even one inch, regardless of insults, or compliments, for that matter.

This does not mean that Truth does not forgive.  It does forgive, and it is kind, and it is loving.  But it still remains absolutely true to form.  When mistakes are made, Truth waits patiently where it has always waited for the one who has erred to see where he has gone wrong and how he might go right.

Some silver-tongued wordsmiths might say to you, “Your truth is different than mine.  My truth is of a completely different nature and path.  We live in different realities.”  This is a lie because Truth does not change.  It can’t change.  It is the same for everyone, regardless of how much a person might deny it.  Truth must follow the natural laws laid down at the beginning of time.  There is only one path of Truth.  This path may be lined with dramatically different people and ideas, but it is still the same path.  The sun and moon still rise and set for all kinds of people.  Black is still black and white is still white, and all of the other natural things noted above are still the same as well.  These can all be found on the path.

You may compromise many aspects of your life.  You may go along to get along.  You may give in certain areas and take in others that you may not want to for the sake of kindness and decency.  You may be flexible with your expectations and demands.  All of these things are part of living with other people, and are all fine.  But the one thing you must never do is compromise Truth, for the moment you do, you will not have one second’s rest until you go back to what you know is true. 

After all the negotiating and discussing is said and done, after all the giving and taking is carried out, you must come to a point where you draw a line in the sand.  That line is Truth, and you do not step over it, ever.  And as long as you can do that, you will have peace and harmony in your life.  Oh, you may win some things and lose some others.  Wealth may come and go because it flows like the tides (another natural Truth).  You may gain friends at times and lose them at others.  But if you have Truth, if you know that things are what they are and you do not let anyone confuse you, if you refuse to play the games of the Trickster, then you will be very rich, indeed.

November 15, 2015 - Temperance

The sun dips low in the sky and shines on the statue of the lobsterman on Bailey Island.  He’s always at work, putting in an honest day’s labor in his trade.  The comings and goings of the rest of mankind are of no concern to him, and he does not read the local headlines.  His most important concern is the tide.  He knows the secret of following natural laws.

The lobsterman.

The sun beats down on him in the summer.  The rains pour on him in the spring and fall.  The snow engulfs him in the winter.  Still, he keeps vigil at Land’s End because he has that quality we call temperance.  No, not the temperance that refers to abstinence from alcohol, but the temperance that refers to self restraint and moderation.  He does not give in to his appetites and desires.  He does not fall prey to the latest shocking headlines in the newspaper.  He acts; he does not react.  He is concerned with the tides of the ocean, not the fickle tides of the politics of man. 

He works without lust of result.  That a hard worker obtains results is certain.  That he craves them for their own sake without care of how they are accomplished is foolish, and this lobsterman is not foolish.  He works for the sake of work itself because it is a part of him, and for that he is rewarded with peace and freedom.

Freedom is not the ability to go where one wants, but the ability to work as one chooses.  We all must work.  There is freedom in the peace of choosing our own labor and reaping our own rewards, in owning and shaping our personal destiny.

November 14, 2015 - Almost Too Bright

It’s almost too bright to look at.  It’s as if heaven has sprung a leak, and all the goodness is pouring down into the workingman’s harbor.  Many of the beautiful places on this bounteous Earth are now “owned” by the wealthy.  How can you “own” the eternal?  The answer is you can’t, but if you have enough money, you can trick others into believing it’s possible.  But here on the shores of Maine, heaven still pours its goodness out on the ordinary people.

An honest day.

An honest day’s work fills a person with pride.  Though he may be tired and his feet may be dragging at the end of the day, he still labored honestly for himself and his family, and because of this, he takes a tiny piece of paradise home with him, no matter how humble his house.  Falling to sleep exhausted from a day of hard work gives sound and peaceful sleep.  There is no worry about not having done enough.  There is no question as to why he does what he does.  There is no wondering if the grass is greener in another pasture.  There is no fear that tomorrow he may lose his livelihood because the ocean will still be here tomorrow, and this brings sleep blessed with grace.

All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t bring that kind of peace and security.  That’s something that a man goes out and takes for himself, if he’s brave enough.  That’s something a man never gives away if he’s smart enough.

November 13, 2015 - Just Enough

The romance still continues between the sun and the shore, even now when the days grow short.  The courting is quiet and sweet; fleeting and ephemeral.  But it’s there.  We’re too busy to notice because there is so much to do now, so much to prepare for.  Yet the dance goes on.

Tonight the sun embraced the cold shore just for a few minutes before slipping away to the underworld, but it was enough.  The water reflected the two hearts just long enough to show their undying affection.

A brief but joyous embrace.

She waits on the shore now, waiting for the Sun King.  Every morning and every evening, she waits.  He doesn’t always come, not like he used to when the days were warmer.  But whenever he can send her a tiny gift, he does.  It’s so small and comes with no fanfare or announcement.  No one really knows about it but her, and yet this gift is the best gift of all.

The brilliant summer galas are always fun, but the quiet candle in the darkness is all that was left in Pandora’s Jar, and it’s enough.

November 12, 2015 - A Necessary Evil

I was taking a ride down an old road when I found this little house.  It’s pretty small, but you can tell it’s old by its pretty multi-pane windows.  There are more modern storm windows put up over them, of course, because of the time of year, but you can still see those nice old windows underneath.  There’s a fresh coating of paint on the house, and the clapboards have been kept in fine shape.

This old house.

The door is pretty old.  It was made in the days before we put locks on our houses.  I used to live in a house like that when I was little.  We never ever locked the doors because they didn’t have any locks on them.  Someone has placed a new small lock below the door latch and a handle on the outside frame to assist entering since it’s quite a step up.

Someone lives in this little house.  The foundation plants are well cared for, and I saw a small decoration here and there.  There is absolutely no electricity running to the house.  I checked it from all angles.  There are no electrical wires, no phone wires, and no cable wires.  There’s no satellite dish.  But someone does live here.  There are some extensive vegetable gardens off to the right, not included in the photo.  There are also apple trees out back along with a nice woodpile and a chimney you can’t see from the photo.  A small kitchen woodstove would heat this place up nicely.

Someone wakes up and goes to sleep in this little house.  They go through their mornings without listening to music and without turning on the television (which they don’t have).  It’s a quiet morning without technology and it leads to a quiet afternoon, and this in turn leads to a quiet evening.  I’m sure there’s plenty of work to get done around there, so maybe the internet isn’t needed after all.  Apparently, peace and quiet are worth their weight in gold around here.

Does the person have a “life” outside of this little place?  Very likely so.  But there’s living, and then there’s living.  The latter takes place in this house.  The former is a necessary evil.