February 29, 2016 - Persephone's Dream

“Is it too much, my love?”

“No, it is beautiful,” she said, “although I cannot gaze too long at the splendor.”

“You know that I am coming for you?”

“I know.”

“Does he know?” he asked.

“He knows.  Even now, his soldiers retreat.  The battles are everywhere fierce.”

Is it too much?

“He will die.”

“No,” she said.  “He will not die.”

“He will if I have anything to say about it.”

“And what of me?” she demanded.  “and what I have to say about it?”

“You have eaten the pomegranate, then?”

“Yes.  And I relished it.”

____________________

I heard this said over the water as I squinted my eyes, trying to shield them with my hands.  Persephone had a dream, and I overheard the dream.  The Wheel of the Year has turned once more.  Another revolution gone almost full circle.  Again.  It needs only the tide of the Ancient Ones now to make it complete.  Look to the night skies for the burgeoning moon not quite at her zenith.  There you will find the new Wheel.

The ocean sparkled like a million diamonds.  The gulls flew by, trumpeting as they went.  There is change in the air.

[You can read the full story of Persephone, starting here:  Come Back to Me, with the last story (and all the links) here:  The Pomegranate.]

February 28, 2015 - A Good Trade?

A GOOD TRADE?

I overheard him say,

“I am an old man

but still I know a few things.

The woods provide everything we need.

Wood for fire

for warmth and cooking

tree covering for shelter

for privacy

for protection from storms

shade from the blazing sun

animals to hunt

roots to forage

weeds to eat

mushrooms for medicine

tree bark for baskets

moss for insulation

resin for glues

roots for twine

birds for their down feathers

bees for their honey.

 “And we destroy this for?

Civilization

for warmth and cooking

for shelter and shade

protection for man from man

for pets and houseplants

for formal gardens

and back-breaking agriculture

and animal feedlots

for doctors

and shopping malls

for soft pillows

and plastics

and corn syrup

and stale air.

“I am an old man

but I know a good trade

when I see one

and a bad trade as well.

I still know a few things.

I am not fooled.”

February 27, 2016 - A Path in the Woods

The thing about a path in the woods is that if it is a good path, it is a well-worn path.  Thousands and thousands of steps over a great many years wear the path down so that it begins to dig a deep indentation in the soil.  At first the indentation is slight, but as time goes on, it becomes more pronounced.  It becomes a deep groove.

Of course, it is subject to all kinds of weather--glaring sun, torrential downpours of rain, and sheets of solid ice and snow.  These weather patterns can alter the way the path looks, but they can only do so temporarily.  Once the weather patterns have passed, people resume using the path and it becomes a smooth path once again.  Any tree branches or boughs that may fall in the path are removed by people who use the path.  If they are too heavy to move, a slight rounding of the path occurs, curving around the problem and then straightening back out on to the path once again.  A new groove is then formed, and it becomes a permanent part of the path.  The path is malleable.

This path is about 1.5 feet in depth.

But just contrast this to a concrete path.  How long has it been there?  Unless we check city records, we really don’t know how long.  We can’t gauge by its deep groove how good a path it is because it has no groove at all.  We can’t decide upon its age and how often it is used, thereby gauging its likely worthiness, because it is a hard concrete path that is unaffected by the foot of man.

Who would want to follow a path that does not directly connect to them?  What I mean is, a path through the woods is in direct connection with its users.  It speaks to them.  It moves with them.  It shows them the simplest way to walk.  It reveals historical events by etching them in its surface.  It is in constant communication with the needs of its users, providing them with a sense of sureness and security.  And if for any reason people stop using a path in the woods, the path dies.  After a short time, it leaves no trace of having ever existed.  This is because it is a part of each person who uses it, and its life depends on human interaction.

Contrast that again with the concrete path, which appears almost sterile.  It neither speaks to its users, nor does it listen.  It does not necessarily follow in the intentions of its users, having been laid out by an agenda quite removed from the ordinary agenda of getting from point A to point B in as simple and pleasant a way as possible.  There are no well-worn grooves on the concrete path, nothing to show that people love it, nothing to show familiarity and security.  It may be easy to walk upon in terms of smoothness, but it is a hard and unforgiving path.

Who would want to follow a path like that?  Who would want to follow a path without familiarity, without signs of the seasons, without flowers and animals that live in conjunction with it?  On a concrete path, the mind is not given gentle respite and pleasure, but instead becomes dulled and robotic.

They say, “Mille viae ducunt homines per saecula Romam,” or “a thousand roads lead men forever to Rome.”  This means that many paths can lead people to the same goal.  The question is, what is the goal?  If it is to direct people, manage people, drive people in a certain direction, then a concrete path is perfect for that.  Indeed, the Romans were known for their famous roads.  One of the first things they did upon conquering a nation was build their famous Roman roads, presumably to make it easier to send troops in to control the populace and also to collect taxes.

But the path in the woods--the well-worn path of the country folk--that path does not lead to Rome.  This particular one in the photo, with its deep groove of over a foot in depth, merely leads down to a pleasant spot near the river.  There are no ulterior motives, no reason to drive or control people, no hidden agenda.  It is simply a pleasant way to get to the river.  And why would people want to go to the river?  Don’t ask that question in Rome because they won’t know the answer.  But if you ask me, I’d say the answer is:  “Because it’s there.”

February 26, 2016 - The Sun's Promise

We were promised, so we do not have to be afraid.  The sun has imprinted himself upon every single thing in existence.  There is not one thing on the Earth--not one thing--that does not have the imprint of the sun upon it somewhere.  It is easier to find it on certain things than on others, but it is always there.  It is easy to find it on a plant, a little harder on a rock.  But every single thing carries the imprint of the sun in one way or another.

A promise is a promise.

Everything that bears the sun’s imprint belongs to the sun, and the sun will always come back for his belongings.  From the highest mountain to the lowliest flea, the sun will come back for them both.  And not one thing will be miscounted either--not one thing--because he is very possessive of his belongings.  He knows exactly how many of his creatures exist at any given moment in time, down to the very last one.

So we do not have to be afraid, because we have not been forgotten.  A promise was made to us the moment we came into existence.  The moment we became one of his creatures, we were guaranteed his promise.  We were guaranteed the right to be here, no matter who might tell us otherwise.  We were guaranteed to the right to our lives, no matter who might tell us no. 

Remember this:  Mankind is the only creature who pays money to live on this Earth.  Mankind is the only creature who is told he is in debt from birth to death.  But this is not part of the promise.  This is what we were told by others who want to hide the promise from us.  The deer do not pay to exist, nor do the whales, birds, insects, etc.  Only mankind does so because he has forgotten the promise.

We belong here.  We have not been forgotten.  We may have forgotten our own selves, but we have not been forgotten by the one who imprinted himself upon us the moment we were born.  He said, “I will always come back for you.”  And he always has.

February 25, 2016 - Mother Nature Speaks

[I overheard this conversation Mother Nature was having with herself,

and I recorded it to the best of my ability.]

“I’ll just set these here . . .

So I won’t forget them.

I placed some in a different spot before,

but I forgot where.

I would imagine they’re still there,

wherever “there” is.

At least they ought to be,

or someone will have to answer to me.

But I don’t know where anymore,

which is why I’ll put these here.

This seems a good spot to me.

There’s no place that has any right

walking around being perfect.

What a dull idea.

I’ve never given my permission for that.

"I'll just set these here . . ."

 This idea of perfection is overrated.

Things can’t be placed just anywhere,

especially perfect things.

They must be placed as imperfectly as possible.

That looks perfect to me.

It lights that area up just right.

Which reminds me of my sun . . .

Where did I put him?

I can’t remember for the life of me . . .

But at least the ice looks nice.

I don’t remember arranging it that way.

Those fairies are inclined to be a bit extravagant.

I don’t know where they get it from.

Now where was I?

Ah yes, that hill just over there . . .”

February 24, 2016 - Darkness is a Requirement

Darkness, then, is a requirement, a need.  And since it is a need, it must be fulfilled.  Sooner or later, it must be fulfilled.  There is nothing that occurs by chance.  The sun-lovers, those who gaze adoringly at the brilliant orb of fire, must still pay the toll in the end.  Those who claim only one loyalty must acquiesce at last.  They cannot look too long into the eyes of perfection before having to look away.  Delay it, they may.  Deny it, they do.  But eventually, all eyes must rest in the peace of the shadows.

Nothing occurs by chance.

It is a requirement.  The armbands of the Golden King must be removed at some point to allow the shoulders to slump and the head to bow.  The sigh that escapes is not necessarily sad, but only relieved.  The vigilance is relaxed; the candle snuffed.  It is a time to allow the mist to envelop you, a time to remove the crown of duty.  It is a time to look into forbidden alleys.

It is a need, and there are none who escape it.  Most go to it without thinking or choosing--simply doing so out of sheer exhaustion.  Some fight with every breath they have, but still they bend their knee in the end.  And the clever?  They walk willingly into it because they know that here is found respite and a resonance of spirit.  Here is found solace, despite the loud and vocal minions of the Sun King. 

Stay and hide if you must, but I will dare to walk while the portals are open.  It is a good time of the year.  Deny me what you will, but I have paid my dues.

February 23, 2016 - The Mycelium

There are forest residents we pay very little attention to, if we pay any attention at all.  Usually we first think of the trees because they are so large and majestic.  They are the seemingly undisputed rulers of the forest, and without them, of course, there would be no forest.  Then we look at the other vegetation--the bushes and grasses and general scrub.  They fill in the areas where the trees are sparser, and the truth is, they fight bitterly with the trees all day long for resources and sunlight.  We underestimate there well-earned temerity.

Then we think of the animals, the hidden deer, moose, raccoons, coyotes, minks, and bobcats.  The forest is their home, and the trees and other vegetation give them cover and shelter.  And we think of the birds, too, flitting in and out of the trees, leaving the forest and coming back again at will.  Their nests are high above the other animals, and their vantage point gives them a clear edge over the rest of the forest creatures.

Royalty.

Then it’s on to insects, those buzzing, biting, chirping, jumping, stinging, crawling things.  They’re tiny but oh-so-noticeable.  The smallest bee can command a great deal more attention than the largest buck.  Respect.  That’s what we give to the insects.  That, and a very large area to themselves if we can.  They are a nuisance to humans, although the birds might have a different tale to tell about them.

But there are other denizens of the forest that go largely unnoticed.  They are quiet and shy, and the fungus in this photo is only one of them.  They are neither of the plant kingdom nor the animal kingdom.  They have their own place in the order of things.  We tend to pay so much attention to the plant and animal kingdoms but give little heed to the fungus kingdom, but it is important to remember that it is a kingdom and not just anything gets to have that label.

They’re everywhere.  Everywhere.  They cover the trees, invade the mosses, and ferment all the plant life.  They recycle the dead and give it life once again.  Sort of.  In a non-animal, non-plant, darkness-loving, sun-hating kind of way--the opposite, really, of other life.  Their hidden underground network is called “mycelium,” and it is massive.  The largest example of mycelium is in a 2.400 acre site in Oregon and is estimated to be 2,200 years old and to cover 1,665 football fields.  According to Paul Stamets in Mycelium Running, this one mycelium has killed the forest above it several times and still lives to tell the ongoing tale.

What you see above ground when you look at a tiny mushroom on the forest floor is just the “fruiting body.”  It is the underground network that forms the massive kingdom of fungus, the true undisputed ruler of the forest, the re-fashioner of organic material, the ruler of the world in between life and death--consisting of neither yet commanding of both.

February 22, 2016 - Carving the World

Have you ever fallen down really hard?  Fallen straight down on solid rock?  Perhaps on a knee?  And did you smash it so badly that your teeth chattered and your eyes watered and you limped for weeks?  The fall was so quick that you didn’t have time to realize what was happening until you landed--hard.  Really hard.  Then you were in shock and pain.  But if you looked at the rock, nothing had happened to it.  It remained solid, hard, impenetrable.  It is a rock, after all.

If you were to take the same fall, but take it in waist-high water instead, the outcome would be dramatically different.  The water would cushion you as you fell.  Your knee would  gently tap the bottom, and you might get a face full of water.  You’d be shocked but you’d be laughing, and there would be no pain.  And if you looked at the water, it would appear that nothing had happened to it.  There would be no evidence of your fall.  It is water, after all.

See the power of water.

Yet see how the rock bows to the water in the photo.  See how the mighty kneels and gives way.  See how the solid, the hard, the impenetrable falters and his lip quivers, his head bent in submission.  See how the water roars past the rocks.  See how its soft and cushiony and delicate nature carves through solid walls.  See how the flexible and wavy liquid cuts like the hardest diamond.

There is no rock hard enough that it can resist water, and I am not talking only about raging water with dramatic waves and currents.  Even single drops of water, drop drop dropping, can carve through the hardest rock.  Then add those drops together into a body of water and watch the mighty genuflect to the seemingly meek.  Learn what true power actually is.  Watch the water take on a deified status to what you thought was the power of the material world.

And this is your first clue.  Search now for that thing which makes water appear to be a rock in comparison.  Search and you will find . . . thought.  Thought is like water in a dimension once removed.  Then apply the same principles which Mother Nature has generously shared, and you will carve your world--sometimes drop drop dropping, and sometimes as a raging tempest.  That part is up to you and your self-discipline.  Watch as the world genuflects in ecstasy.

February 21, 2016 - My Side of the River

I like being on this side of the river.  This is the good side.  I think every river has a good side and a . . . not-as-good side.  The side you choose to be on will affect how you see the other side.  I’m on the wild side, the uninhabited side.  There are no buildings where I’m standing.  No electrical wires are running over my head.  I hear the river running strong from the melting snow, and I hear occasional crashes of ice as it breaks free from the river.

This is the good side.

On the other side, life is more confusing, more fast-paced, louder, and filled with lots of entertainment.  There are a million and one things to get done and someone is always in the way, but there are unlimited pastimes and many exotic things to ease the conscience.  If anyone on that side were to look across to my side, I’d probably be too small to see, hiding amongst the trees as I am.  All anyone would see is bunch of rocks on the shore and then some woods.  It’s not really anything to look at, not from that far away.

I know what I’ve got in being on my side of the river, but sometimes I have to go to the other side.  The trick is to try to bring my side of the river with me mentally.  The trick is to bring the fresh pine scent along, with my mind lingering on the wonderful aroma I smell as I walk through the woods.  The trick is to bring the sound of the rushing waves and crashing ice with me instead of listening to cars whizzing by.  The trick is to bring the mindset of peace and room to stretch out with me when I head into the cluttered chaos of the other side.

These are difficult tricks to pull off, but they get easier with practice as long as I don’t have to do them constantly.  As long as I remember to keep peace, serenity, and simplicity in mind, I’ll do alright wherever I go.  I’ve been to places in my past, though, where I was too much enmeshed in the chaos of the “other side.”  I was surrounded by it, devoured by it.  I almost forgot about the good side of the river back then.  I was almost lost to the not-as-good side.

Now I keep a healthy and respectful distance between myself and the other side.  I know what I have, and I wouldn’t take the other side for all the tea in China.  I’ll take the dirt and the mud, the unkempt trails, the washed out roads, and the dark and unlit nights.  I’ll take the scent of pine trees, the roar of the river, and the peace that comes with complete solitude.  I’ll take the hard outdoor work and the severe physical demands placed on me.  It’s not for everyone, but I couldn’t imagine living any other way.  This is my side of the river.

February 20, 2016 - Waiting for Intention

WAITING FOR INTENTION

Half in the shadows

and half in the light,

waiting for intention.

Spiked and sharp

for creation and destruction

at the same time.

It makes little difference.

In reality,

life and death

being just a matter

of perception.

In dreams,

trading places

again.

February 19, 2016 - The Old Pump

There’s an old water pump out in the field, still in use in the warmer weather.  In the winter it just stands guard and waits patiently.  The sun was going down as I snapped the photo, and the last bits of light hit the field along with our silent sentinel, who stood in stalwart salute to his old friend.

Waiting without complaint.

Since he is unneeded just now, no one comes to visit him.  Oh, to be useful again.  Come the warmer weather, though, he will croak and squeak out water once more and feel helpful again.  For now, he faces the west and longingly watches where the sun sets each night on the horizon, with its location changing just the tiniest bit each time.  No one notices it but the old pump. 

Soon the long arms of the high summer sun will stretch all the way across the sky, and there will be much work and celebrating.  No one will notice the sun’s ever-so-slight decline after midsummer, not even the old pump.  But that’s a long time in the future, and for now, it is enough to rest and wait and watch the light slowly grow.

February 18, 2016 - A Presence

The center tree in this photo is hiding a great secret, but the secret is so big that it threatens to spill over around the bark.  In an unusual, brilliant-blue February sky, a presence made itself known to me.  It was so blinding and so stunning that I could not gaze directly at it.  I have not said a word about it to anyone, but I am listening to the forest network, and there are rumors flying . . .

Some people might have been afraid to stalk the presence, but I was not.  This is my territory after all, and I must command it.  I positioned myself behind the middle tree in the photo--not so magnificent a tree, really, as I have surely seen much larger--and I stalked the presence.  When I guessed that it was looking in the other direction, I snapped this photo.  You can see its white-light edges threatening to jump around the tree, but I can report that it did not do so, at least not in my presence.  This tells me that it is thoughtful and purposeful.

The days are still cold as they always are, but I do feel a sort of warming here and there, having passed Brigid’s Day.  It remains to be seen exactly what this brilliant presence was, but I am hopeful that we will be allies, which can often be a good deal better than friends.

For certain, a bold intruder.

February 17, 2016 - Deer Tracks

Sometimes I wonder who is tracking whom.  I love to find deer in the woods in the winter, partly because they’re easier to photograph with the white background, but usually just because I love to see them.  There are certain deer paths in the forest, and once you know how to find them, you can always spot them.  So if you patiently wait in the summer by one of these paths, you’re bound to find deer.

Fresh deer track.

Winter makes it so much easier to find them, though, because of the snow.  And you don’t have to find an established deer path, either.  Just follow the tracks.  It sounds simple enough, but I swear sometimes they play tricks on me.  They double back on themselves.  They leap into unknown (unfound) areas beyond my imagination and capabilities.  They seem to disappear into thin air.

Take this track in the picture, for instance.  It’s quite fresh.  It hasn’t grown or gotten warped or distorted from temperature changes.  It’s a perfect size and was very recently made.  Today’s weather was actually a little above freezing temperature and this track is not remotely compromised, which often happens with older tracks.  Freezing, thawing, and refreezing will distort a track into something huge and almost unrecognizable.  That’s why people sometimes think they have found “Bigfoot” tracks.  It’s just the snow and weather playing tricks on them.  Sort of.  Maybe.  Not really.  Okay, using Bigfoot might not have been the best example.

But anyhow, this beauty was left here less than half an hour ago; I can tell.  It was a good-sized deer, too.  I would have loved to see her.  I can’t help but think that she was hiding just behind a group of trees, not more than several yards from me.  She watched me closely and quietly and did her best not to giggle at my confusion and inability to find her.  She stayed motionless, wondering what I was doing with my camera.  She watched me as I measured the distance from print to print, so close they were because she felt comfortable and safe.

I’m not sure if she stayed where she was and just continued to giggle at my antics.  Humans are terribly stupid at times, and I am the quintessential example of tomfoolery.  Or maybe she just leapt away--silently, quickly, like the wind--leaving more tracks for a slower species to jealously follow.

February 16, 2016 - Old Curmudgeon

OLD CURMUDGEON

Out in the field,

I look crooked and bent.

I’m gray and colorless,

and parts of me are broken,

torn a bit, really,

smashed to hell.

Hanging and blowing in the wind,

clap clap clapping against a wall.

And there’s rust, too,

of course, always rust.

And broken glass,

sharp and wavy and bubbly,

the kind artists look for

because they don’t know it’s all we had.

The old is new to them

on conditions, of course.

Hothouse pansies, each and every one.

But anyway, there are holes,

some in the walls,

some in the roof,

some in the logic.

Yet other than that,

I feel quite fine,

strong, in spite of my shortcomings,

weathering another winter.

I could do it blindfold

with one hand tied behind my back.

I’m a match for anything.

The old curmudgeon.

February 15, 2016 - I Miss My Stream

As you can see, one of my favorite little streams is frozen solid.  This is a place of great meditation for me, and I often come here.  The rushing sound of the water is very lulling and can easily induce deep states of relaxation and other work.  Except now it can’t.  Now the bringer of peace is immobile.

It’s interesting how the sound of water affects human beings, almost always in a positive way.  Tiny raindrops on a tin roof, a torrential downpour in a field, a stream rushing by, the roar of a waterfall.  All of these things give us pause for reflection.  Maybe it’s because we know that moving water always washes things.  Soap just loosens the dirt, but it is water and time--and their combination--that do the real cleaning in our lives, the renewal, if you will.

The magic is still there . . . somewhere, hidden in the ice.

We don’t just walk by a waterfall and ignore it or keep on talking to a friend.  We stop.  We have to stop.  We just have to.  We have to go and look at it.  Did you ever notice how you close your eyes just for a second or two and listen to it?  Or maybe it’s not a waterfall.  Maybe it’s a stream.  You find that one rock it’s really slamming on.  You find that one dip where it all cascades.  And you just look at it and you just listen to it and you just let it wash you.  Then you leave the place changed, better.

When there’s thunder and lightning and the tension mounts and mounts until you feel like you’re about to explode, suddenly the rain comes.  And you give a sigh of relief.  It’s time to let it go now.  It’s time to relax, even if it’s really pouring down, even if it’s raining “cats and dogs.”  Once it finally breaks through, there’s a release of tension.  It’s here now, we say to ourselves, thank heavens.

People don’t realize just how magical water really is.  I’ve covered this idea in one way or another many times in this journal.  Water is the secret of the universe--no doubt about it.  It is not fire.  It is not gravity.  It is water.  Combine it with electricity, and you have the recipe for being a god.  But that’s another story, and you can bet the Great Alchemist figures prominently in it.

Then suddenly, water is bound up in ice.  It transmutes to a crystalline mineral.  When I look at it, I know that somewhere, somehow, the magic is still in there, but it’s trapped.  It is completely immobile--anathema to water’s nature.  But it, too, must bear its yoke, and if it can do so as quietly and patiently as it does, perhaps I can as well.  It’s a lesson I still have to learn.

February 14, 2016 - The Fat of the Land

The Muddy River looks like a lunar landscape now.  The sun, partially hiding behind clouds, is a ghost-like orb in the sky.  Perhaps it is a magnificent ball of fire hurtling through space, dragging its orbital children with it.  This is what we are told, but on a day like this, it is only a spiritual spectre.  A shadow.  A presence.  An apparition.  

A single set of tracks leads out across the snow on the frozen river.  I checked them and they’re deer tracks.  There may have been a small bit of plant material at the edge of the river where I was standing that made the trip necessary.  It’s a difficult time of year for the forest creatures, and oftentimes they must rely on the fat they stored up throughout the summer.

Single tracks across the frozen river.

How odd.  We humans do our best to avoid becoming fat (at which we fail abysmally), and the forest creatures do their best to become as fat as they possibly can.  This is because they know that lean times are ahead, and the best place to store food is on your own body.  You never know who might find a secret cache of food you stored in the woods, but when it’s on your own body, it’s like added insurance.  When the forest creatures build their layer of fat, something they work very hard at doing, they are very satisfied and content.  It’s like money in the bank.

Actually, it’s better than money in the bank.  A lot better.  Money in the bank is really just paper.  These days, it’s just a digital blip on a computer screen.  As long as you can withdraw (or digitally transfer) that money for goods, you’re fine.  But on the day you cannot do so--and that day is coming--the best insurance to have would be a nice layer of fat.  How wise the animals are to know this instinctively!

But I do not make light of their suffering in the winter, and they do suffer, at least from a human’s point of view.  Times are lean now, and they do the best they can.  Sometimes the best they can do is not enough, but it is still the best they can do.  So they plod onward and draw upon their insurance.  It’s a plan the Great Alchemist gave them when they were first being formed.  In those days, they had a say in the final contract.  Both have kept their sacred agreement.

I hope she found a snack on the river’s edge, the sweet little deer who wandered across.  When I saw her prints in the snow and viewed the great fireball through the clouds, I found my own sustenance as well.  Like the deer, I have stored up my spiritual sustenance.  It will have to do for now.  I am doing the best I can do.

February 13, 2016 - Ice Shanty Town

You’re looking at a frozen river.  It looks just like another snow-covered meadow, doesn’t it?  But this is frozen water.  Not very long ago, it was home to fish and waterbirds only.  Now man lives on it as well.  Leave it to mankind to take advantage of every inch of space available.  The winter opens up a whole new opportunity to boldly set out as a pioneer, at least for a couple of months.

Just another ice shanty town, here today, gone tomorrow.

Soon enough, the warmer weather will mark the end of the pilgrimage, and the river will jealously take back her property.  Where it goes from there is a mystery.  You may search all summer long, but you will never find where the river hides her secret meadows.  I’ve been told they are hidden in plain sight, but I never seem to find them.  It is a trick between the river and the Great Alchemist, and they have left me out of the loop.

But the ice fishermen care little for that.  They leave the philosophers to argue about whether or not angels dance on pinheads.  The matter at hand is fishing, and it requires a good deal more concentration and flirting with reality than most wizards are willing to put in.  An ice shanty town is no place for a person of letters, but if you are so inclined, I’m told the fish are jumping.  Bring lots of beer, and no matter what happens, stick to your original story.

February 12, 2016 - Small-Town America

This is a water scene in disguise in small-town America.  What you see in the photo is the old bench down at the Cathance River in Bowdoinham.  It’s a wonderful place to sit in summer if you don’t mind the sunshine (personally, it’s too much for me).  From here, you can watch the comings and goings of the river people.  Life won’t pass you by too quickly here.  There’s a rhythm to the river, and even the great currents of life respect it.

The hub-bub of small-town America.

Just to your left, if you sit on this bench on a sunny summer day, you’ll see a public dock to launch your boat.  There are a few separate platforms, and you will find children diving from them all day long into the river.  Just behind the docks on land are picnic tables, and the mothers are busy yelling at their kids to be careful and not drown one another -- and don’t dive so much! -- and stop screaming! -- and give your brother a turn! -- and why don’t you have something to eat?

Just off to your right is a bridge over the river.  Every year in September, the Great KenDucky Derby Race takes place.  At this event, you buy a ticket for a rubber ducky.  The ducks are all launched at the same time, not far from this very bench.  The first duck to make it under the bridge wins $400, and the last duck to get under the bridge wins $100.  Small-town America is my kind of place.  It’s where people bet on rubber duckies.

But it’s winter now, and these activities will have to wait.  For now, just on the other side of the bridge, the ice shanty towns have gone up.  Crude little shacks form their own little town right on top of the frozen river, complete with a hierarchy, unspoken rules, and a lively nightlife.  The ice fishermen are all having a blast in those little shacks.  When they’re not catching fish, they’re enjoying little wood stoves in the shacks (which keep them quite warm) and are drinking beer with their friends.  It’s not a bad job if you can get it, but again, that’s all part of small-town America.

You can still sit on the bench in the winter, and whenever I’m in town, I usually do so if I have the time.  It’s considerably quieter in the snow, and it gives me a chance to think and reminisce.  Half the fun of memories is creating them.  The other half is enjoying them from a distance created by time, reliving them.  You need both--creating and reminiscing--to make a whole.  And aren’t we so very lucky that the seasons oblige us so willingly?

February 11, 2016 - Adaptation

The Highland Cattle, a breed originally from Scotland, are at home in their element here in Maine.  Their history goes as far back as the 6th century A.D., and this has meaning for me because it tells me that they are “tried and true.”  The cold winters here do not bother these shaggy creatures, and their superior ability at foraging in difficult and poor terrain serves them well.  Many other cattle are much fussier and would never thrive in my climate.

It’s all about adaptation.  The first step to adapting to any situation is accepting it, and this means full acceptance.  There is no blaming and no shaming.  There is just the acceptance of “this is where we are now.”  I believe this is the hardest thing for most people to do in any difficult situation.  Too often we tell ourselves that we “just can’t believe” it.  We’re bowled over.  We’re at an impasse.  We say to ourselves, “This is impossible.”  We live in denial.  We lie to ourselves, and then we lie to others.

Poetry in motion.

And if we go on not accepting our situations, then we can do nothing about them.  Acknowledging them is the first step.  Complete acceptance of our circumstances without blame or anger leaves us open to the next step, and that is assessing the situation.  We say to ourselves, “Okay, what are my priorities?  What absolutely must be done first for survival?”  Now that we are calm and done with the blame and shame, it’s easier to know exactly what we must do to take care of absolute needs.  And when we do that, it becomes much easier to separate the essentials from the frivolities.

By and by, we automatically know and do exactly what must be done to continue our survival.  Next, we begin to ask ourselves, “What are my strong points and what are my weak points?  What am I good at?  Where am I lacking?”  This is another honest assessment, like the step of acceptance above.  There is no room for ego here and no room for victimhood.  However, having successfully shouldered our burden by identifying our priorities and taking care of them as we did above, we are much less likely to be victims than we might have been in the past.

Now we begin to focus on comfort and not just survival, and it is a wonderful thing to be comfortable.  Thoughts of comfort weren’t something we could afford when we were in crisis mode, but now we are out of the crisis, or at the very least, we have grown shoulders large enough to handle it well.  Comfort brings joy, and joy leads to art.  Even primitive man fashioned absolute necessities such as drinking vessels or cutting tools into works of art.  Now beauty is a part of our life, even if it is only for function and necessary things.  Drinking water from a rounded leaf is practical.  Drinking water from a carved animal horn is divine.

Each step occurs in accordance with our ability to adapt to our situation.  My mother always said, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”  The older I get, the more meaning that phrase has.  First, it only meant that I had to pay my own way.  Then it meant that no one would give me something without expecting something in return.  Then it meant that we’re better off forging our own path than relying on someone else.  Then it meant that we get out of life what we put into it.  It keeps changing.

But the Highland Cattle, the majestic beasts of the field, patiently adapt to their surroundings.  Their thick and shaggy coat insulates them from the barbarity of the tundra.  Instead of enormous layers of fat, the Highland Cattle have adapted their shaggy hair instead (which makes their meat very sought after).  They dig through the snow with their horns to find food, which other cattle would turn their noses up to, but they are survivors and they know how to find what they need so that they can have what they want.

Be like the Highland Cattle.  It won’t solve all of your problems, but it will make them much more manageable.  Be graceful and accepting.  It doesn’t mean you don’t deserve more or can’t strive for better things, but it does mean that you know how to bide your time.  Be industrious and hardworking, ensuring needs are met, but be certain that it is your needs that are met and not those of a faceless corporation.  Be comfortable and artistic.  Beauty is not only in the eye of the beholder, but in the hand of simplicity and sublime function.