June 30, 2016 - Saling to the Dog Star

We are sailing into the days of Sirius, and already I can feel the effects of the Dog Star, although his official appearance is not until July 3--and more about that then.  But it is enough to say that this dog plagues me already, the heat climbing ever upward and scorching the land.  The only relief is to be found in the constant wind at the ocean’s shore.

All aboard for Sirius.

As a cold lover, these are the times for me that are similar to winter storms and blizzards for the heat lovers.  As the sun’s creatures hide in fear indoors from the ice in the winter, so I must stay in the shade or indoors when Sirius is on his way, with my eyes only halfway open, the brilliance being that painful.  These are the days when ambition languishes and dreams are set aside.

The sun takes his time stretching slowly across the sky, exaggerating his importance and being altogether overbearing.  I haven’t the heart to break it to him that his days are numbered, but I doubt he’d believe me if I did.  His days of humility are over for now, as you might have guessed, and from his behavior you would think that he’d never experienced them at all.  But we know better, don’t we?  And soon he will, too.

But that is all a dream for now.  Sirius has not even arrived yet.  The fevers must climb higher still, until love for the Lord of Winter is “kindled” once again.  I will be the one holding the match.

June 29, 2016 - By the Calendar

The first hay bales of the season are all wrapped up like giant brown marshmallows sitting in the field.  Pastoral life is marked by the tasks that must be done and not by the manmade calendar, although there is an undeniable and inescapable rhythm.  There always seems to be more to do.

Waiting for the hay.

I lived in a city a long time ago, and I used to think my life was very busy.  Now when I think back to it, I can’t remember really doing anything.  I worked a job, of course, and other than that, life seemed to be marked around social outings.  Years seemed to pass very fast that way.  I didn’t like my job at all, so in my mind, those days didn’t really “count” because I couldn’t have “fun” and I was miserable.

The only problem was that those five days a week didn’t count for me at all as being part of my life, which left me with the two weekend days, for a total of 104 days per year.  At least half of those 104 days were spent buying the things I didn’t grow or couldn’t make and fighting traffic, which left me with 52 days per year.  Out of those 52 days, at least 12 were spent in commitments to families, which left me with 40 days per year.

A 40-day year sure passes by fast, and several of those 40-day years can pass in the blink of an eye.  But I don’t live in the 40-day years anymore, and I’m sure glad of that.  The years have 365 days again and a lot of those days involve work and not social outings, but it’s not work I hate.  I don’t really look at it as work anymore at all.  I look at it as tasks that must be done in the inescapable rhythm of life, which I rather enjoy.

So the first hay bales sit in the field, and the canning season is well underway with lots of food being put into jars already.  By the time fall comes around and the main harvests come in, I’ll be ready for the deep winter sleep.  It’s not a manmade calendar and there aren’t any alarms that go off, but it works for me.

June 28, 2016 - Tree Haiku

TREE HAIKU

scaly rough outside

hiding soft and precious life

then bursting forward

June 27, 2016 - Ghosts in the Trees

A ghost in plain sight, the old leaves cling to the top of the tree, refusing to let go.  I would have thought they missed their old glory, but it seems to me that they delight in their bleakness.  All around them, a wide berth is given, as if the living leaves fear them, and well they should.  Life continues carefully in a walled path around the old leaves, pretending not to notice death.

Yet another ghost found wandering . . .

There they stand, silently challenging, knowing not one creature would willingly rise to the challenge.  And yet, each one in its own time will do exactly that.  The wind will change direction one day, and the call will be issued.  It is a call that none of us may avoid.  Stand and report!  What have you done with your life?

The dead is displayed in a macabre scene deep in the woods.  Or in the graffiti on the subways of the city.  Or as a mummy in ancient Egypt.  They are a reminder that this present existence is a dress rehearsal, and we have all forgotten our lines.  The Great Alchemist is the Director who hires and fires at will.  The priests are the costume designers whose job it is to make it all seem real.  And you and I are not in the audience but on the stage, caught in the act of spontaneous life once again.

June 26, 2016 - Another Path

It’s easy to start out strong when you make an “official” decision, but it’s not so easy to keep that strength up and stop doubts from creeping in.  No matter how much you’ve gone over the issue, how much you’ve considered the pros and cons, how sure you are in your decision, after the initial momentum has passed, the doubts creep in.

The adventure begins.

I think it’s normal.  I worry about people who don’t have doubts, but it can sure drive you crazy when they creep in.  You might find yourself saying aloud, “We’ve been over this a million times already!”  And then you look around belatedly to make sure that no one has heard you.  Especially since you’re all alone and there’s no “we” to be found, and there you are talking to yourself.  It must be the royal “we.”

It’s just another path.  You get on it and you start going.  There aren’t any maps.  If there were, you’d have found them and you wouldn’t be talking to yourself.  No, you get on the path and you keep walking.  Some parts seem simple; some not so very.  Sometimes the path almost seems to disappear.  That’s when you look back and wonder if you should retrace your steps.  Should you?  If you want to end up where you started, walk back.

A path automatically implies that someone has walked before you.  If no one had been there, there would be no trail.  So trust in that.  Trust in your initial decision, your initial counsel.  There is nothing new under the sun.  This has all been done before.  Stick with the decision even when the doubts creep in, even when the path becomes narrow and it doesn’t seen nearly as well-worn.

There are times when you blaze a new trail and times when you follow a path.  Either way, the choice involves trust.  There just aren’t any maps, but there are always signs.

June 25, 2016 - Facing the Darkness

FACING THE DARKNESS

I asked the Sun if I could stay with him.

“No.”

I won’t be too much trouble.

I don’t need much.

“You cannot.”

But I’m lonely in the night.

And the darkness frightens me.

I want to stay with your light.

It will comfort me.

“I travel alone.”

But surely your arms are big enough?

Your chariot lavish enough?

“I am too swift, too fiery.”

But in the dark I feel I might die.

I shiver with fear.

I am naked and blind.

“But you always reach the morning.”

Because you always come.

“Because you always do.”

Just once, can I come with you?

I do not feel brave tonight.

I do not want to face the darkness alone.

“You cannot come with me.”

And with that he left, and the darkness came.

And his words echoed in my mind.

But I did not hear, “You cannot come with me,” in my mind.

I heard, “I cannot come with you.”

It is I, after all, who must face the darkness alone.

 

June 24, 2016 - Relax

Sometimes it’s okay to not know what to do.  It’s okay to see both sides of a story and agree and disagree with them both--at the same time.  We have this thing in us that makes us feel that we always have to be in control of our surroundings as much as possible.  We have to be “on top of it.”  We’ve got to formulate plans and systems and schemes.  How foolish.  As if the world somehow depended on us.

Going with the flow.

And sometimes, no matter how hard we try, everything just blows up right in our faces.  But the thing to remember is that we are free, and as free people we have free choice.  This is such a very precious thing that most of us take for granted if we think about it at all.  Being free means that my choice might not be the same as your choice, and vice versa.  Being free means that not only do I get to choose how I want to live my life, but I also get to choose how I want to feel about your choices.  But I don’t get to choose your choices for you, and I do have to live with the consequences of my own choices.

Little ducks paddle by me on the river.  They’re quite loud and rowdy, and if I didn't know better, I'd say they were speaking directly to me.  They swim easily with the current and they swim easily against it, and they don’t seem to care about it one way or the other.  I imagine that they are saying, “Relax.  Let go.  You were never in control anyway.  Enjoy the ride.”  Or maybe they’re just mad that I’m in one of their sunbathing spots.

June 23, 2016 - Wild Food

The tiny wild strawberries are beginning to ripen. These are not cultivated berries.  You have to search for them in wooded areas and on the side of dirt roads.  They like to hide under their foliage, so you really need a keen eye to find them.  But they are so worth finding, and their time is so short.  Each year when they arrive, they announce the next wonderful phase.

A wild strawberry (Fragaria vesca).

Most people have probably never seen these because you will never find them in a store.  For one thing, they’re far too small.  This is about as big as they get.  Their color never gets to a deep ruby red but rather stays as a bright crimson.  They are not nearly as sweet as cultivated berries, having just a hint of sweetness but with an outstanding taste of naked strawberry.  And finally, they don’t travel well at all, so you really couldn’t ship them anywhere.

These are a spur-of-the-moment snack that you never strike out deliberately to find but stumble upon entirely by accident.  In fact, if you deliberately look for them, I can assure you that you will not find them.  They love to hide.  Even the birds have a hard time finding them, and that’s saying something.  But if you stumble upon them completely unaware and take them by surprise, you are in for a real treat.  They are pure strawberry and nothing else.

There are some things that must be experienced to be believed.  The first of these is the experience of the bounty of the Earth through free food.  This is not a “free lunch” from a friend or a coupon to buy one and get one free.  This is pure bounty strewn everywhere, haphazardly, in a tremendous and beautiful disarray.  It is a reminder that food--sustenance--is part and parcel of the deal of life, and it is everywhere if we only open our eyes.

The next thing is the freshness of the food.  Actually, “freshness” is not a good word, really.  Freshness merely implies a better state than rotten.  When food like this is found, it is literally alive.  The very second before you pick the berry, it is connected to the energy grid of the Earth.  It has communed with the sun that morning.  It has drunk heavily of the rains.  It is a living thing put there as part and parcel of the deal of life.  Now it lives, now you live.

I used to think it was just in my imagination that every time I ate wild food from the woods, I would feel a bit lightheaded.  It’s not a bad “lightheaded” but a good one.  It’s hard to explain, but I feel that I see and hear things just a bit differently.  As I said, I used to think it was in my imagination, but it happens every time.  I often wonder if it has to do with the extreme vitality in the food I’m eating.  Organic food from a store is quite good, but it has already lost its spirit, I think.  Food in the woods has not done so, and I think the energy just passes from one creature to another.  The Earth is not picky.

The raspberries are coming, too.  Later we’ll collect the tiny wild blueberries--thousands and thousands of them!--and after that, the blackberries.  The lambsquarters and the dandelions are churning out tons of greens, and later in the fall the mushrooms will come.  It is a veritable smorgasbord, and it’s all free.  Adjust your tastes, adjust your mind, adjust your lifestyle and become part and parcel of the deal of life.  Your end will come eventually, but that is part of the deal, too.

June 22, 2016 - Keep Out!

The animals don’t pay it any mind at all.  They come and go as they please.  The birds and insects fly in and out, and none of them ever worry about whether they’re trespassing or not.  There are places that animals don’t go--usually those infested with humans--but there aren’t really any places that they can’t go if they felt like it.  Nothing is forbidden to them.

Animals don’t police themselves.  They don’t worry about signs, and they don’t think about property lines either.  They don’t even know they exist.  They don’t try to sneak or to get away with anything.  Their minds are completely free of restrictions.

Restricted.

Just imagine what that would be like.  Imagine if your mind were completely free of restrictions.  There wouldn’t be anything you couldn’t do if you wanted to do it and if you were capable of doing it.  There wouldn’t be any signs.  You would never feel a prohibition.  You would never feel as if something were being kept from you or as if you didn’t qualify for something.  You wouldn’t have to plan your life around any obstacles at all.

What kind of a person would you be?  Would you be quiet and unassuming as the animals are, or would you be loud and greedy and selfish?  Would you take everything for yourself and impose restrictions on others, or would you move over for others who came into the same space?  If you had no restrictions, you would have no fear of consequences.  Would that change your disposition?

How strong and noble the animals must be!  How generous and full of grace!  Creatures who know no limitations imposed by others or by the self, yet still they maintain their innocence and gentility.  Creatures who follow no rules and have no spiritual guidance, yet still they remain kind and generous--and with no law that says they must.  And we call them “animals.”

Of course, this sign is meant only for humans, exclusively for humans.  “Keep out.”  You’re not allowed in.  You can’t go here.  There’s a rule or a law or someone else “owns” it.  It’s mine.  You can’t have it.  Keep out!

I walked right by the sign and kept on going without slowing my step.  It’s in my nature to do so.  I did know what the sign meant, but I chose to ignore it.  That, too, is in my nature.  Choice is distinctly human, and I sometimes behave all too human.  But the woods are my playground, and I sometimes behave all too animalish as well.

June 21, 2016 - Eight Lessons

EIGHT LESSONS

old tractor wheel

no longer used or needed

motionless

but still relevant

a symbol, an icon, a secret code

the eight sections of the wheel

the eight sections of the year

it keeps spinning

spring, summer, fall, winter

and the four times in between

nature spins it perfectly

so well versed is she

man would do well to study her

the seed is planted in the fall

at the cross-quarter day, it goes to sleep

in the winter, it dies

at the cross-quarter day, it enters the spirit world

in the spring, it is born--something from nothing

at the cross-quarter day, it quickens

then on to summer and massive growth

at the cross-quarter, the first harvest

and then to return to the seed

thus it goes, around and around

like a spinning wheel, the eight lessons

hiding the key in plain sight

June 20, 2016 - Four Months

Four months ago, this area was covered in snow and ice.  It was cold and desolate, and everything was dead.  There was not one green leaf to be found, not one flower petal.  Only a hollow and lonely-sounding wind roamed the area, screeching and pulling at skin and eyes.  It was a desolate time.  Four months ago, this was the Land of the Dead, and everything reeked of bereft emptiness and sorrow.

But now, just four months later, the landscape has been miraculously transformed.  Today, on this Summer Solstice, the Earth bursts at the seams with massive greenery and flowers.  There are hundreds of birds tweeting, thousands of insects humming, and sunny meadows brimming with colors as far as the eye can see.  Four months later, this is the Land of the Living, and eternal promise is its song.

Once covered in ice and snow and death.

Can four months make such a difference?  Apparently so.  Four months ago, a secret deal was struck between the Land of the Living and the Land of the Dead.  Four months ago, they met in secret beneath the very spot at which I stood to take this photo, and they planned this brilliant day.  Agreements were made and steep prices were paid.  In hidden caches beneath the frozen ground, tiny shards of life waited in a state of suspended animation, the Earth having sown her seeds earlier at the Festival of Dying.  And there they waited through the long death, in patient expectancy in order to fulfill their part of the bargain.

We may rightly say that they did not disappoint and that they kept their end of the bargain smashingly well.  We may say that they went overboard in their expression, in their desire to fulfill their part of the deal  We may say that four months ago a dream of bounty and lavish abundance was planned--dearly bought and paid for--the execution of which even the Earth bows to in submission.

And now at the pinnacle, at the height of the season of life, what now?  Do we remain motionless in this snapshot of joy and plenty, having experienced the ultimate?  Or does the wheel continue to turn?

Beneath my very feet, even now, the forces of life and death are meeting once again, and yet again a deal is being struck at this very moment.  In four months’ time, this landscape will be tired and brown, ready to sail into the Festival of Dying.  In four months’ time, there will be no buzzing insects and very few birds.  The green swelling will be gone, the flowers long since forgotten, and the wind will begin to pick up his lonely cry once again.  The scent of decay will be heavy in the air.

Four months from now, a deal struck today will plunge our world headlong into darkness and death as we race toward the annihilation of the daylight with open arms.  Even as I write, the forces have clashed and the course has been decided.  The outcome is already written in stone.  Most of mankind and the animals will continue to blissfully dance, unaware of the dark deal, and rightly so.

Who cares what happens in four months’ time on such a brilliant day?  I hide my eyes from the sun so that he will not know that I have eavesdropped on the deal between the darkness and the light.  Let him think that I am just another midsummer reveler come to dance with the fairies into the night.

In four months’ time, I will place my seeds in tiny coffins and plant them in the dark Earth.  There they will wait through the long death in a state of suspended animation, shards of life striking deals with the dark night.

June 19, 2016 - Wish Thief

I saw the perfect dandelion growing.  I knew it was the right one.  It was big and brilliant and beautiful.  I watched it from behind a tree so that it would not know of me.  I saw it communing with the Sun and the Rain and the Earth.  Daily it grew until it was at its pinnacle of yellow perfection.  No other dandelion in the field could match it.  Yes, it was perfect, magnificent.  It was exactly what I was looking for.

I knew this perfect beauty of a dandelion would create the perfect wishes in its seeds.  Daily I went to my hiding spot behind the tree to watch the dandelion in its various stages.  It went from its ultimate zenith to looking slightly smaller but still beautiful.  The bees were having a love affair with it.  The other dandelions looked on in jealousy.  Even after its prime, it was still master of the field.

I kept watching, waiting for my chance to get those perfect wishes.  The flower closed suddenly.  It was much quicker in its movement than I thought it would be.  All at once, the yellow brilliance was gone, covered by green again with just the slightest pale yellow showing here and there.  The magic was starting to work.  The seeds were being filled with it.  Soon they would be all mine!

The magnificent wishes.

And what would I do with the seeds?  I would make wish after wish after wish.  They would be grand wishes filled with riches and beauty and wealth and power and glutted abundance.  I would wish on that extraordinary dandelion all day long, and its magic seeds would carry my wishes to the four corners of the Earth.  With seeds like that, I was bound to have all my wishes answered.

I kept watching the dandelion from behind the tree.  And sure enough, it burst open quickly one morning into a head filled with the most magnificent seeds I had ever seen!  Once again, it was much quicker in its movement than I thought it would be.  There the wishes stood, majestic in the field, perfect.  I tried to figure the best time to approach them.  I wanted to make sure that I could get as much magic out of them as possible.  If there were more magic left in the stem, I wanted it to go into the seeds.  And so I waited.

And I waited. And I wondered.  And I faltered, unsure of the timing, unsure of myself, filled with greed.  Just then, a strong wind began to blow and clouds crashed into one another over my head.  The field that was sunny only moments ago became grey and cold.  Then the Wind blew fiercely and cruelly, and before my very eyes, I watched him stick a steely grey hand out to grab my wishes.

I leapt forward to stop him, but I am just a slow human and I never stood a chance.  But he knew that.  He brushed his cold palm upon the dandelion and stole every single wish from it and then scattered those wishes to the four corners of the Earth.  I could hear him laughing as he passed me by, and I knew that all my wishes had been stolen.

From my hiding spot behind the tree as I spied the dandelion in the field, coveting its beauty and waiting for my chance to steal its wishes, the Wind had also hidden behind every other tree in the woods and watched me as I watched the flower.  As the flower grew, so did my lust.  And as I was about to spring, I had been sprung upon.

I dared not utter a complaint.  To whom would I complain?  Would I tell the Sun that I had planned to steal the bounty of his beautiful yellow friend?  Would I tell the Rain that I had planned to steal the seeds it had helped to nourish?  Would I tell the Earth that I had lusted after one of her children so that I might steal her wishes?  How then should my complaint be worded?

The best wish thief in the world had been bested by her own trickery.  It is hardly worth the telling, much less the self-righteous indignation.  I got what I deserved, after all.

June 18, 2016 - Butter

As if the Earth were a thick slice of homemade bread, Mother Nature has gone ahead and slathered it thickly with buttercups.  As far as the eye can see almost everywhere, there are buttercups.  And like warm and thick butter on delicious bread, the buttercups are tantalizing on the roadsides.  The picture doesn’t do them justice because their color is a dramatic brilliant yellow that mesmerizes the eyes.

A field of buttercups.

I remember running through fields and fields of buttercups when I was young.  We would grab a flower and hold it to our friends’ throats and ask them if they liked butter, to which they would usually respond yes.  If the brilliant yellow color was reflected on their throats, it meant they did, indeed, like butter, and we would tell them that they spoke the truth.  If they said no and the reflection had shown on their throats (as it always did), we would tell them that they were lying and that they did, indeed, like butter.

Because, after all, a buttercup cannot lie.  Its tiny yellow flower lives but a short time turned up toward the sun in an ecstatic embrace, and to hell with the rest of the world.  For a buttercup, the sun is all there is.  Now that is honesty.

June 17, 2016 - To The Path

TO THE PATH

He leads me on

and brings me to my dream

The road knows the dream well

I don’t have to explain

He puts a path out there for me

and all I have to do is follow it

and stay on the path

and not be tempted by pretty mushrooms

or dragons made of wood

or shiny fairies’ wings

Or do be tempted

as all mankind is

Be tempted by it all

but remember to come back to the path

and also

each time I stray will cost me time

precious time

How old am I then?

To the path

It leads into the woods

Stay on the path and I needn’t fear

The outside world is a mirage

a dream of consciousness

and consciousness can be changed

The path cannot.

June 16, 2016 - Glass Globes

Did you ever have one of those toys that was a big glass orb filled with some sort of scene and enclosed in a liquid?  You’d shake it up and tiny things would fly around and eventually settle into interesting patterns.  Sometimes it was little white things made to look like snow flying around the globe in a wintry scene.  Santa could be seen in the hills.  Sometimes it was tiny pieces of glitter, and you’d shake it up hard and the glitter pieces would fly all around, shimmering and shining and settling down on to the already-made scene at the base.

Obviously, this was before video games.  I loved to shake those orbs up--the bigger, the better.  Some of them also included little music boxes in the bottom, so you could play a tune related to the scene inside and watch the little pieces of confetti fly around the globe in the perfect little world in your hands.  Believe it or not, this provided great fun for many people in the “old days.”  Children still love them, although I don’t think they make many anymore.

 

Life in a glass globe.

Sometimes when I come home with photos and I get a chance to look at them, I get the strangest feeling that I’ve been inside of one of those little glass orbs all along.  Maybe it’s just the curvature of the sky or the haziness of the horizon that makes me feel that way.  I half expect to see confetti drifting downward.  In this photo, I look at all the rocks and pebbles and sand piled up in heaps, placed haphazardly as if they had fallen straight from the sky.  And I wonder . . .

Maybe we’re all just in a large glass globe.  Maybe a strange and alien being is shaking up his ball and delighting in how things fall, now here, now there.  Perhaps our whole world is just a gift to delight the eyes of a simple creature.  When he picks up his glass orb, storms appear and rattle the Earth.  When he shakes it up, whole continents collide, and civilizations come and go, falling haphazardly out of the sky and landing in a perfect little already-made scene.

And I’m just a piece of confetti, walking along the shore of the glass globe in a world that sometimes seems too terrible or too perfect to be true, depending on how the orb is shaken.

June 15, 2016 - The Sun Came Looking For Me

THE SUN CAME LOOKING FOR ME

 

The sun came looking for me today

but he never found me.

I hid beneath a bridge.

I hid within the forest.

I hid beneath a tree.

I watched him through the leaves

that bold and brilliant god

shining gold and heat and light

so majestic.

I searched for his arrogance.

All gods are arrogant.

Surely I would find it.

All great things must preen.

But instead I found a child

looking for his favorite toy

forlorn, unable to find it

sending out a brilliant prayer

with rays that traveled through the universe

head bowed in honesty

praying for his favorite toy.

Hiding beneath a tree

I was wrong about the sun.

I was selfish.

The arrogance was mine.

But unable to cry

He finally slipped behind a cloud

and I was left alone

in foolish darkness.

June 14, 2016 - The Human Spirit

It’s the shining forth of the human spirit.  You couldn’t stop it no matter how hard you tried.  No matter how hard, the human spirit will always shine forth.  In all of its imperfections, its sometimes ugliness, its weaknesses and callousness, its ignorance and selfishness, in the end the human spirit will always shine forth.  And when times are especially low and especially broken and especially filled with terror, that is when the human spirit shines its brightest.

Because you cannot kill the light.  You can douse it temporarily.  You can shield your eyes.  You can ignore it and run from it.  But you cannot extinguish it.  Light is one of the Vital Principles, which means it has no opposite.  Light can drive out the darkness in an instant, but there is nothing that can drive out the light--at all, ever.  Even a single candle can hold itself against the entire horde of darkness in the Universe, and there’s not a thing the darkness can do about it.

June 13, 2016 - Water Lily

I think a compromise was made a long time ago to preserve the peace.  The water could not bear the beauty that the land poured forth.  Even though there was stunning brilliance beneath the waves, it could not be seen.  It remained hidden with the deep blue mirror.  But the land?  She had no shame.  She delivered her beauty in abundance at the feet of any who would ask for it, and even those who did not ask at all.

As anyone can tell you, it does not do well to anger the water sprites.  Flood after raging flood ravaged the land until the world was quite forlorn and headed for certain destruction, yet still the water creatures showed no sign of letting up.  Just when it seemed as though the world might perish, a small plant volunteered a small solution.  That plant was a little lily.

A brave plant, indeed.

She flung her roots way down low into the water and was amazed at the beauty she saw in the deep blue pools.  Surely, it was grander than anything she had seen on the dry Earth.  The water plants were as intrigued with her as she was with them, and so instead of drowning her, they gave her some beautiful qualities that were usually only reserved for the Kingdom of Water.

The first sprouts reached the surface of the water, and then they formed flat leaves, which the lily called “pads.”  The pads often got quite large and were visited by exotic insects who loved to sun themselves in the irresistible combination of sun and water.  This thrilled the frogs who delighted in the windfall of insects, and the explosion of new frogs in turn delighted the birds and foxes.

And it would have been just fine if the lily had stopped there because it was a beautiful sea of brilliant floating green pads, like shiny and perfect little green boats.  How lovely!  But the lily was not done.  Armed with the knowledge of the water creatures, she sent out colored balls atop the pads.  The sun came to investigate and kissed them, whereupon they burst open into brilliant, peculiar flowers of white, yellow, and pink.  There they floated, spiky and beautiful in the sun, surrounded by water, untouchable by land.

That the Earth put forth a dazzling display of loveliness of infinite forms cannot be denied, but to this day she still cannot recreate the water lily with the bold flat green leaves and flowers that mimic the sun.  Secretly she seethes in jealousy but says not a word.  Another flood to engulf the world would not do at all.  So she sits at the edge of the water and stares out into a world of beauty she can never enter, and that will just have to be good enough for her.

June 12, 2016 - Our Passages

I went to a commencement ceremony today.  My claustrophobia kicked in instantly when I walked in the door of the crowded auditorium.  As always, I immediately mapped out all the windows and exits and made note of them in my mind as if I were chiseling stone.  It’s always the first thing I do upon entering any building.  It took a while to get used to so many people in one place, but eventually I did, and it was a very pleasant experience.

We have special ceremonies in our lives to mark important passages--births, deaths, marriages, graduations, etc.  We make an announcement to the world:  “This thing has happened!  Please take note!”  Yesterday we were one thing; now we are another.  You must treat us accordingly.

The elusive lady slipper marks the passage from spring to summer.

We see it everywhere, though.  Mama birds pushing little birds out of the nest.  Time to fly!  Cubs being taught to hunt.  Male animals displaying fabulous colors and raucous calls to the females.  "I’m here!  Look at me!  It’s time for my next phase."  Autumn signals the height of its intensity with brilliant colors as it transitions into death.  Winter engulfs it all with its icy snow.  Spring announces its arrival with greenery and that certain scent.  Summer displays its abundance.  Each makes a glorified announcement and then bows to the next.

What is the difference between yesterday and today when we mark our passages?  Can 24 hours really make a difference?  Apparently, it can.  Yesterday the young people were all students; today they are graduates.  The shift is a mental one, but we mark it with a physical passage to make sure that the change has been impressed upon everyone.

Like the fall leaves, the gleaming ice, the swelling buds, and the lush green growth, humans also mark their passages.  Without the flamboyant signs, we might easily forget or not even notice.  But if we are going to make an announcement, it ought to be grand, indeed.  Go all the way or don’t go at all.

We are travelers along a time line, careening through outer space on our little blue marble.  We have much to celebrate, many sparks to shower into the endless night.  “We are big and we are great!” we say in tiny voices.  And like the millions of colorful leaves that gently glide to the ground in the fall, to be trampled underfoot and then destroyed in the winter, we make a brilliant show of it anyway.  We are fabulous, after all, as brilliant as the maples at the height of their change.  We display our minuscule nature with incredible pomp and circumstance, and rightly so.

Onward to the next milestone!  The seasons lead us to the next transmutation, bowing gracefully as they do while we gallop through like a herd of wild buffalo.

June 11, 2016 - From the Silence

You just have to do what makes you happy, and usually that is some sort of expression of yourself.  We get so caught up in the status quo of fake expression, in what others think we ought to do or in what is prescribed to us by society’s ever-watchful eye.  But if we just turn off all the noise--turn off the TV, turn off the internet, turn off the phone, turn off the iPod--we’re left with just silence.

Breathing in and breathing out.  Can you hear yourself breathe in the silence?  The breath is thunderous.  Eyes dart around quickly, looking for . . . something, looking for something.  Anything.  Anything at all.  What is this thing called “silence”?  There’s nothing whatever to do.  No distractions, no pleasant pastimes.  Just silence.

Unscripted.

Ah, but the things that come out of the silence.  Did you ever notice?  It’s all creativity--always.  And purpose.  And goals.  That’s what the silence brings.  It brings self-expression, self-awareness.  It brings a do-it-yourself craft, a clean kitchen, a freshly baked pie, an organized list, a plan of action, a kiss from Nature . . .  The silence always gives birth.  It’s where everything comes from.  Everything.

Which is why every effort is made to be certain that you never go into the silence, to be certain that you never ask the real questions, to be certain that you never find yourself.  Because the moment you do, everything will change.  The moment you do, the thin mirage will come crashing down and smash to smithereens. 

And then you’ll be alone--scared, empty, and alone.  But not for long.  Now that the mirage has fallen, true vision is at last obtained.  We take our empty canvas, vast and wondrous, and we begin to paint our lives.  Don’t be afraid!  There is no one to judge your skills, and there is every reason to believe that you might be wonderful after all, just the way you are.

A little path of stones flanked with marigolds and small flags leads the way to a small lighthouse replica sitting in a sea of green grass, which “grows all around, all around.”  A tulip flag and lobster traps, gull decoys and a pail, buoys and a lobster, a sun symbol and an old stone wall make up the paint on an even older canvas left out back behind the shed.  Who’s to say whether it’s beautiful or not?

We may rightly say it is unsophisticated, but how marvelous, that.

June 10, 2016 - Old Doors

You can tell a lot about an era and the people who lived in it by looking at their doors.  Here’s an old door that has certainly seen its better days, but it still has a lot of character.  First, you’ll see that there’s no lock.  Never had it; never needed it.  There was no one to lock out and no one to lock in.  There’s not even a latch.  This was a door designed to keep the elements out and possibly animals but nothing else.

Imagine living in a world where not only do you not have to lock your door, but your door doesn’t even have a lock in case the idea of locking it might have somehow entered your head.  Imagine being in a place so safe that theft was not a concern, not even a thought.  Imagine living without fear of strangers, without worrying about crime.  Your door is simply the gateway to the outdoors, or to the indoors depending on which side you’re on.

A doorway to another time.

If you lived in a world like that, you wouldn’t need a hook by the door to keep your keys.  You wouldn’t have to go searching for your keys when you misplaced them because you wouldn’t have any keys to misplace.  You wouldn’t have to worry if you lost your keys that someone might find them and enter your house while you were asleep or away.  You wouldn’t have to worry about locking yourself out by accident and having to wait for someone to get home or having to break a window to get in.

And if you didn’t have to worry about all of those things, imagine how comforting that would be.  No fear of loss, no fear of trespassing, no fear of others.  Imagine what freedom that would bring, and it would be so natural, so expected.  Imagine that every person you met would be automatically viewed as a potential friend and not a criminal.  Imagine the safety of simply smiling and saying hello to someone because you haven’t locked everything up--including your heart--when you left your house in the morning.

There’s a lot of psychology to turning the key in a lock.  Don’t believe me?  Then try it sometime.  Leave your house one day without locking the door.  Just leave.  Don’t bring your key with you.  Leave it in the house.  Your door will look exactly the same, so no one will know that it’s not locked.  How do you feel?  Unsafe?  Insecure?  Does it make you feel confused, sort of like that nagging feeling of knowing you were supposed to do something but didn’t?  Do you find yourself thinking all day long about the door and the lock and your house and your stuff?  Your muscles might be pretty sore by the end of the day from all that fear and tightening.

In the photo, there are old windows on both sides of the door-that-has-no-lock to see who has come to visit you or to check out the weather.  Candles used to be kept there, and right by the door there was a gun.  Wait . . . does that mean that the residents didn’t feel safe?  No, not at all.  They felt quite safe, indeed.  It was for hunting or protecting livestock from predators, for the most part.  It was part of everyday life, and no one was afraid of it.  The lock took its place years into the future, but it was a poor substitute that was only good at locking the residents inside and protected nothing.

A candle in the window was lit when a family member was away so he could find his way back.  It was also lit because houses were far away, and spotting a candle in a window provided comfort and shelter if one was lost in a storm.  A candle in the window was a beacon that provided hope.  A candle in the window often announced a birth or other good news in the family.  And one lonely candle lit in a window in a lonely room was a sign left for a family member who had passed on.  His soul could find home in the darkness because of the candle.

Old doors and old windows give us a glimpse into a time that has now passed, but that time still lives within each of us.  Can there be one among us who would not want a world where locks were unnecessary and where a lit candle called out friendship into the night?  So long as these things still live in us--and they do--we can strive for a time like that again.  At the very least, we can conjure the feeling of safety--the right of safety and home that was a given in everyone’s life at some point in America.