Notes

 "Gratitude is fertile ground."  

Julia Cameron  

    

I have begun reading Craig Child's book, Apocalyptic Planet, Field Guide to the Future of the Earth.  It is giving me courage for the journey into this time of climate chaos. He reminds me that the earth is ancient (certainly by human standards, anyway) and has never been what we think of as stable. We know we are not in for an easy time, and that to witness the extinction of species is a heavy, sorrowful burden. Yet, to read of Childs' walk among the falling glaciers in Patagonia or the unforgiving desert of Sonora, somehow gives me strength.  Childs has an ability to both see and "listen" to deserts, plummeting sheets of ice, and the slow decay of trees and can actually translate some of those messages for us. I think I will go out and take a listen. I have learned that even pollen has a song. The song that I can hear is the hum of a bee at work. We, too, still have work to do, and a major portion of that work is learning to honor the struggles of the life of our earth today. Our song does not have to be solely a dirge of destruction. Yesterday, I decided to play my flute in the backyard. As I slowly got used to the idea that I might actually be heard, I had a sense that the leaves of the trees were listening. The mockingbird was busily singing his multitude of songs, and the crow added one caw for good measure. I am determined to go out singing with them.  

      

             

image: San Leandro, July 2023

Varying Stages

Over the past couple of years, Tyler and I have been tending to our small outside (I don't know what else to call it.) We had the house painted a cheery light green. We had one fence replaced, and will soon replace a second one. A young landscaper took out what was left of a tattered and outdated front yard and replaced it with mulch and some California native plants that I can actually tend to. Tyler created a nice cabana in the backyard where a hot tub once resided. We had to send some moles along their way. I met with an arborist yesterday who will come next week to prune our trees. This year's heavy rains resulted in an explosion of tree growth that is beautiful but too much for our small property. 

I am grateful for these people who have appeared at just the right time to share their energy and expertise.  Both the landscaper and the arborist agree that our birch tree is about 50 years old. The arborist said that the usual lifespan of this large tree is about 70 years. He then added, "Now we need to trim it to curtail its growth so it can live its full lifespan."  

That seems a good approach for those of us who are in the last third of our lives and is, I believe, a good spiritual practice. We cut back on our excesses to maybe live a little more fully into who God has created us to be. I think of Jesus and his words,  "I am the true vine and my father is the vineyard keeper. He removes any of my branches that don't produce fruit, so that it will produce even more fruit (John 15:1-2)."  While we may not relish this idea of being pruned, it is God's way. Therefore, we can trust the process and know that it is sacred.   

    

"We must realize that we cannot be really fed, strengthened, purified, enriched and made holy unless we fulfill the duties of the present moment."
Abandonment to Divine Providence
Jean-Pierre de Caussade

imaage: San Leandro, July 2023.  I am enjoying watching the various stages of the neighborhood artichokes. 

       

A Good Wander

 "Life is a garden, not a road.

We enter and exit through the same gate.

Wandering,
where we go matters less than what we notice."

~ Kurt Vonnegut

    

 I have always thought of our lives as a journey. We are born. We continue, and then we let our physical bodies go. Yet, this meditation reminds me that our souls, which are part of the One Soul, are on a vast journey of exploration. May we learn to be as courageous as our adventurous souls. No matter what we face, we move in and through God.  We are up to something that is probably much larger than we realize.  Let us remember to look around and take note.  

 

  

image:  July 4, 2023, Albany Bulb. One of the most curious parks in the Bay Area. Usually when I try to photograph a bee (in the foreground), I am envisioning a very close image. However, bees know there is a world garden to be explored. I am trying to give them more room.