Wisdom of the Stones

 "When I look inside and see that I am nothing, that is wisdom. When I look outside and see that I am everything, that is love.” 

Sri Nisargadatta  (1897-1981)

 

The photograph was taken at the Hickison Petroglyphs on our journey home via Hwy 50 through Nevada.  A beautiful journey. This morning I am pondering that very small stone in the foreground. Even stones are on a journey, and it was a blessing to be with them for a short while. I have much to think about. 

       

 

    

   

image:  September 2025 

I Should Memorize This

 Just in case you, too, are struggling with the barrage of news articles, opinions, hyperbole, virus threats (computer and otherwise), and blatant untruths, just to name a few.  Remembering I am part of the plural helps. We are still being carried forward. We belong to the Whole. This birth, like so many, is painful. Let us breathe together. We have been giving birth for a long time.

"Freshness Comes from There"  

There is a way of passing away from the personal, 

a dying that makes one plural, no longer single...

When life is this dear, it means the source
is pulling us. Freshness comes from there.

We are given the gift of continuously dying
and being resurrected, ocean within ocean.
 
~ Rumi 

image: San Leandro, August 2025

Held

 I received the following post a few days ago, and I fell in love with the image of Mother Earth carrying " flowers and fruits, birds and butterflies, and many different animals" in her arms. I began to imagine her with a head of gorgeous hair that was filled with all this beautiful life, so full it overflowed all around her.  

Jesus, too, touched the earth, and knew her rhythms so well that he based some of his teachings on them. This is worth remembering. As I read this post I also thought of the attached photograph. I was surprised I could find it since it is from 2015. The gardens in San Leandro began changing during and after the drought, and of course, with good reason. Sometimes, however, I miss the overflowing abundance that began to disappear during that time. Our young landscaper who comes once a month to lend hand and expertise to our small front and back gardens told me this morning that she again senses some change in all the gardens she tends to. She feels the plant's responses are more subdued. She added, "I think the earth feels humanity's stress and concern with all that is going on."  I believe that as well. We are of the earth, and the earth is of us. There is no separation.  

"The earth has been there for a long time. She is mother to all of us. She knows everything. The Buddha asked the earth to be his witness by touching her with his hand when he had some doubt and fear before his awakening. The earth appeared to him as a beautiful mother. In her arms she carried flowers and fruit, birds and butterflies, and many different animals, and offered them to the Buddha. The Buddha’s doubts and fears instantly disappeared.

Whenever you feel unhappy, come to the earth and ask for her help. Touch her deeply, the way the Buddha did. Suddenly, you too will see the earth with all her flowers and fruit, trees and birds, animals and all the living beings that she has produced. All these things she offers to you. You have more opportunities to be happy than you ever thought. The earth shows her love to you and her patience. The earth is very patient. She sees you suffer, she helps you, and she protects you. When we die, she takes us back into her arms."

~ Thich Nhat Hanh

 As quoted in First Sip     

         

image; San Leandro, 2015

Fields

 This morning I woke from a dream where I am standing and watching two tall and lean young men playing what I am tempted to call volleyball. They are playing in a field of knee-high yellow grass. The ball is red. There is not a hint of competition between them. As they gently lob the ball back and forth, their movements are soft, even elegant. There is no rush, no leaps or spikes, no lunging after a missed ball. There are no missed balls. There is no extraneous movement whatsoever, only a gentle back and forth arcing movement. It is calming to watch the rise and fall of the red ball. I do not remember how the two young men are dressed, but the combination of the red of the ball and the yellow of the grass is  beautiful. I hear no conversation or laughter, but the scene feels very real and alive.   

I woke thinking of my yoga class, maybe because my mat is yellow. Before class begins, there is conversation and laughter as each of us position and unroll our mats, and settle in. I find comfort on my mat, and I think most of the class does on theirs. Our various mats remind me of rafts that carry us individually, but also collectively. Silence settles in and class begins. Our journeys are not identical, but for a while we travel together. I believe healing is real.       

     

Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water. 
The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken. 
Although its light is wide and great, 
The moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide. 
The whole moon and the entire sky 
Are reflected in one dewdrop on the grass. 

~ Excerpt from "Original Face" by Dogen     

The Taste of Aging

 The tangerine, hard and leathery, sat in the basket 
with some obviously much fresher fruit.

 I picked it up. 

"Not edible," I judged, and started to toss it in the green waste.  

For some reason, I stopped and cut it in half.

Curiosity, I guess.  

The fruit, yes very small, was deeply colored like sunset.   

I cut the halves once more, and tentatively tasted. 

The sweetness overwhelmed me;

 How could something so small and withered  

quench such a deep thirst that I never knew I had?  

    

say/2025    

     

image:  Villa Maria, October 2025

Morning By Morning

 Yesterday I woke to a morning sky that brought a message of calm. The sun had not yet risen over the horizon, but pink-edged wisps of clouds were strewn across the morning's  blue sky, silently hinting of a gentle hand adding finishing touches just before the presentation of the day.  

This morning I spotted in the midst of the clouds a clearing that for just a few moments was heart shaped. I smiled, and gave thanks for these love notes from the sky.   

I  took no pictures of these brief moments. However, I leave you an offering of yellow and purple spotted on my morning walk, and a short verse from Nan C. Merrill's version of Psalm 105. My copy of her book is almost 20 years old, and no longer holds together. I find it difficult to replace a beloved old book that has seen much use. It feels like trying to replace your grandmother.  I am grateful for Friends of Silence who reminded me yesterday of this beautiful psalm.  Regardless of the translations or renditions, the psalms call us to trust. Yes, that is a call to faith. We need these reminders.

As spring and summer follow
autumn and winter,
so our lives have their seasons.
Help us to live in the eternal moment,
awaiting your perfect timing
in all things.

 from  Psalm 105, Psalms for Praying, Nan C. Merrill   

      

      

 image: Yellow and purple for the first day of July, San Leandro, CA       

Standing on the Promises

 I have not told too many people about the dream that led me to decide to not retire from active ministry in January. I feel nudged to tell it now. 

In the dream there is a baby girl. She is not my child; I am tending to her for a friend. I am enjoying her presence. We laugh and talk together. She is a baby, so she is engaged with exploring all sorts of sounds. Her whole being is alive with communication.  I am speaking to her, not of grand thoughts, but those words and sounds that help me to encourage her to know her own love and her own shining brilliance. In the dream I am even changing her diaper, and since in this waking life I am an only child who never had children, I have never changed a diaper in my life. I continue to laugh and speak with her. 

When finished with the changing, I pick her up once more and we walk outside. We continue to laugh and "talk" with one another. We come to a road, but we do not cross. Then on the horizon to my left, I see thick dark clouds billowing. These are the darkest clouds I have ever seen. I simply stand with this smiling child in my arms. Neither one of us is afraid. Then from these boiling clouds I see a legion of heavily armored warriors thundering towards us, each astride a war horse that is also heavily armored. Darkness and thick dust threaten to envelope us but a light surrounds us. We do not run. The dust does not fall on us, but it is all around. The beautiful child does not cry, nor do I. In fact, we are still smiling, content in the moment of simply being with one another. I hold her lightly, but I know I will not drop her. I am holding her from my very core.  

I woke from the dream with a sense of certainty that now was not the time to retire from my community. I am grateful for that decision. I have learned to dig deep. I also try to talk to just about every child I meet. I think many of them are being born for a purpose that I may never know, but I want to be an encouraging presence now, even if it is only for  a few moments as we ponder strawberries in the produce aisle. 

I think of this dream this morning because I have just read a page from Steven Charleston's Ladder To the Light. Charleston is an elder of the Choctaw Nation. In addition to this role he has served as the Episcopal bishop of Alaska, as well as president of the Episcopal Divinity School. He is a steady unifying voice of courage on Facebook. I am deeply grateful for his presence and his writings. The following is from Chapter 3, "The Rung of Hope", page 57. 

 

Don't let the dark clouds fool you. They may pretend to own the heavens, stretching from horizon to horizon, ominous and commanding; a permanent shadow over our lives. But I know their secret: there is a world of sunlight behind them. One day, when the wind of change pushes them apart, that light will return to bathe the earth, to restore the vision of every person, to set right what has been broken. Stand firm in what you know and believe. Look up and do not be afraid, for when you feel the first breeze of hope, the clouds will soon be chased from the sky.   

 Yes, we are in serious times, but they will not have the last word. Blessed be.  And yes, on Sunday we will be singing "Standing on the Promises". It is a wonderful old hymn. Join us from wherever you are. The door is open and we sing to the wind. 

         

        

   

image:  East Bay Regional Park, Late Spring 2025

        

  

The Brightness of the Soul

 "The human heart is a capacity for God. Prayer, then, is the development of the art of communion. We are called to develop the disciplines required for loving and open communion with God, the world, others, and ourselves. We need to recover the art of communion and so recover the universe as God's, and rediscover our roots in God, in the world, in one another, and in our inner selves." 

Rachel Hosmer and Alan Jones
   
When I first read this quote from Friends of Silence, I did not recognize these names although Alan Jones sounded vaguely familiar.  I searched the internet, and discovered that Rachel Hosmer was a nun and the founder of the Order of St. Helena. Alan Jones was an Episcopal priest and dean emeritus of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco.  I am finding that when I am researching a name on the internet, I frequently need to sort through names of basketball players, film stars, and CEO's.  Such are the times we find ourselves in. I am not entirely comfortable in these times, but I do not get a sense that God does not always call us to seek comfort; we are called to become aware. Sometimes that can be pretty uncomfortable. However, discomfort does not mean that we are doing something wrong. It means we are exploring what our souls long for us to know.    

          

    

image:  The Brightness of the Soul, June 2025

Thank you, Rachel Carson

 "Those who dwell, as scientists or laymen, among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life. Whatever the vexations and concerns of their personal lives, their thoughts can find paths that lead to inner contentment and to renewed excitement in living. Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of the birds, the ebb and flow of the tides, the folded bud ready for spring. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature--the reassurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter."

~ Rachel Carson in THE SENSE OF WONDER

Quoted in today's post from Friends of Silence 

If those in power would simply learn to view the world, not as a source of potential plunder, but rather as our sacred environment in which all live, much would change, and probably quickly. Let us remember: when Rachel Carson was working to stop the use of DDT, there were many who did not want to listen to the science, who did not want to risk change, who  feared the loss of profit. Yet, change did happen and because of her work, bald eagles, a majestic bird we in the US claim to love, still exist. As do all of us.   

 Today, on the day before summer begins, let us pledge to renew our sense of wonder and gratitude. Then in that Spirit, let us join those who are working diligently to protect national parks, open spaces, the air that all creatures breathe, and the water all creatures need. We are more than pawns of the propaganda that feeds only fear and the hunger for power. That is a hunger that can never be satiated, and it is deadly. 

Summer solstice blessings to you all. Remember, seasons do change. Take heart. 

   

image: I do not have a photograph of an eagle, but I celebrate these distant relatives.  Coyote Hills Regional Park, 2025 

 

     

Why I Keep Photographing Flowers (and trees and rocks and other stuff)

"Self-Portrait as a Tuning Fork"

There is, perhaps you’ve felt it,

a moment when the day falls away

and your name falls away and

everything you thought you knew

falls away and for a moment

you know yourself only

as whatever it is

that continues—

your whole body abuzz

with the eternity of it—

and you quiver

as if struck by the great hand

of what is true,

becoming pure tone,

a vibration, a wave,

a human-shaped resonator

tuned to the frequency

of life itself,

and though later you might try

to dissect what happened,

in that moment you’re too abloom

to wonder how or why,

you simply are

this ecstatic unfolding

knowing the self as I am,

so alive and so infinite

you tremble like a song.

~ Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

image: "Community", June, 2025, say

We Are...

 I love this poem. It encourages me to hold on to the belief that we are more than our minds. It encourages me to hold on to the belief that we are all connected. It encourages me to hold on to the belief that we are souls.  We do not have souls like we have a wallet. We are less, and we are more. 

Yo No Soy Yo

I Am Not I

I am not I.

I am this one

walking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget;
the one who remains silent while I talk,
the one who forgives, sweet, when I hate,
the one who takes a walk when I am indoors,
the one who will remain standing when I die.   

   

Juan Ramon Jimenez   

        

You don’t need to change who you are—you only need to remember.

Jack Kornfield 

   

image:  CA Buckeye with Ladybug, Oyster Bay, San Leandro
   

The Pull of Water, Part 2

 As I mentioned in my post entitled "The Pull of Water, Part 1" we camped one night in a beautiful site that overlooked Lake Pillsbury, and the night before that we camped at a site on the lake. There, we talked briefly with a soft-spoken man who lovingly spoke of the lake's beauty. He encouraged us to go see the other side of the lake to see the elk. On our way out of the forest we did indeed stop at the other side and walked towards the lake.  In the distance we could see the elk gathering at the water's edge. We did not actually walk as far as the edge of the lake in order to avoid disturbing the delicate flora.   

During our journey to the forest, we periodically spotted signs that read, "Save Lake Pillsbury". When I got home, I read that Lake Pillsbury is controversial because it came into existence when the Scott Dam was built on the Eel River in the 20's. Indigenous people and those who are ecologically oriented contend that the dam should be removed so that the river can again flow freely, and the dam has been decommissioned.  Certainly if the salmon and other fish of the Eel could actually have a say, I am sure that they would vote for freeing the river as well.   

Yet, for those who frequent the lake and for those who make a living on the lake, the decision is not so straightforward. Recreation and the quest for solitude aside, another consideration is that Lake Pillsbury is the closest source of water when there is a forest fire.  Some concern has been expressed about the elk. Fortunately, I knew nothing about any of this while we were there, so I could just innocently savor the peace of the lake before the area's vacation season was underway.  I found Lake Pillsbury to be a place of healing, yes even with the wind, and the memory of the lake is staying with me, partly because we were able to talk briefly with someone who loves the lake and who quietly encouraged us to "go and see the other side". 

Ultimately, that is why we travel. We learn to not only look, but also to see.   

  

    

image:  "The Other Side of the Lake", May 2025

Wisdom from Kabir

                                                          

                                       I had to seek the Physician 

because of the pain this world 

caused me.  

  

I could not believe what happened when I got there -

I found my 

Teacher.   

   

Before I left, he said, 

"Up for a little homework, yet?"  

"Okay," I replied.  

      

"Well then, try thanking all the people 

who have caused 

you pain.    

   

They helped you 

come to me."   

   

Kabir (1440 - 1518)   

    

   

image:  Tilden Park, May 2025

The Pull of Water, Part 1

When we entered the Mendocino National Forest, we saw on the map that Lake Pillsbury has a resort, marina, and campground. We decided that might be a good option for our first stop in the forest. We were surprised to find only a locked gate; the season was not yet open. Fortunately, a friendly young couple was close by and they pointed the way to an open campground on the lake.   

After we settled in, we walked down to the beautiful and peaceful blue lake. There we met a soft spoken man whose car had a canoe strapped on top. We greeted one another, and I commented on the beauty of the lake. He replied, "Yes, I come here often. My wife no longer joins me, but I still come. You must go to the other side so you can see the elk." His quiet demeanor gave me a sense that the lake was a place of solace for him, and that sense of respect became ours as well.  

Yet as I mentioned in my previous post, our intention for the next day was to drive up and over Hull Mountain (elevation 6,878 feet) and camp on the other side, and that is the journey we undertook. While most of the way was dry, we ran into some snow very near the crest of where we were to cross. Tyler stopped to walk through this patch to get a sense of what was around the bend, and to see if we would have the clearance we needed. He had said all along that if we came across slushy snow we would turn around, but over the past few months, he had equipped the truck with recovery gear should we get stuck. Nonetheless, I was very insecure about the possibility of getting stranded in snow in such a remote area. I did not grow up in snow country, and I am not drawn to it. I was going to walk with Tyler, but my balance, which is a little unsteady now, is particularly poor in the snow. As I slipped, I figured my tumbling and sliding off this mountain road was not going to be helpful so I did not continue. The wind was formidable, and so was my fear. 

When he returned, he said that he believed we did have the clearance we needed, but the road was narrow so if we needed to turn around, we might find it difficult. I reminded him that there was a fine spot to turn around just a few feet behind us. We talked some more, and our decision was made. We turned around, and on the way down we found a beautiful spot to camp that overlooked Lake Pillsbury.     

Tyler and I have always travelled well together, mainly because we listen to each other. We have talked at length about our decision. Could we have made it to the other side of the mountain? The answer will always remain unknown, and for now, the quest remains in the future. I am fine with that, and even though Tyler believed we could have gone forward, he respected my fear. I am grateful.        

Writing this, I am reminded that I am not much of an adventurer, but I still contend I am an explorer. I love going out and viewing terrain. I recently started reading Belden Lane's The Solace of Fierce Landscapes. In his book Lane contends that in our encounters of wild and fierce landscapes, and I would place Hull Mountain in that category, we are faced with a reality that we cannot manipulate. These places teach us humility as we learn to rely solely on God (think of Elijah in the cave).  I think these landscapes can be found just about anywhere that gives us a sense we have no control: hospital emergency rooms, at the side of a loved one who is passing, or in a stack of bills that must go unpaid for another month. 

        

More on Lake Pillsbury to follow. We did make it to the other side of the lake, and found it beautiful. There is controversy concerning this lake, and I will go into that yet another side of the lake as well.     

         

        

"Plants and animals change as one goes up the mountain, and so apparently do people."

Diana Kappel-Smith, Desert Time: A Journey Through the American Southwest, 

from The Solace of Fierce Landscapes, Belden Lane   

      

        

 

   

Image was taken on the ascent of Hull Mountain. It was so windy that I actually received a message that no photo or video could be taken. Here I practiced standing firm. The wind was very much part of the spirit of place.        

Connecting

 As Tyler and I journeyed through a small part of the very large Mendocino National Forest, we often found ourselves in areas where many of the trees had been scarred, or even devestated by fire and bark beetles. However, our last night was spent on a cliff overlooking the beautiful Lake Pillsbury (where we stayed the night before) and the mountains and sky beyond. There, we were surrounded by trees that were mostly healthy, and the manzanita trees were blooming. Many bees were visiting the manzanitas, and that surprised me because we were descending from the high elevation of Hull Mountain, elevation 6,877 feet. However, I have learned that miner bees and eastern carpenter bees are indigenous to the area, and yes, are very attracted to manzanita. 

We were able to locate this beautiful camping spot because as we were descending, Tyler looked to the right and said, "This looks like a good spot for a picnic." The sun was warm, and while higher up on Hull Mountain a powerful and cold wind was gusting, this site was still, peaceful, and beautiful.  A ground squirrel, one dark grey lizard, a Western Tiger Swallowtail butterfly, a much smaller white butterfly, and the bees were our noticable companions. At one point, I looked to my right where the truck was parked, and there the squirrel was sitting still and upright beneath it. it appeared to be gazing off into the distance, giving the appearance of a small monk in contemplation.  

We ate our lunch, and decided to set up camp.  

The wind did eventually blow that night, and it blew hard. However, the camper and truck provided good protection. The night sky was clear and beautiful, but we found we could not linger outside long enough to fully take in and appreciate the view; the wind and chill were just too much for these travellers from sea level. However, that morning we woke to a bright sunrise taking place in that same clear sky. The lizard was out doing its morning pushups on a nearby log, and the bees were already buzzing about. We never did see coyotes, but we heard a few the evening before, yipping as they called their pack together. Yes, it is a strange, excitable cry, but it sounds so celebratory that always makes me smile. I believe they sing a song of anticipation, knowing that they belong together, and that it is time to gather and join in the hunt for sustance that will hopefully feed and sustain the pack. I have much respect for those creatures. We humans could learn much from them.  

In these next few unscheduled days, I have some more writing to do. For now, I am still savoring the times when we heard nothing but forest sounds and silence. I am also savoring that as we drove along those fairly isolated and rough roads, drivers of other vehicles would wave or nod. If we were stopped, people, including one sheriff, paused and asked if everything was ok.  Not one person drove by us without some signal of recognition. Yes, the interactions were reserved, but kind. We needed nothing more. I was reminded of my father. He would do much the same, by lifting one of his long and bony index fingers. I remember asking him once why he did that. He replied, "I would feel foolish waving my hand up and down." Somehow, then and even now, I learned to appreciate the small glances and gestures that connect us, reminding us that we are recognized.  

  

More later. I sense my garden is calling.   

  

Blesssings, 

Sue Ann    

         

image:  Overlooking Lake Pillsbury, Mendocino National Forest, May 2025

Pausing Before Mopping the Floor

                                                                         

Clearing

Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself to this world
so worthy of rescue.

Martha Postlewaite      

      

     

image:  my back garden, April 2025

Fullness

 "All this is full. All that is full. 

From fullness, fullness comes."

   

from The Shvetashvatara Upanishad 

translated by Eknath Easwaran    

   

Christ was not a one-time event. Christ can never be destroyed. Fear keeps trying, but to no avail. Blessed be.  

  

   

image: Iris in my front yard. April 2025     

          

   

Refuge

 As I read and reread the following quote, the more it brings me to acceptance. This morning I woke with the knowing that peace already exists, and it is eternal.  Does that mean that we humans are living peacefully? Alas, no. As much as we need the healing of peace, we often go in the opposite direction- creating more chaos, more strife, more separation, more grief.  

Yesterday, I stopped at a small Japanese restaurant that sits in a narrow strip mall. I had never been there, but despite the noise both inside and outside the restaurant, I found peace. I found a place to rest and be nourished. I also found a place where I could listen to two very young children talking to each other and the adults who were with them.  No, I could not understand them, but they seemed to understand one another. They were speaking the language of discovery. The parents were encouraging the children to speak familiar words because that is what generally well intentioned parents do. Yet, I loved listening to those children delight one another. I felt no need to hear words I already knew.   

As I was leaving, I told the parents that I so enjoyed hearing the children, and I gave them a blessing for a happy family.  Yes, that blessing surprised the adults, but I think these fortunate children probably understand the joy of blessings very well.  

"If two or more people love one another deeply, they may come to that profound level of awareness and mind-expansion in which no words are necessary because their intimacy is not built on words. And the stronger the love, the more profound will be the silence and the deeper will be the enlightenment. Furthermore, if this love goes to the core of their being, it brings a realization of something more than the people involved -- it brings a consciousness of the all; it contains an element of universality."

~ from SILENT MUSIC by William Johnston     

      

image:  "Beyond the Fence"  San Leandro

Room to Move

 "You must have a room, or a certain hour or so a day, where you don't know what was in the newspapers that morning, you don't know who your friends are, you don't know what you owe anybody, you don't know what anybody owes to you. This is a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. This is the place of creative incubation. At first you may find that nothing happens there. But if you have a sacred place and use it, something eventually will happen."

~ Joseph Campbell   

  

This quote came this morning from an email from Friends of Silence. There are indeed times when unknowing is more powerful, more healing than knowing. Allowing ourselves time to find the balance between the two states is essential now. For the past few days I have been pondering the Greek word, metanoia. It is often translated as change. Yet, I recently heard a short presentation by Kathleen Flanagan, Director of Franciscan Ministries, and her talk expanded my understanding of what metanoia means. Her premise was that when both Jesus and St. Francis experienced metanoia, they were led deeper into their ministries of serving the poor, sick, and dying. Our metanoias can lead us to more fully understand our own calls to serve. 

Too often, we try to harden ourselves against change. However, after reading Rupert Sheldrake's book The Physics of Angels, co-authored with Matthew Fox, I now envision our souls as fields of energy, and I do not believe these fields can be hardened, although our thinking and attitudes certainly can be. In her lovely book, The Yogi's Way, Reema Datta writes, "The Upanishads [ancient Sanskrit texts] describe our true Self as devoid of any fixed quality or characteristic." She goes on to explain that quantum physics has revealed that we are made up of cells that are made up of molecules that are in turn made up of atoms that are 99.9 percent empty space. Datta writes that again, according to her understanding of quantum physics, every object and person is a "field of pure potentiality" rather than fixed beings ( p. 106)."        

It is, of course, perilous to quote someone about quantum physics, or really, any subject, when you yourself know absolutely nothing about it. However, I love the phrase "pure potentiality". I once read that Stephen Hawking (1942-2018) contended that a better human was possible, and I have always believed, and will continue to do so, that humanity is headed in that direction. In a period that could truly be an exciting time of exploration and learning, I am sorry that the US voted to cling to a backward and solidified notion of who we are as a people. That decision, while by no means unilateral, is costly and disappointing, and is impacting not only us but the world. Hardened hearts and minds are seldom catalysts for growth and new understanding, but I will continue to hold the idea that at least some of our potential for good can be explored in this time.   

          

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
There is a field. I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
The world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
Doesn't make any sense.

Rumi, translated from Persian by Coleman Barks and John Moyne   

 

       

 

image: Half Moon Bay, a few years ago