Shedding

"Frequently we do not leave the past behind. We clasp on to it. We dissect it, and let fears for the future, tempered by the past, unconsciously prevent us from taking up the task eternal."

 Exploring Celtic Spirituality by Ray Simpson    

    

I received this quote from Friends of Silence a few days ago, and I have been pondering it ever since. This morning I realized that as I am going through my books, it feels like I am shedding my skin, much like a snake. I think that once a snake begins the shedding process, it does not cling to its old skin. The snake disgards it and moves on. Snakes continue to grow their whole lives, but their skin does not.  

It will always be a temptation for me to hold on to books. Ever since I was a child, seeing one of my books is like seeing the face of an old friend. Books have been trusted companions for many years, much like this house. However, as Tyler and I age, we cannot stay in this house, and truthfully, we cannot stay in the Bay Area. My heart is in Albuquerque. And yes, concerns about the heat and threat of fire also reside in both our hearts as well. We know enough to never underestimate the desert. It is what the writer, Belden Lane, describes as a "fierce landscape". Like the ocean, it must be treated with caution and respect. We know to keep a watchful eye on both.       

This morning as I was waking, I heard a coyote. The animal was far enough away that I could not be absolutely certain that what I heard was a coyote, but nonetheless, I woke in wonder and gratitude. At a minimum, we periodically need to hear and see a wild creature to remind us of the vastness of this life and our connectedness. We need to be reminded of the beauty of this earth, and her fierce independence, despite our efforts to dominate and tame her which we attempt at the peril of not only humanity, but of all of life.   

May I always hear the coyote call as a reminder to awaken from my dreams, and to make at least some of those dreams a pilgrimage. Perhaps this is my "task eternal": to continue to let go and travel light. 

      

 

image:  FCC Albuquerque, Spring 2026

Moving Forward

 In the dream I am running through scruffy brush and prickly plants. I am very uncomfortable and incredibly anxious. I am moving as quickly as I can. I am anxious because I believe I am being chased. I keep looking back, but the light is very poor. I can see little.

Suddenly, I stop running. I stop looking back. I announce in and to the dream, "I am not being chased. This is a dream."  

I wake smiling. I now know some of my personal truth. I am not being chased. Not by a wild animal, an ill-intentioned human, or even by my own feelings and thoughts of personal inadequacy. Today I am not worried about the future nor am I experiencing regrets about the past. I am not afraid of who I am and who I am not. 

I climb on in peace. One step at a time is enough.      

 

Love,

Sue Ann 

    

     

image: Mt. Diablo, June 2026

Returning

 Sorting through my books is bearing some good fruit! I am finally reading the book Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey. The book was published in 1968, and Abbey was already bemoaning the decline of our national parks. He was no fan of the tourist industry. This book, written while he was working as a seasonal park ranger in Arches National Monument, is illustrated by Peter Parnall. The illustrations are black and white drawings of Abbey's sketches of petroglyphs he discovered in the area. The images are distinctive and wonderfully alive. Abbey was a keen observer of the natural world. Athough he passed in 1989, we need his witness more than ever.

I have also returned to The Comfort of Crows by Margaret Renkl, illustrated by her brother, Billy Renkl. It is a beautiful book of 52 seasonal meditations about the animal and plant life Margaret witnesses on her walks, or even just looking out the window of her home in Nashville. The general idea is that one reads and returns to the same meditation for about a week before moving on. The first time I tried this practice, I was just too restless, and I would find myself thumbing through the book, partly because the illustrations, done in paint, drawings, and collages, are so beautiful. I am grateful I picked up the book again when I have some extra savoring time.

The full moon tonight is called the buck moon, a time when male deer's new antlers are in full growth mode. I just read that the full moon will peak tomorrow morning. While we here in North America will not be able to witness the moment of absolute fullness, hopefully we can remember to look up tonight and watch a beautiful full moon rising in the southeast sky. We humans have been viewing the moon for a very long time. Let us join our ancestors by looking up in awe.

From this week's meditation from Margret Renkl (page 163):

"In one fallen tree, the transformation has been unfolding for so long that a little cave has opened up where a branch once joined the living oak. Over years, dead leaves collected in the cavity and turned into soil. In the shelter of that death-opened place, new green life has sprung up; moss and clover and some sort of trailing vine I can't identify. In the center, as carefully arranged as if a florist had planned it for a centerpiece, rises one woodland violet. Everytime I see it, I remind myself to come back in springtime to see it in bloom."

I am reminded that life renews life in mysterious ways. May we all take a moment tonight and receive the moon's healing light.

Translating

 From Father Richard Rohr's post this morning: 

"The word translated “mercy” … isn’t a cold, condescending kind of mercy such as one in power might extend to his victim in return for gratitude or service. It is warm, compassionate, tender, and never seeks to barter. It is almost exactly the same word that Jesus uses later on in the Sermon in referring to “almsgiving.”… Jesus rescued that word from the mere act of proudly pitching a coin to a beggar and made it into a whole attitude of life." 

Clarence Jordan (1912–1969)   

    

I  was  not familiar with Clarence Jordan, but I have learned he was a New Testament scholar, ordained Baptist minister, and Georgia farmer. He was also one of the founders of Habitat for Humanity. This morning I ponder what our nation might look like if we made mercy, not fear and greed, our cornerstone. That, of course, leads me to ponder my own life.      

   

The photograph of the bouganvilla was taken at the fence of a long vacant house in the neighborhood. The house is quite dilapidated and has been vacant for years. However, laborers have recently begun clearing it out. I think they should be wearing hazmat gear, but I take the clearing out as a positive sign, and the pink blossoms remind me that life's current endures.       

            

A Leaf Is More Than a Leaf

 A few days ago, I noticed some crescent moon shaped bites had been taken from the two Serviceberry plants in the front garden. Yesterday, I became concerned enough that I plucked a leaf and took it to our local family owned nursery. There, a man, someone about my age, approached me and asked if I had any questions. I pulled the leaf out of my pocket, told him its source and explained my mission. He looked at the leaf, and then looked up and smiled as he explained,  "You have leaf cutter bees!" 

Never had I heard of that particular bee. He went on to explain that the leafcutters take those lovely shaped bites and use them to build their nests. In response to my question about whether or not there was anything I needed to do, he added that they never take so many leaves that the plant is in danger of dying. They take only what they need and move on. He then asked, "Isn't that lovely?"   

I had to agree, and he and I took just a moment to gaze upon the leaf.  It was a very pleasant moment of sharing our mutual admiration of what we were seeing.

Robin Wall Kimmerer, author of the book, Braiding Sweetgrass, wrote a beautiful book about the Serviceberry. This berry is also known as the Saskatoon in Canada, and I don't think there is a more fun word to say. The berries are very sweet and Kimmerer advises that birds, as well as humans, love to eat the berries. I have not yet seen any birds pecking at the berries, but our two plants are fairly new. 

As I ponder the pollination that the leafcutters provide (they carry pollen on their abdomen), I wonder if the experience would have been a little different if I had simply taken the picture I have of the crescent moon bites. At the last moment before leaving, I decided to take an actual leaf as I talked to an actual person. It was a very rewarding experience of holding the leaf in the palm of my hand as we expressed our mutual respect, with both words and silence, for the work of these bees. 

 

      

"The practice of observing the living world and taking inspiration for human ways of living from its model is an essential element of Indigenous science. It embraces the reality that there are intelligences other than our own, from whom we might learn."

Robin Wall Kimmerer, The Serviceberry, Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World, page 67

           

    

Claiming Our Belonging

 “Our belonging is rooted in the living body of Earth, woven of the flows of time and relationship that form our bodies, our communities, our climate… When we turn and open our heart-mind to Earth, she is always there. This is the great reciprocity at the heart of the universe.”

A Wild Love for the World, Joanna Macy 

Early this morning I woke from a chaotic dream that began with the search for a lunchtime tuna sandwich.  I was working in a busy downtown area, and many people were out and about. I discovered a food court, and found someone making sandwiches. As I waited for my order, I began to talk to two people standing on either side of me. One was a young boy, and the other was an adult male. Both had large and elaborate models of futuristic cars, and both were quite excited. I thought the cars were rather odd looking, and not very practical. For one thing, neither car had a roof or a hood, but did have what appeared to be engines with many hoses and valves.  Actually, I don't even think the cars had doors, but they did at least have a single seat for the driver and a steering wheel.  

I bought my sandwich, said my good-byes, and left. There was a band playing just outside the food court. I knew I was running late, but I stopped to listen. On the ground in front of the musicians (maybe a quartet?), there was a wooden instrument, kind of a cross between a flute and an oboe without a reed. I thought it was lovely. One of the members said, "Take it; it is yours."  I picked it up, but woke before I tried to play it. 

Yet, perhaps I heard it in Joanna Macy's quote. I am reminded that the heart of the universe  is everywhere, and we are part of it. Yes, our love can and does run that deep. We are connected. Even when we think we do not want to be.           

     

image: The photograph that is attached was taken in May at the Nacimiento Campground in the Los Padres National Forest. A beautiful creek runs nearby. If you go, definitely look for the creek, the tree with a heart (a good reminder that they all have one) and definitely bring mosquito repellent. The mosquitos we noticed fairly soon after we got out of the truck. The heart in the tree Tyler noticed the next morning.  

 

       

    

   

"God, Spirit of all goodness and love, open within us quiet places where fear cannot dwell. Help us to create spaces and opportunities for others to know and experience your loving presence and grace."     

Franciscan Action Network, June 16, 2026    

Mission San Antonio de Padua

 When Tyler and I began discussing taking a fairly short camping trip in early May, I mentioned that I had always been curious about Mission San Antonio de Padua, about 26 miles off of HWY 101, north of San Luis Obispo. A friend told me that the mission was interesting, and that there was some good hiking in the area.  I had always been curious about the mission because it seemed to me to be a fair distance from Hwy 101, originally known as El Camino Real. We decided to check it out. This was the trip where we camped in the Valley of the Oaks, which was so beautiful.  

We arrived at the mission just after noon. We paused to have a snack on the tailgate before going in. The weather was warm and quite sunny. The grounds were very quiet, and again, I was struck by its remoteness.  Even Mission San Miguel, only a little further south, is just off of Hwy 101 as is Mission San Luis Obispo. Mission San Antonio does have a close neighbor, Fort Hunter Liggett Military Reservation, but even those grounds were quiet. 

We walked into the main building and were greeted with a warm welcome. We never learned the  name of our greeter, but she encouraged us to look around, and that we did. I am pretty much past the stage of romanticizing the missions, however beautiful and interesting the buildings might appear. The missions were institutions of enslavement for the Indigenous population, many of whom died due to diseases that they had not been exposed to before, and maybe even heartache (my theory). As we explored the mission, there was a short cello piece that played repeatedly over the speaker system. I love the cello, but this repetitive strain was so melancholy that I began to feel I was experiencing the weight of the sorrow of the members of the Salinan tribe who were moved there. Tyler and I went on to find our way to the courtyard, and then to the sanctuary.  Tyler expressed surprise at the number of rooms encircling the courtyard, and when we went back to the main entrance, we were told that those rooms, now used as retreat rooms, were where the "neophytes" were housed. How strange and confining those rooms and that role must have been for the Salinans. 

I mentioned to the woman who greeted us that I was surprised at the distance from 101 to the mission. She replied that it was because the builders of the mission were following the water, not the road, which did not exist at that time.  However, the mission was not all that close to water either, but they were able to build an aqueduct system which was pretty sophisticated for the time. 

We were told that services are still being held in the sanctuary, but only about 50 people from various communities in the area attend. We were also told that in the summer a few more attend, due to the arrival of those training at Ft. Liggett.     

We then decided to motor on to the campground on Nacimiento Creek that Tyler had found online. There was an open space, and it was wonderful to camp by the creek. We did have a few mosquitos join us just to keep it real. The next morning Tyler spotted a staircase going up a hill. Alas, it was covered with some also very real poison oak, so we decided to simply let it be.      

Attached is a view of part of the courtyard at the mission. The figure in the foreground is a sculpture. Tyler is standing further away. I am the unseen one lurking in the shadows.