Last weekend Tyler and I took a short camping trip. Our first stop was outside of Pt. Arena on the north coast. Tyler was following some back roads that Google maps had directed us to. The drive was beautiful, even soothing, and when we arrived at the coastline, the view, of course, was vast and stunning. The traffic was surprisingly light; I would even dare to say easy going. Our intention was to attend an art fair the next day. The campsite, located on a ridge outside of town and privately owned, was quiet, and we both appreciated the view. Although the fog did eventually roll in, the weather was mild. In the morning we heard peacocks, crows, owls, and several other birds who had much to say about the beginning of the day. Two deer walked into the clearing where we were camped, and they seemed surprised to find us there, and were not particularly comfortable with our presence. Deer are wisely wary, and these two had upright and surprisingly large and agile ears that appeared to be always listening. The size of the ears leads me to think these were mule deer.
Tuesday, April 23, 2024
Ridges, Valleys, and Wallows
Friday, April 19, 2024
Just a Note
In the dream I am waking only to realize that I had slept through a math class. I then deduce that the math class will never be completed. I move to a courtyard and there a woman asks me, "Have you graduated yet?" I tell her that I think I have a degree, but I am not sure. I decide to go see the registrar.
Tuesday, April 16, 2024
In a Midwest State of Mind
bloom at the roadside, a lacy white
against the exuberant, jubilant green
of new grass an the dusty, fading black
of burned-out ditches. No leaves, not yet,
only the delicate, star-petaled
blossoms, sweet with their timeless perfume.
You have been gone a month today
and have missed three rains and one nightlong
watch for tornadoes. I sat in the cellar
from six to eight while fat spring clouds
went somersaulting, rumbling east. Then it poured,
a storm that walked on legs of lightning,
dragging its shaggy belly over the fields.
The meadowlarks are back, and the finches
are turning from green to gold. Those same
two geese have come to the pond again this year,
honking in over the trees and splashing down.
They never nest, but stay a week or two
then leave. The peonies are up, the red sprouts
burning in circles like birthday candles,
for this is the month of my birth, as you know,
the best month to be born in, thanks to you,
everything ready to burst with living.
There will be no more new flannel nightshirts
sewn on your old black Singer, no birthday card
addressed in a shaky but businesslike hand.
You asked me if I would be sad when it happened
and I am sad. But the iris I moved from your house
now hold in the dusty dry fists of their roots
green knives and forks as if waiting for dinner,
as if spring were a feast. I thank you for that.
Were it not for the way you taught me to look
at the world, to see the life at play in everything,
I would have to be lonely forever.
~ Ted Kooser
Saturday, April 13, 2024
Learning to Journey Through the Seen and the Unseen
In a previous post, I mentioned that one day I hope to see a bighorn sheep. The quest began years ago during a trip through Yosemite and down into part of the Eastern Sierras. As we passed through Yosemite, all who travelled in a vehicle passed by a windowed kiosk with a ranger inside. I suppose he was passing out a brochure with a general map; my memory here is not at all clear. However, what is clear is that we all received a warning, and what I heard was "Watch out for big orange sheep." After we passed through, I asked Tyler about this creature that I had never heard of but was already beginning to loom large in my imagination. He replied, "Bighorn sheep. Horn, not orange." We both laughed and comismerated with a ranger who had to repeat the same phrase over and over as travellers passed through, receiving a map they may never use.
Friday, March 29, 2024
Travel Prologue, Part 1, Practicing
Wednesday, March 20, 2024
A Fine Spring Morning
This morning's walk was full of flowers, glossy green leaves, tiny buds, and exuberant birdsong, all lit by sunshine. So full, in fact, that I announced to God right out loud that surely we are not done yet. I came to trust that we have spring for a reason.
is to trust yourself and
what you find yourself knowing.
Pause. Ask. Listen.
Feel the answer.
And then dare to do it.
When you do this,
you become the place
where love flows through.
~ Erich Schiffmann
Friday, March 15, 2024
A Walk in the Park
Last Saturday, Tyler and I decided to go for a walk in part of the East Bay Regional Park that is not very far from our house. When we got out of the truck, we could hear a whistle coming from the far side of the crowded parking lot. We noticed a group was gathering, and we were both pretty sure what we were hearing was a child blowing a toy whistle. We really did not think too much about it, other than take it as a sign that we needed to get on our way. We walked for a while, and then we began to hear not one, but several toy whistles coming from behind us. We turned and saw a fairly large group coming in our direction. We paused on a small side trail to let them pass. Every child had a whistle, and each seemed quite engaged with blowing it as loudly as possible. One of the male leaders was singing to Jesus in full, but slightly off key voice. He would periodically pause and enthusiastically voice encouragement to both adults and children to keep going. As more children equipped with whistles passed by, Tyler mentioned that we probably would not be able to do our usual full loop due to recent storm damage. We decided to turn around for fear that the rest of the hike would be accompanied by a cacophony of sound that neither one of us found particularly endearing.
the moment you step
forward from fear
into light, the moment
that your soul takes flight.
Burrow no more in darkness
and despair. Dare to show
your radiant self,
the miracle of awakened
energy giving you wings
and the courage to be
human and divine
at the same time.
With this breath, you are
initiated into the depths
of freedom and love,
into the peril and perfection
of the moment as it truly is,
and you are right with it,
open, refusing to close down
or cower no matter what
challenges find you inside
or outside. This is your
moment to shine.
~ Danna Faulds
Monday, March 4, 2024
Spring in the Neighborhood
Neighborhoods, like churches, can be places of healing and connection. I am grateful for where I find myself today. I think Jesus would appreciate both, and yes, I try to make it known that he is always welcome. Even when a sales person comes to the door. Yes, that just happened. Life is a curious thing and I think Jesus has more of a sense of humor than we hear about.
San Leandro, March 2024
Thursday, February 29, 2024
Calm Mind, Calm World
making yourself a friend to everyone
and making everyone a friend.
When the whole world is your friend,
fear will find no place to call home.
And when you make the mind your friend,
you’ll know what trust
really means.
Listen.
I have followed this Path of friendship to
its end.
And I can say with absolute certainty—
it will lead you home."
~ Mitta
From The First Free Women: Poems of the Early Buddhist Nuns
image: Lake Chabot
Thursday, February 22, 2024
Revisiting
On Wednesday, I was poking around one of my bookcases again, in search of a poem. Every Wednesday, two friends and I gather. I read a poem, and we then meditate for about 20 minutes, and then I read the poem again. The discussion that follows is always enriching.
Friday, February 16, 2024
Grounded
I came across the poem below in my Facebook memories. It is definitely worth reading again, especially in a week when I have not felt particularly well, even to the point of losing my voice. Losing my voice happens once or twice a year, and by now I can simply take it as a sign to rest. There was a time when I would panic. "What if my voice never comes back?" Well, yes, that could happen. However, one of the things I appreciate about preaching in my 70's is that I am aware that my preaching time is finite, even if I never lose my voice again.
Tuesday, February 13, 2024
Heart o the Matter
I have mentioned before how grateful I am for the book Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. Kimmerer's book has taught me to walk a little more gently and leave things as I found them. (In other words, don't turn everything I can pick up into a personal souvenir.) She also has taught me about lichen, something I have never paid much attention to. I have learned that they are not a plant, but rather a combination of an algae and a fungus. Here in Northern CA, if our air is healthy (clean air critical for lichens) we often see them on rocks or tree bark. They do no harm to either, but they provide food for many creatures, including humans. I have no interest in eating lichens; I munch my way through the world enough as it is. Yet, what I love about them is when we see them we have reason to celebrate. Lichens are not alone in requiring clean air, so when we see a nice healthy patch we can gratefully take a deep breath in. While I was cropping the attached photograph, I realized that the shape of a heart was appearing. I feel like I am passing on a message from the lichens reminding us to love this world.
Not a Book Review
Saturday, February 3, 2024
Viewing
Early this morning I had a dream that took place in a church building. In the dream I am the pastor, and while in the dream we were not in our current location, I see people from the congregation I serve today. There were also several new people coming through the front door. I could hear the choir rehearsing, and in my waking life I do sing with the choir. In the dream I am thinking that while I should be rehearsing, I felt it was my responsibility to greet the visitors. I talked to each one. There was a young man and woman who were married, and several men who arrived separately.
Thursday, February 1, 2024
Not Lost
I am a woman in search of a poem. Yes, that thought got me out of bed at 4:30 this morning. I had just awakened from a happy dream. In my waking life, I take yoga at our local community center. It is an austere environment. However, the teacher of Iyengar yoga is methodical and caring, and some of my fellow students and I enjoy taking classes together. Across the street from the center is a busy park where students play baseball and other sports. Dog walking is also practiced there. In the dream, I cross the street, and walk through the park. In a back corner I discover a Japanese garden in need of attention.