Monday Morning

 I am not always consistent with walking every day, but I definitely try to walk every Monday morning. Sundays are energetic days, and on Tuesdays I begin preparations for the next Sunday and other church matters. Therefore, Monday often feels to be my sabbath, as do my walks. On Monday mornings, I simply step out the front door and go.

This morning, as I often do, I first dropped by our community garden. Today, I found the garden being watered by the woman who created it. I know her because she also landscaped our property with CA native plants, and we continue to work together to bring sustainable life to our small patch of land. We had a short conversation full of laughter, and she expressed some concern that no one ever comes into the garden. I assured her that while I have never seen anyone else in the garden, I visit it at least a couple of times a week. I love seeing what the plants are doing and what they are bringing forth. She seemed so happy to hear that, and she then bequeathed a beautiful green zucchini to me. Yes, it is the season. As we watched a bee visit the blossoms that are still on the plant, we talked about the green beans growing on the fence behind them. I then wished her well as she prepares to travel south to visit her godchild. We hugged, and I walked on, taking in the sights and colors of what is growing in the neighborhood.

Towards the end of the walk I passed by the house where my mother-in-law once lived. The father of the family who now lives there was in the driveway refurbishing a door. I had never seen him before, but he said hello, and we began to talk about the house. I said that what I loved about the house was that you could open the front and back doors and almost always a lovely breeze would drift through. He enthusiastically agreed and mentioned that his father lived in the house for many years and he had always felt comfortable in it.

When his father died, the house was passed on to his sister and him. He was able to buy his sister's share, and he said he felt very blessed to have the house. I definitely felt that was true for him; he looked happy. He then smiled and admitted that with just one bathroom, the house was just a little too small for his wife, four daughters, one who is now 12, and him. He then added that he is a carpenter, and a new addition was in the plans. "This house has good bones," he added. I had to agree. It was a warm conversation that left me smiling. I believe Tyler's mom would have liked him, although the reminder that it has been some years since her passing surprised me. I appear to be at the stage when everything in the past seemed to have happened just a couple of years ago. We both then said our good-byes and called each other by name. I then walked the last block to my front door. Actually, the whole walk was kind of a front door walk. I do appreciate being able to simply step outside and go, and of course, to return.

Blessings on your week. If you can, get out and say hello to those humans, plants, and animals who live close to you. The more we connect with the life around us, the healthier we and our communities will be. May we remember how we tend to ourselves, one another, and the earth are often one in the same. That, to me, is harmony. God cannot be separated from this sacred song.

Regarding the photograph: I do not know the name of this plant that is growing in a neighbor's yard. It seems to do well here, and I have always loved the color of the blossoms. The buds are fascinating. In the sunlight, they have the appearance of metal. This neighbor lives just a few doors down, so I get to enjoy viewing the flowers that appear in her yard pretty much year round. There is always something colorful growing there. She says her mother taught her to garden, so how could she not plant? I knew her mother and must agree.

Meditations with Hildegard of Bingen, no. 1

 Matthew Fox writes that he was given Sister Dorothy Stang's copy of the book, Meditations with Hildegard of Bingen, written by Sister Gabriele Uhlein,OSF, and published in 1983 by Bear and Co. This book was found at Sister Dorothy's bedside after her assassination in Brazil in 2005 where she had been working with the indigenous people to help protect the Amazon from complete deforestation by large multinational interests.  

It seems that as Sister Dorothy read and pondered the meditations in the book, she added her own sketches. I can understand why Sister Dorothy would feel the pull to draw her sensations and musings as she read, and that is surely a practice that St. Hildegard would approve of. The book has lots of blank spaces and even whole pages for such reflections. I may attempt that practice myself, but for now, I will do what I have done for years, and that is to share some of these writings and attach a photograph. 

I believe Sister Dorothy, St. Hildegard, and it seems Sister Gabriele, are trustworthy guides in these times when the earth is being maimed by greed and ignorance. However, I cannot help but sense that we are being offered an abundance of help. The Holy One speaks in surprising ways, and the earth, as wounded as she is, can still heal and teach us. May we listen with humility, and respond with joyful gratitude.   

   

"A wheel was shone to me, 

wonderful to behold...   

  

Divinity is in its omniscience and omnipotence, 

like a wheel, a circle, a whole, 

that can neither be understood, nor divided, nor begun nor ended." 

         

  

image: San Leandro, June 2024

      

   

Summer Solstice

 We Westerners don't seem to pay much attention to solstices and equinoxes, and I think we lose something when we forget to note the changing of the seasons. Yes, there is much sorrow and wreckage in the world, and dreadful heat. Fire season holds our attention much more than the solstice. Yet, today, if possible, we can remember that seasons always change.   

I keep coming across books that I feel I need to read. Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire was just added to the list. I remember him as an essayist who did not mince words. Let us learn again to pay attention to our beloved earth, and to our own seasons. Even just looking out a window can reveal much.  Let us be brave and learn to see. 

  

"Walking takes longer than any other
known form of locomotion, except crawling.
Thus, it stretches time and prolongs life.
Life is already too short to waste on speed."

Edward Abbey

image: San Leandro, June 2024

Possible

Yesterday,  I decided to walk away from my frustrations. Trying to stare them down was doing me no good. I picked up my flute and went into the backyard. As I let the notes rise, I looked up and saw this iris blooming in the sun. I was so touched by the simplicity of the moment, and even through the sound of many comings and goings was all around me, I remember only silence. When I play outside, I often get a deep sense of belonging to and in this life, and I fall in love with God once more. 

"You’ll always reach the end of how you thought your life would go. You’ll reach it many, many times. What looks like the low point is also the high point. What looks like the end is always the beginning.

Finding faith may seem impossible in your darkest times, but like the earth’s eternal orbit and the sun’s ceaseless shine, impossible things happen all the time.
You may be lost right now, but after days, months, even years in the wilderness, you will be found alive. Completely, joyously, miraculously alive."

~ Karen Maezen Miller-- 

          

 

A Vision for This Time

 A couple of weeks ago, I came across an old copy of the hymn, "Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence". Since then, I  have been practicing the hymn's tune, Picardy, a French carol, on my flute. The words are credited to the Liturgy of St. James, 4th century, and are pretty somber. However, I will say that I once heard a recording of some nuns singing the hymn in French and it was quite ethereal. Their voices blended so beautifully that I forgot they were singing a capella. I had no need to know what words they were singing. I was just listening to beautiful music.  

 A few days ago, I realized that at the top left of this copy (but not in the two hymnals I primarily use) there is a reference to Habakkuk 2:20: "But the Lord is in the holy temple. Let all the earth be silent." However, what really caught my attention was Habakkuk 2:2-3, with the instructions to "Write a vision, and make it plain upon a tablet so that a runner can read it." Also about this time, I had a very simple melody running through my head. With Tyler's help, I was able to put some of the words from Habakkuk to the melody I was hearing. What surfaced was a simple chant that I find very encouraging: 

      

"There is a vision for this time; 

It does not deceive.

If it delays, wait for it. 

It will not be late." 

Habakkuk 2:2-3, abridged   

 

This morning as I was walking through the neighborhood, I again found myself reflecting upon these words. It was a beautiful morning for a walk, but I was somewhat distracted by my concern about the upcoming heatwave, and the serious implications of climate change. Suddenly, my attention was drawn to a large camellia bush directly in front of me. This blossom seemed to be saying, "Do not worry. We are here." 

Surely a vision for our time.  

       

 

   image: June, 2024