Finding the Path, Part 1

 A few months ago Tyler and I were talking about what we wanted to do with this time of our lives. While we are both still working and our schedules do not exactly mesh, we agreed that we needed to get out and see more. I said that I would be okay if I never travelled overseas again, but I really wanted to see more of the United States. What surfaced in our conversations was that first of all, we did not have a good travel vehicle. Tyler has an electric car which makes sense for his work, but honestly, the two journeys we took in it were somewhat frustrating because you pretty much need to stay close to main thoroughfares. It is not that I want to do off-roading, but it seems to me if you are going to be journeying about, it is nice to have the option to explore. My Elantra is not much better. An RV seemed out of the question. They are large and expensive to buy and maintain. We have friends who love their RV's but they just seem too much for us. Pulling a trailer also has no appeal.  

Tyler is a patient researcher, and what surfaced was the idea of installing a wedge camper on a Tacoma truck. While I have never really done much camping, I decided that we should give this idea a chance. We bought a low-mileage used Tacoma truck, and Tyler discovered Harker Outdoors in Salt Lake City, who was offering a sale on the construction and installation of wedge campers. Last week we drove to Salt Lake City to have the camper installed. Because we were travelling in the first week of January, and because I am pretty wimpy in the cold, we knew that we might not actually camp on this trip. That is what happened, but more on that later.  

 We spent two nights in Salt Lake City so we were able to visit Antelope Island in the Great Salt Lake. The weather was chilly. However, when I stepped out of the Tacoma with my goose down jacket zipped, a wool cap in place, and some binoculars around my neck, I knew my life was changing, and that felt very good. We spotted bison and pronghorn antelope. I also found myself pondering lichen. I have been reading Robin Wall Kimmerer's book, Braiding Sweetgrass, and among numerous subjects she discusses is lichen, and how it is a bellwether of how healthy an environment is because it is very sensitive to air pollution. I am learning to take nothing for granted. 

   

I will write more about our trip as this week progresses, but today I will include some pictures of the camper both opened and closed, and a couple of photographs taken at the beautiful Great Salt Lake.  I also posted almost daily on Facebook during this trip. That was a lot of fun, and I felt deeply connected to those who regularly added their comments and prayers. 

"Our Indigenous herbalists say to pay attention when plants come to you; they're bringing you something you need to learn."  

Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer

I think this is pretty much true of all that comes across our paths, including our dreams.  

 

Yes, I have fallen in love with a truck.

       

  

Response

 

This week looks to be busy, so imagining that I am pausing with a friend over a cup of tea reminds me that I can only do one thing at a time. The moments are worth savoring. Perhaps there would be less nastiness in the world if, as words become heated, we would pause and say, "Let us heat water instead, and sit together with a cup of tea."  For our upcoming trip to Bountiful, Utah to have our new ( to us) Tahoma truck fitted to be a camper, we have ordered a tea kettle so we do not have to always boil water in a pan. Spouts do come in handy.  Maybe that is what poetry is for.  I am hopeful about seeing a dark sky.  I have promised the sacred voices that I would keep a record of what I see, and while it might be a little chilly, I will, for a few moments, play my flute, and listen for the response of All.   At the Tea Garden    My friend and I mull over the teas displayed in square jars with beveled glass labeled by type. Each name seems part of a haiku: “After the Snow Sprouting.” “Moon Palace.” “Mist Over the Gorges.” I’m drawn to green teas with unoxidized leaves that don’t wither, hold their grassy fragrance like willow under snow in winter. The proprietor offers real china for the Chinese tea. Animal bones, fine ground, give whiteness, translucency and strength to the porcelain that appears delicate, resists chipping. The rim of the cup is warm and thin. My friend’s lips are plush: her lovely mouth opens to give advice I ask for. We talk about memory of threshold events, like a first kiss or a poem published. She can’t remember… I tell her about my brother-in-law’s chemotherapy—his third bout of cancer. He wants his family to put a pinch of his ashes in things he liked: his banjo, the top drawer of his desk, the garden. I wouldn’t mind becoming part of a set of bone china that serves tea in a cozy teahouse smelling of incense, cinnamon, musk, and carved teak. I’d like to be brought to a small table, sit between friends’ quiet words, held in hands so close that breath on the surface of warm drink makes mist rise over their faces. ~ Margaret Hasse from First Sip  image: San Leandro, December, 2023

Settling In

Those of you who are on Diana Butler Bass' email list have probably seen this, but it is such a rich offering that I felt I really needed to share.  The photograph, from a couple of days ago, was taken through our dining room window. I did not want to open it, or walk outside because I knew any movement would disturb the doves. Sometimes lesser quality just might be the better way. In the past few days we have had quite a few birds in our backyard, and I am sorry I have not yet put up a birdfeeder. That will be my project for next month.  Fortunately, a neighbor has one a few yards over, and another neighbor has left persimmons on their tree. 

The attached photograph is not a black and white photograph. Although many of my photographs over the years have been in vivid color, this time of year my eyes and heart yearn to rest easy among darker shades. Our souls need the rhythm of light and dark: spring's tender new shades of just being born growth, summer's vibrant hues in full array, autumn's oranges, yellows, and golds, and winter's greys that call us to silence.  The winter solstice will be at 7:27 p.m.Pacific Time on Thursday. If you can, take a moment and give thanks for the good order of heaven and earth. Yes, even in these times. Maybe especially in these times.  

Blessings this winter solstice and always.   

Light cannot see inside things.
That is what the dark is for:
Minding the interior,
Nurturing the draw of growth
Through places where death
In its own way turns into life.

In the glare of neon times,
Let our eyes not be worn
By surfaces that shine
With hunger made attractive.

That our thoughts may be true light,
Finding their way into words
Which have the weight of shadow
To hold the layers of truth.

That we never place our trust
In minds claimed by empty light,
Where one-sided certainties
Are driven by false desire.

When we look into the heart,
May our eyes have the kindness
And reverence of candlelight.

That the searching of our minds
Be equal to the oblique
Crevices and corners where
The mystery continues to dwell,
Glimmering in fugitive light.

When we are confined inside
The dark house of suffering
That moonlight might find a window.

When we become false and lost
That the severe noon-light
Would cast our shadow clear.

When we love, that dawn-light
Would lighten our feet
Upon the waters.

As we grow old, that twilight
Would illuminate treasure
In the fields of memory.

And when we come to search for God,
Let us first be robed in night,
Put on the mind of morning
To feel the rush of light
Spread slowly inside
The color and stillness
Of a found word.

— John O’Donohue, “For Light”
as posted by Diana Butler Bass

   

image: San Leandro, December 2023. 

-- 

Deep Callings

 I took a beautiful walk this morning just before the rain began. The wind came up, and the leaves that had hung on the branches surprisingly long began to let go, almost all at the same time. While leaves of various hues are everywhere, most of the vibrant pinks, blues, yellows and purples of our gardens are nowhere to be seen. We are all surrendering to the inevitable fall.  

   

As I walked past some large trees that line a street a couple of blocks away, I thought of a poem by Rumi that I had discovered earlier this morning. I then said hello to a neighbor. He has been ill and is still not looking well. May this poem be true for him; may his roots still be growing strong.  

   

"And don't think the garden 

loses its ecstasy in winter.  

  

It's quiet, but the roots 

are down there riotous." 

  

Rumi   

     

   

    

image: San Leandro, December 2023
  

 

Oneness

 "We all have a light and a dark side. To use an analogy, we might say that we go through life with a watchdog on one side of us and a wolf on the other. We sometimes feed one, sometimes the other. We all feed both in the course of a life, no matter how saintly or errant we are. Thus, Mother St. Teresa's wolf did not starve and neither did Hitler's dog. 

From a spiritual and saintly perspective, our identity is something like the faith view of the Eucharist. Under the appearance of who we are in the world is our true divinity/identity. Then we too are a holy sacrament, outward signs of inward grace that can nourish the world. Likewise, all the cosmos is sacramental. We can come to see all that is, both ourselves and all natural things, beaming from the monstrance of the universe. We come to see all that is as a bodily holding of a divine presence. When this happens in us, we are truly engaging in perpetual adoration. Our wholeness has become holiness." 

Wholeness and Holiness, David Richo, page 9 

Early this morning I dreamed of two dogs fighting. In the dream they appear at my screen door. They are wounded, but not dramatically, and are quietly standing side by side. I had not yet read this passage from David Richo's book, but I had begun crafting my personal pledge of allegiance. I am reminded once more that there are no coincidences. I am also reminded that any movement to wholeness is not just for ourselves as individuals, but for all of life. We heal together. While that certainly seems ample, we can go further and offer the process of our healing in gratitude. Yes, that is praise. I am also reminded I might benefit from being a little easier on (and in) myself.  

   

Here is the rough draft of my pledge. It is to no flag, but to the sacredness of all life:  

 

"I pledge allegiance to my heart, my mind, and my soul, 

and to the freedom in which we all can live: 

Unity in God - with liberty and justice for all.  

say, November 27, 2023 

   

Yes, I had to look up the word monstrance. It is the vessel in which the consecrated eucharistic host (the sacramental bread) is carried and displayed in the Roman Catholic church, and others. 

   

 

image: Half Moon Bay, November 25, 2023. The creatures in the foreground are hardworking sanderlings who quickly try to harvest any nourishment  they find washed up on the sand before the next wave comes. They run incredibly fast on short legs, but also take to the sky when necessary. I find them fascinating. Please excuse the lack of detail. There is just so much I can do with my eye phone!

Touched and Spoken To

 Last month in my monthly visit to an assisted living community, I asked about Ms. D. who normally would always be us. I was told that she was in the hospital and would probably need to be moved to a community that could provide her with more care than they can offer. I was not surprised because she was growing frail. Yet, I was saddened. I always appreciated her cheery good will. I was told that she had a beautiful garden. I am not surprised.

Yet, this week as we were just beginning the service, I was surprised and delighted to see a caregiver bring Ms. D. to the service.  She was in a wheelchair, and appeared weak. I happily greeted her, and I placed a song sheet on her lap and pointed to the song we were singing. I then returned to lead the group in the singing of the beautiful old Thanksgiving hymns. I glanced at Ms. D. and I realized that she was quietly singing some of the words from memory. I walked over, gently placed my hand on her shoulder, and pointed each word out, and we sang together. Her voice was barely audible, but she was singing. Afterwards, she and I had a good chuckle. Her eyes were bright and she was smiling. My eyes were probably bright as well. Moments such as these are not uncommon in SpiritCare, and they are why I continue to volunteer at a few local communities. 

Before the rains began, I went into the back yard and played my flute. In the book, Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer writes that plants like to be touched and spoken to. I have been trying to interact more with the plants in my garden and it is a pleasurable thing to do. I do not know if they like music, but I love playing outside. On this particular day, the light was beautiful, and I noticed a small white flower glistening as it took in the sun. This particular plant has lived here longer than we have, and I finally learned that it is known as an African or fortnight iris. I think I see better when I play.  My flute teacher contends that music builds communities, and I think he is right. Fortunately, we don't have to be brilliant musicians for these connections to happen. I also believe these communities are made up of more than just humans. Earlier, I stepped outside to pick up the newspaper and to check on the plants in the front. There was a slight wind blowing. The wind this week has been interesting. The air has been warm, but cool breezes have been blowing through. While we cannot see the wind, the movement of warm and cool has reminded me of a Van Gogh sky. I paused to feel the wind and look around. I realized that there was a scent of heliotrope in the air. I was surprised as the one plant we have is not that large, but it is healthy and mature. I bent over and noticed a small caterpillar on one of the blossoms. It had eaten enough that it had taken on a pale purple hue. I had to smile. I did not have the heart to dispatch it, but I do need to keep an eye on it. I am learning that gardening is a balancing act, and not unlike music and pretty much all of life, it takes practice to learn the harmony. 

 

The light is beautiful this morning, and it is time for a walk. Do get outside if you can. Wonders are everywhere and should be celebrated.  

  

Joyful, joyful we adore you, 

God of glory, God of love. 

Hearts unfold like flowers before you, 

Opening to the sun above.  

  

Henry van Dyke 

Hymn tune: "Hymn to Joy", Beethoven, 

adapted by Edward Hodges

  

image: African Iris, San Leandro, 2015

 

Attending

 Recently, I dreamed of a figure dressed completely in a long white gown.  On the left front shoulder was an image of a red heart about the size of my outstretched hand. As I woke, I heard the words, "Make room." I took these words personally (to heart, one might say), and I have been pondering how to respond to that suggestion.   

A few weeks ago, I signed up for a one day retreat at San Damiano in Danville. I love that Franciscan retreat center, but many of their offerings stretch over a weekend, so I am limited as to the number of retreats I can attend. This retreat was held this past Saturday. As I parked my car, I saw and heard a small group singing in the labyrinth. It was a beautiful fall day, and as I walked towards the meeting room, I fell in love again with their garden that was donned in beautiful fall colors. The retreat was titled, "How to Be Sane, Spiritual, and Saintly". I had never thought of myself on a journey to be saintly, but the actual retreat topic did not really matter to me. What I was responding to was the quiet but persistent call to return to San Damiano. 

   

As I settled into the meeting room, I noticed that it was filling quickly. At that moment, I realized I did not even know who would be leading this retreat, and I felt a little foolish. Yet, while I may have known nothing of David Richo, Ph.D., it seemed that everyone else in the room was very familiar with his talks and his books. I sensed happiness that he was returning for the day. It turned out to be a lovely, thought provoking time led by an older, soft spoken, and intelligent author who listened deeply to people's questions, and responses. I told a friend that I would send her the prayer that was given to us. I am sharing it with you as well. I am making an effort to read it every morning. I appreciate addressing God as Sacred Heart. It brings warmth to the journey. 

     

"I say Yes to everything that happens to me today

as an opportunity 

to give and receive love without reserve. 

I am thankful for the enduring capacity to love 

that has come to me from the 

Sacred Heart of the universe. 

May everything that happens to me today

open my heart more and more. 

May all that I think, say, feel, and do 

express loving-kindness 

towards myself, those close to me, and all beings. 

May love be my life purpose, my bliss, 

my destiny, my calling, 

the richest grace I can receive or give." 

  

Dave Richo, The Power of Grace 

One of the retreatants asked about trying to be saintly. I was grateful for the question, and for Dave's soft spoken response: "If we believe we are on a spiritual journey, why wouldn't we try to be saintly?". That actually seems like a very sane response. The day turned out to be a time of mostly silence for me. I spoke very little. I did take my flute with me thinking I might find a secluded place to play after lunch, but I opted instead to just walk and quietly take in the rhythm and beauty of place. I took no pictures. Even that simple action felt like it would take me out of that silence that I now understand as  Presence tending to my heart.