when he came over for dinner a few days ago he asked when we were going to take down the holiday decorations. “sheesh!” i said. “it’s barely over!”
truth of the matter is that i love the light and spirit of the holiday decorations. the intermingling of the everyday with the celebration of divine. even so, we will – soon – take down the Christmas tree, all the little trees, the ornaments. we may leave a few crystals up for a while. and, definitely, the happy lights stay. there is nothing wrong with keeping light and real-life intermingled.
pine branches on the trail always get my attention. there are sections of our trail that just have a glorious scent. those spots instantly take me back to a favorite hike in the colorado mountains – where we hike through a pine forest alongside a brook that meanders down the mountain. funny how scents do that.
it’s like any time there is the slightest bit of salt in the air i am back at the beach where i processed most of my teenage years, back in the sand where i walked winter, spring, summer, fall.
the rolling-around of the new year prompts much memory-exploring. i can’t help but think of holidays past, of decades of new years turning, of resolutions and wishes, of sadnesses and hopes for new, times of tucking away the holiday and times of leaving it all up longer than ever.
for right now, the snowy pine needles nudged me to keep it all up. for a few more days. intermingled. to stretch the magic it creates a little bit longer.
it is hard for me to pass by something this beautiful – this wispy milkweed pod – without stopping. i am fortunate to hike with someone who understands this. we stop and i study the milkweed; i take several shots.
it is not the first time i have taken photographs of milkweed in the winter. i’m pretty sure it won’t be the last. each time i see milkweed – even in the winter – even in its fallow – i feel like it is different – its slant in the meadow, the curve of the pod, the way sunlight plays on it.
this is how i will get through it all, i think. zeroing in on intense beauty, tiny nuances, millisecond moments. i realize that this is the power that is available to me. this is the distraction.
the invitations are numerous from the side of the trail, from the side of life. they beckon to each of us and it is up to us whether to accept those invitations.
i am kind of a detail person…so the invitations are somewhat evident to me, hard to miss. they blur out everything else, if you intend to really take notice.
and, in just that way, we are intending new practices – more intentional meditation, more exercise, more outside. and each time – despite any same-ness, there is the possibility of new. each time we may stop and study or gaze and admire.
“things will not be the same, because we will not be the same.” (anon)
it may be difficult to avoid focusing on the way things will be in these fraught times. nevertheless, we will try to focus elsewhere. to lean into the beautiful and leave the rest of it blurred.
it was almost like a reverse-print. the trail revealed only the snow-footprints left behind.
i studied photography a bit in college. this trail was like the negative of the positive. in darkroom speak, a “negative” is a reversed image – the dark is light and vice versa – when you shine light through the negative onto the paper upon which you’re printing, the tones revert back to their correct appearance, to that which is Real.
the snow of the trail had blown off, save for the footprints. as people used to seeing footprints stamped in the snow, it is somewhat odd to see just the snowprints on a dirt trail.
i couldn’t help but ponder the parallel.
what will we leave behind as our footprints in 2025? what impression will we make? what impact will we have? what will people see on the path after we have walked on?
when we shine light through all we are, all we do, all we say in 2025, what will be the Real printed for all time?
i have no doubt we’ll all fall over it at some point – the precipice.
there will be some moment of grief, some slight, some jarring change, some out-and-out grotesque manifestation of this-thing-that-is-coming that will be the precipice for each of us.
i have already felt it. i fell over it on new year’s day. i realized that this thing that is coming now – in 2025 – this new administration’s cruelty and revenge, the emphasized attitudes disenfranchising people, the new way of being in this country, the gloating extremist, isolationist stance this country will take in this world – is already taking a toll. the precipice is real.
for the life of me i cannot understand wanting such things. i cannot understand turning my back on the rights and needs and experiences of my own family or friends. i cannot understand being a cheerleader for what’s coming. and, on new year’s day, it pushed me over the precipice and i spent the day grieving. for all the light i have tried to seek, for all the light i have tried to be, this thing-that-is-coming faster-than-fast pushed me under and into darkness.
it is real.
there will be fallout. fallout for people who know it’s coming, for people who bandwagoned and didn’t bother researching, for people who have family and friends against whom they voted. and that’s the part that made my heart hurtle over the cliff.
even though i knew it – and have known it for a couple months now – the fallout – part of which, of course, is silence – is painful beyond imagining.
knowing is hard.
i imagine i am not alone…one day at a time it all becomes more and more real…and so one day at a time there are others who are over-the-precipice-ing. it’s not going away and, as we are gleaning, it will only get worse and worse. and people voted for all of it. and i wonder – again and again – if it ever occurred to them to think about their own families or friends or community that might be drastically impacted by this new reality – the one they were choosing.
and so the fallout will gain momentum. not just the stuff that the new administration is going to set in place – the stuff that will marginalize more and more people, that will push people down – those already disenfranchised, those about-to-be disenfranchised. the fallout will lift up others – those with self-aggrandizing agenda, those with monster motives, those who perpetuate hatred, those who are clearly soul-less. and the fallout – well – it will snap the binding of relationships at their core, it will silence conversation, it will destroy friendships, it will undermine families.
because it’s real.
now – each time we are hurtled over the precipice – for it is likely that will be more than once – it will be our job to climb back up, to seek safe shelter and to heal from the pummeling of the precipice-fall. even a little bit. to keep going. to get to – what we hope will be – the other side of all this. to survive.
when i was younger – a teenager – i used to sit in the tree outside my window and write. shy – at first – of using the word “poetry” to describe what I was writing, my sweet momma suggested the word “reflections”. so back then i adopted that word for a bit. i consider now how much time in my life i have spent writing reflections, writing lyrics, writing poetry…how much time i have spent – even figuratively – in that tree.
for obvious reasons – the gift of the early days of a new year – i am gazing back on the year we just exited, reflecting on the river we traveled. it’s why i keep a pencil-written calendar – i want to remember. all of it. the tough moments and the moments that seemed divine, the hilarious moments and the times I couldn’t stop crying. all of it.
as i look back on all the spindly memories i can muster, i wonder about the year’s journey. was i compassionate enough? was i courageous enough? was i stalwart enough? was i stubborn enough? was i flexible enough? was i unconditional? did i keep my mouth shut at the right times? did i speak up at the right times? did i shout at the right times? did i choose wisely – based on knowledge and truth and values? did i comfort? did i stand in love, act from love, embrace love – enough?
it’s snowing as i write this – under a delicious quilt looking out the window. if i turn my head just right, the happy lights are reflected in the six-pane window. if i cock my head to the side, i can source the mind-bank of reminiscing, albeit a bit helter-skelter and most definitely incomplete. if i close my eyes i can hear the silence of the morning; i can intend quiet. i can wade in the river.
i suppose that in the rearview mirror of our lives, we all have much to ponder. we each take up a tiny bit of space here and it matters. we flaw and we flounder and we – sometimes – maybe not as much as we would wish – sometimes we flourish.
i think that as i take spindly-sapling steps into this new year i am hoping to reveal as much as possible in the reflection in the river. it’s time to look that reflection in the eye. it’s time to be the same we are. it’s time to change.
if i wish to be a strong oak, resilient and leafy, then i must live as a strong oak, resilient and leafy. or an aspen. or a maple. or a lodgepole pine. or a willow. no matter.
grounded, supporting other life forms, part of a bigger picture – a bigger ecosystem – mindful that we are simply a grove of humans in a giant universe. perhaps we all need be mindful of what we are reflecting back. we are rooted together – with branches that reach for each other, for spirit. interconnected, we share this earth. we share responsibility. we share the mirror.
my eyes struggle to make the reflection clear. but rivers are like that. they are never entirely static. they keep moving. and things are a bit blurry.
there is a reverence of fire. it centers me into stillness, quiet time when much else slips away. just silently staring at its dance makes time – always vibrating – shift into slower motion.
there are moments – sitting in front of a fire – when you can feel that you are coming back to yourself. it is like the somethings that have been covered over, put aside, chucked away come forward and the fingers of flame burn off what hides it from your heart. the fire melts the rigid in you, pushes you past doubt, past angst, and beyond places that ache.
and suddenly we are a tiny bit open – more open than before – to the universe tapping our shoulder, to releasing the fear of being raw, to cracking open the vulnerable, to receive gifted divine intervention, to maybe-just-maybe wings to Back.
when i looked up the term “go the extra mile” one of the definitions was from http://www.collinsdictionary.com. it listed the definition as “willing to make a special effort to do or achieve something.” then it gave an example, which was this: “the president is determined ‘to go the extra mile for peace.'” ahh. good example. uh-huh. let’s hope so.
sometimes the extra mile is only a candle in a bag.
the luminaria lit the night, cutting through darkness and cold. it conjured up my sweet momma and poppo, inviting them from behind the curtain of the other dimension. it was beautiful and hopeful; a tiny gesture. on a night filled with other things, the extra mile. simple and profound.
it will be rare in life to know the result of something we do. the extra mile may never reveal its impact. the concentric circles may never ripple the water in ways we can see. but no river stands absolutely still. and, in between the right now and next, the current is pulling us past every single opportunity for the extra mile.
in this new year, we hope to grab onto the opportunities – like life preservers – and choose to go those extra miles. big or small. passionately.
reverse threading 