these days – even if you shut your eyes really tight – squeezing your eyelids so that you can see nothing – you cannot block it all out. i’ve tried. it doesn’t work.
like you, well – some of you – i am horrified by the fast and furious devastation – the epitome of meanness and ugliness cast upon us, upon this nation. there are no words to describe it all.
so i open my eyes instead.
and i look for things of beauty. anywhere. everywhere.
the sage green was a balm to the eyes in a landscape mostly brown. the folds of veiny leaves drew me to it – tiny crystals of dew glinting what little light there was on a drearily grey day.
the photo shoot wasn’t prolonged – only six photographs – but each one is somewhat dreamy – this fuzzy plant off-trail in the underbrush was stunning. i was glad to have noticed it. its presence gave me pause – to breathe.
this is the only way i’ll get through all this.
by keeping my eyes open to anything of beauty on or off trail. anything at all. anywhere. everywhere.
“on the day when the weight deadens on your shoulders and you stumble, may the clay dance to balance you.” (bennacht – john o’donohue)
in the meanwhile we keep hiking the trails nearby…the bike trail, state forests, nature preserves, state parks,, county parks. there are times (though never enough) we are in colorado or utah or north carolina and there are mountains or red rock to hike, deserts and canyons to explore, waterfalls to discover. but most of the time we are here. and here is where we hike. nevertheless, we keep it fresh, each time.
we’ll continue to sort life on these trails. with everything that has taken place in these last years – and, devastatingly, this week – there is plenty to sort, lots to process. these trails help us stay present – not get lost in the chaos of tangled underbrush, not get too waylaid by the terrifying what-could-happens. one step at a time, one foot in front of another.
i’m writing this at sixteen minutes after noon eastern time on monday. i have a pounding headache right now and my breathing is shallow. even without watching we can feel it in the air. the changeover. the democracy axis tipping to the oligarchs on the dais. there is a wafting scent of narcissism and revenge and you can feel the gloat descending like storm clouds. presence is damn necessary now.
“…a lot of evil happens because of ignorance and of numbness…” (john o’donohue)
so in the meanwhile – the time between this new now and whenever evil releases its cruel grip – we’ll seek the spaces that keep us in beauty. we’ll find others as they, too, look for the beautiful, the simple. and we’ll hold fast to the clay under our feet.
the connective tissue between us is sometimes like strong rope and sometimes like filmy silken thread. yet we are – one to the other – connected through bliss and storm, hot heat and bitter cold, mountaintop summits and chasmic challenges. though you may be peripheral in my every day story, we connect in the subplot of all our stories – the humanity of living – our interdependence, our shared earth.
we – together – in our shared mission seeking goodness – step into the next day. in our joining – together – we bring the best of each of us – the uniqueness of all our strengths, our gifts, our wisdom – and we buoy one another.
when the ice formed on the window in threads – more beautiful than i could have ever created – the feathery crystals latching onto the ice-strand – like tiny preschoolers holding the knots on a rope while walking in a safe-line – it reminded me, once again, of your presence. the threaded crystals remind me that we are not alone, that – together – we may find the beauty we know is there, the pause between the notes, the reinforcement, the ‘ands’ that we each desperately need.
the needlepoint of the universe – crocheted vapor – a talisman of hope.
“if everything around seems dark, look again, you may be the light.” (rumi)
we are the light in this darkness – together – particularly when we make together our intention. though feeling as if hanging on by a thread, i take comfort knowing you are hanging with me, with us.
even laden with new snow, the grasses spring up, ever resilient. they show fortitude in predicament and circumstance – a teachable moment for those of us humans who are not impervious to such things.
maybe it’s their golden glow in sun low on the horizon. maybe it’s that there are small critters taking refuge under the umbrella of stalky stems. maybe it’s the reverent bow of the fronds, the balance in the arch of growth and weight, a toppling over. maybe it is simply grace.
“i do not at all understand the mystery of grace – only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.” (anne lamott)
in moments of this past year i have found myself in the presence of grace. i have watched grace heal physical injuries. i have watched grace blanket people, restoring relationship. i have experienced grace reaching out its arms to envelop. i have received grace – the support of others. i have been surprised – even shocked – by grace and i have been surprised – even shocked – by a lack of grace.
for if the presence of grace – such an intangible mystery – does not leave us unchanged, then so does the absence of grace.
were the grasses to succumb, to be lying down, flat upon the earth, their glow of beauty and their cozy shelter wouldn’t be. their place in the world and its workings would be different, perhaps. their resilience seems to be the key.
“I know nothing, except what everyone knows – if there when grace dances, i should dance.” (anne lamott)
in the mystery that is beauty, that is grace, that is the intertwining of both – for surely they are hand in hand – there is an invitation for us to dance, upright upon a floor of dirt on earth under the sun, able to both receive and extend grace – like feathery fronds on an ornamental grass, ever resilient though the elements are threatening.
we carry that dance – tucked in – with us as we make our way. it is present, beckoning us. we can see it in the falling snow and the driving rain, thick fog and dark nights. it is there, ready to leave us different.
there was a meme that he showed me this morning. it depicted the milky way – with an arrow to a tiny dot you couldn’t see that said “you. paying taxes and living in fear.”
it was perspective-arranging.
the next thing i saw was a meme that spoke to the cutting of social programs as the new administration seeks to continue coveted tax breaks for the very wealthiest among us.
it was also perspective-arranging.
and so here we are – living this strangely bi-polar reality, seeking some kind of balance, some kind of hope, trying to stay centered, as cris wrote to us.
they hand-feed the cottontails at their back door every day. we gaze out the window at the things that keep us grounded – our dogga running around the pond, our sweet aspen tree “breck”, our old piano aging in the snow. it is the relentless pursuit of relentless presence.
at the same time there is much about which to be worried. there are merely days before every single thing changes and this country will be run by heartless souls who wouldn’t feed a cottontail or watch a piano age under any circumstance. we are clinging to some sort of it’ll-be-ok even though we don’t think it will and we find it mind-boggling and heartbreaking to think of all the people who are pleased with the cruel impending mindset of our country.
it’s freezing today as i write this – a couple days before it will be published. by the time it is published the weather will be a bit better – for a day or two. it’s supposed to break over the freezing mark and hit forty degrees. but for right now – this very moment – it feels like 4 and we are side by side under the quilt, sipping coffee with dogga at our feet. it is a suspended moment in time but we can feel the other moments coming.
this year i will turn 66 and david 64. we wonder if – in our lifetime – we will actually see this country return to a place of compassion and sanity. what if it doesn’t? what if the self-aggrandizing-corruptly-narcissistic-strategically-agendized-greedy oligarchs just continue their reign for decades, pushing down those of us who have far less so that we will have far-far less? what if we move into a state of being where there is no equality – there are no rights – for anyone who is different than those in cold, extremist leadership positions?
breck doesn’t know the answers. but breck stands – fervently staunch – in the wind, the rain, the snow and hot sun – and thrives. it takes up the most minuscule amount of space in the dirt on this earth in the solar system of this galaxy. and so do we.
in silhouette – in the trees against the sky – it was difficult to tell if they were starlings or grackles. the identifying characteristics like feather, head, leg or beak color fly in the face of the silhouette. tail length and body shape can be discerning factors as well as their bird calls or the raucous sound that they make while hanging out in trees together. but – at these moments that we were photographing them – they were quiet and, though i might lean toward starling – because of their general body shape and tail – i’m really not sure. plus, starlings and grackles and blackbirds all often mingle together, so it can be hard to distinguish one from the other.
what i do know is that it doesn’t matter. they were beautiful all perched in the trees and it’s a marvel to look up and see sooo many birds, resting and waiting before they move on.
we are coming ever closer to the changeover in the administration of our government. it feels like we are getting a little bit quiet in waiting. there is so much chaos that can happen quickly and this morning we talked about who will stand in integrity to push back against it all, who will be decent, who will abide by the laws of the land, who will be responsible advocates for humanity – the absence of which will perpetuate a chaos of insane proportion.
were we all to be seen in silhouette perhaps there would be more likelihood that we might all be treated equally, that people would not be disenfranchised or marginalized because of pigmentation or gender or ethnicity or sexual orientation or socioeconomic status or any other differentiating thing.
if we had to squint to try and make out the details of each other and – still then – think that we are all basically the same – for silhouettes – and yes, people – are like that – maybe this country could be a better place.
i shudder thinking about what’s coming. it makes me feel sick to my stomach.
i wonder when wisdom might return. the meanwhile is going to be a shameful place.
if you’re looking for me, i’ll be in the tree communing with the birds. you’re certainly welcome to hang out. they say birds of a feather flock together. any feather.
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?
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.
reverse threading 