Caleb not coming out to play today…
Caleb not coming out to play today…
Okay, not one can write a symphony, or a dictionary,
or even a letter to an old friend, full of remembrance
Not one can manage a single sound though the blue jays
carp and whistle all day in the branches, without
the push of the wind.
But to tell the truth after a while I’m pale with longing
for their thick bodies ruckled with lichen
and you can’t keep me from the woods, from the tonnage
of their shoulders, and their shining green hair.
Today is a day like any other: twenty-four hours, a
little sunshine, a little rain.
Listen, says ambition, nervously shifting her weight from
one boot to another — why don’t you get going?
For there I am, in the mossy shadows, under the trees.
And to tell the truth I don’t want to let go of the wrists
of idleness, I don’t want to sell my life for money,
I don’t even want to come in out of the rain.
- Mary Oliver, “Black Oaks” in West Wind
~ Mary Elizabeth Frye
Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905 – 2004) was an American housewife and florist, best known as the author of the poem “Do not stand at my grave and weep,” written in 1932. She was born in Dayton, Ohio, and was orphaned at the age of three. The poem for which she became famous was originally composed on a brown paper shopping bag, and was reportedly inspired by the story of a young Jewish girl, Margaret Schwarzkopf, who had been staying with the Frye household and had been unable to visit her dying mother in Germany because of anti-Semitic unrest.
One needs a place (or so I find) where one can spiritually dig oneself in. The weather here has changed to heavy rolling mists and thick soft rain. The mountains disappear very beautifully, one by one. The lake has become grave and one feels the silence. This, instead of being depressing as it is in the South, has a sober charm. In the South there is too much light whereas exquisitely breathtaking fog is all I care about. This grass, too, waving high, with one o’clocks like bubbles and flowering fruit trees like branches of red and white coral. One looks and one becomes absorbed … Do you know what I mean? I feel, at present, I should like to have a small chalet, high up somewhere, and live there for a round year, luxuriating in solitude and harmony.
—Katherine Mansfield, from a letter dated 9 May 1921, The Collected Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume Four, 1920-1921
“I became aware of the world’s tenderness, the profound beneficence of all that surrounded me, the blissful bond between me and all of creation, and I realized that the joy I sought in you was not only secreted within you, but breathed around me everywhere, in the speeding street sounds, in the hem of a comically lifted skirt, in the metallic yet tender drone of the wind, in the autumn clouds bloated with rain. I realized that the world does not represent a struggle at all, or a predaceous sequence of chance events, but the shimmering bliss, beneficent trepidation, a gift bestowed upon us and unappreciated.”
- Vladimir Nabokov [Read more...]
The Rainblossom Project:
Reflected in a puddle of melted snow, people and dogs walk past umbrellas suspended from trees at Spanish Banks Beach in Vancouver, British Columbia. The art installation, called the “Rainblossom Project”, was put up by an anonymous group to be a celebration of the rain the city receives.
Thank you Carol @ Radiating Blossom
It’s Monday morning. 8:00 am. I’m waiting out the rain.
It’s Tuesday morning. I’m noodling on why I waited to write this post. I broke the chain: Run. Write the post. Nap.
Life and order. Life, and of course, order.
Let us simmer over our incalculable cauldron, our enthralling confusion, our hotch-potch of impulses, our perpetual miracle—for the soul throws up wonders every second. Movement and change are the essence of our being; rigidity is death; conformity is death: let us say what comes into our heads, repeat ourselves, contradict ourselves, fling out the wildest nonsense, and follow the most fantastic fancies without caring what the world does or thinks or says. For nothing matters except life; and, of course, order.
Back to Monday.
The rain doesn’t let up.
Life and order. Life, and of course, order.
We arrive at Mianus River Park. Hail size drops are splashing on the windshield. I notice there isn’t a single car in the parking lot. My spirits climb. Rain be damned.
Don’t run any more.
How softly it rains
On the roofs of the city.
All things are…
~ Czeslaw Milosz, After Paradise
Illustration: John William Walters
“I had a discussion with a great master in Japan, and we were talking about the various people who are working to translate the Zen books into English, and he said, ‘That’s a waste of time. If you really understand Zen, you can use any book. You could use the Bible. You could use Alice in Wonderland. You could use the dictionary, because the sound of the rain needs no translation.’”
- Alan Watts
Alan Watts quotes Zen roshi Morimoto in his autobiography titled In My Own Way. Watts (1915-1973) was a British-born philosopher, writer and speaker, best known as an interpreter and popularizer of Eastern Philosophy for Western audiences. He moved to the United States in 1938 and began Zen training in New York. Pursuing a career, he attended Seabury-Western Theological Seminary, where he received a master’s degree in theology. Watts became an Episcopal priest then left the ministry in 1950 and moved to California, where he joined the faculty of the American Academy of Asian Studies. Watts gained a large following in the San Francisco Bay Area while working as a volunteer programmer at KPFA, a Pacifica Radio station in Berkeley. Watts wrote more than 25 books and articles on subjects important to Eastern and Western religion, introducing the then-burgeoning youth culture to The Way of Zen (1957), one of the first bestselling books on Buddhism. (Source: Wiki)
Source: Weather – Google. Frog – themetapicture.com
Good Thursday morning. Here we go on my ride of inspiring posts of the week:
Good Wednesday morning. Inspiring posts were gushing over the dam this week. Here we go on my ride of inspiring posts of the week:
“Waking up is unpleasant, you know. You are nice and comfortable in bed. It is irritating to be woken up. That’s the reason the wise guru will not attempt to wake people up. I hope I’m going to be wise here and make no attempt whatsoever to wake you up if you are asleep. It is really none of my business, even though I say to you at times, “Wake up!” My business is to do my thing, to dance my dance. As the Arabs say, “The nature of rain is the same, but it makes thorns grow in the marshes and flowers in the gardens.”
- Anthony de Mello
Anthony “Tony” de Mello (4 September 1931, Bombay, British India – 2 June 1987, New York City) was a Jesuit priest and psychotherapist who became widely known for his books on spirituality. An internationally acclaimed spiritual guide, writer and public speaker, de Mello hosted many spiritual conferences. The few talks which he allowed to be filmed, such as “A Rediscovery of Life” and “A Way to God for Today,” have inspired many viewers and audiences since being released; and have been viewed by hundreds of thousands of TV watchers throughout the United States, Canada, and Central America; in colleges, universities, Newman centers, and communities. De Mello established a prayer center in India. He died suddenly of a heart attack in 1987, at age 56. Source (Wiki)
Good Wednesday morning. Here are my selections of the inspiring posts of the week:
Jon-Mark Davey, South Florida Wildlife Photography kicks us off with his photograph of a orange butterfly shot at Rock Springs Park, Apopka, Florida. Check out one amazing shot after another at Jon-Mark’s site at this link.
Annabel Ruffell @ Journey For Earth with her post titled I am Enough: “But…Often in my life I have felt that I am not enough. I am not being a good enough mother, a good enough friend, a good enough person…I am not doing enough, being enough, am just not enough…” Beautiful post. Read more at this link.
Bonnie @ Pagekeeper with a letter to her her son titled Not All At Once: “…You, growing up, is a long game and even though you and I both want it to all be ok for you right now, let’s both try to remember that you need to take your own time with things. I want you to know that everything I do is for you – so that things are better for you. So that your easy laugh and smiling eyes are always what people see first when they meet you...” Moved. Inspired by this post. Read more at this link.
Coach Bill Moore with his share in a To Run – A Prayer for Boston: “I will take you…on in the street…Every breath of mine…I will consume your hate…I will run straight into you…as if you were a finish line of joy…picking up the fallen…along the way…you will never stop me.” Wonderful. Read full poem by Scott Poole at this link.
“There is a language older by far and deeper than words. It is the language of bodies, of body on body, wind on snow, rain on trees, wave on stone. It is the language of dream, gesture, symbol, memory. We have forgotten this language. We do not even remember that it exists…”
“We say you cannot divert the river from the river bed. We say that everything is moving, and we are a part of this motion. That the soil is moving. That the water is moving. We say that the earth draws water to her from the clouds. We say the rainfall parts on each side of the mountain, like the parting of our hair, and that the shape of the mountain tells where the water has passed. We say this water washes the soil from the hillsides, that the rivers carry sediment, that rain when it splashes carries small particles, that the soil itself flows with water in streams underground. We say that water is taken up into roots of plants, into stems, that it washes down hills into rivers, that these rivers flow to the sea, that from the sea, in the sunlight, this water rises to the sky, that this water is carried in clouds, and comes back as rain, comes back as fog, back as dew, as wetness in the air.
We say everything comes back.”
Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.
Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.
Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgiveable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance. Yes.
~ Raymond Carver, “Rain“
SEE MORE PHOTOS AT THEATLANTIC.COM
See 50 more photos at TheAtlantic.com
And, hopefully sitting in a house with power… :)
Good Sunday Morning.
The short clip reminded me of the Sunday mornings (rain, shine, bitter cold or snow) that we’d take Zeke to the dog park to play with his friends. The video is paired with happy music. Bet you dinner you smile at least once and your heart warms at least one degree. (Easy Money!)
Good Sunday Morning.
The two-minute clip reminds me of the calm, peace and beauty of nature on my early morning runs. Video is beautifully paired with music by Fink.
Good Sunday Morning.
I’ll tell you another secret, this one for your own good. You may think the past has something to tell you. You may think that you should listen, should strain to make out its whispers, should bend over backward, stoop down low to hear its voice breathed up from the ground, from the dead places. You may think there’s something in it for you, something to understand or make sense of.
But I know the truth: I know from the nights of Coldness. I know the past will drag you backward and down, have you snatching at whispers of wind and the gibberish of trees rubbing together, trying to decipher some code, trying to piece together what was broken. It’s hopeless. The past is nothing but a weight. It will build inside of you like a stone.
Take it from me: If you hear the past speaking to you, feel it tugging at your back and running its fingers up your spine, the best thing to do – the only thing – is run.
~ Becca @ Lost in Time
(Thoughts move from light to dark. Huh? Why now? Find myself losing pace and losing oxygen…gulping air.)
Eckhart Tolle begins whispering to me: "Be aware of the thoughts you are thinking…Don’t try to stop them. Just watch them. Still your mind. Watch them float gently down stream."
(I can’t do this. I’m blocking. I’m resisting. I’m trying to turn them away and replace with sunny others.)
Pace moves to a crawl. Legs feel heavy. I feel HEAVY.