Image of the Week

"Bliss"

 

Monday Meditations

mindful practices to nourish you throughout the day and week

Gather a few fallen twigs, leaves, or cones and tie them in a bundle. Offer this gift to someone who can’t easily get outside.

 

Of This Earth

Because I am of this Earth,

I am rooted in direct

Tangible expression of it – 

 

Hands touching the soil, 

Fingers using implements to somehow translate 

Experience of the natural into the symbolism of words

The flow of paint

The etching of pencil

The scattered shards of torn paper. 

 

Moving in outer landscapes is the way 

To remain in contact 

With who we really are on the inner one. 

 

We take our pain and sorrows, 

excitement and successes, 

frailty 

courage 

history 

future 

into the present moment of shared passions: 

 

creativity and earthiness. 

 

For me, these are inseparable…I cannot have one without the other.  

 

(Excerpt from post in Oct. 2012) 

Image of the Week

"Irish Sea"

 

Monday Meditations

mindful practices to nourish you throughout the day and week

Journal about a way in which you’d like to be of service to the world this month.

Red Alder

Maybe today’s blog could be about last week’s steep and gorgeous hike up Mt. Thorp, with 360 degree views of jagged, snow covered peaks from the summit’s lookout; or the last of the year’s wildflowers (red Indian paintbrush) we saw near the peak; or the tremendously huge red cedars and Douglas firs that swooned above us; or the sweet, fat wild blueberries we plucked and popped into our hiking-weary bodies on our descent. 

 

Maybe I don’t know what to write because I am exhausted, feeling myself turn to the quiet, cozy, inner soul-hearth of my still self on this dark autumn morning. If I had taken a picture of today’s dawn outside my cottage, it would have shown a scene layered in fog, dark olive gray, where trees are apparitions until they finally disappear altogether. It would be a static image, though; it wouldn’t capture the continually shifting light, clouds, clearings and obfuscations of the fog. 

 

But there will be no photos of fog here today; there will be no reminiscence of last Friday’s hike. 

 

The simple alders in my yard have written their way into this morning’s journal:

 

The alders are taking their time in this autumn season. One yellow leaf here. Two there. No rush. No blazes. They are more still and quiet than I can imagine possible. With the “ocean” of air outside, how can the trees look breathlessly motionless? It is as if they are holding their breath. They are statue-esque in their incredible, tall, “mountain” yoga pose. They do this their entire, amazing lives. Their whole lives. Until one day (if a person with a chainsaw doesn’t beat them to it), the roots resting in extra sodden soil, (while the branches are shaken and moved by the wind’s strong breath), begin to lose their grip. The mud gives way just an inch, a bit, until the sure stability of the tree becomes compromised. Just…enough…until the moment when, silently and slowly, it leans beyond standing and the alder topples to the earth, lying there tragic and at rest. One more forest tree down.

 

This happened two years ago:

 

I was sitting at my desk working, when out of the corner of my eye I saw movement out the window. I looked up just in time to see one tall alder very…very…slowly…tip into gravity until it nearly-silently fell onto the grass. The alpacas who - at that time - resided in the field across the road, looked stunned. All four were lined up in a row with their heads facing the downed alder. Staring. Still as the tree once was on a breezeless day. The alpacas remained that way for nearly half an hour; the tree remained that way - prostrate on the ground - until the chainsaw came two days later, in the freedom of a weekend day, and sliced the trunk into bits, preparing it for the fireplace that coming winter. 

 

I was sad to see the leftovers of tree flesh on the ground after the alder had been removed; the sawdust, branches, leaves, and twigs that remained in the path of the fallen alder live inside me now. The imprint of the tree on the grass, the “litter” left behind when the tree had been removed, faded long ago. 

 

The alder’s journey from upstanding forest member to fuel for my neighbor’s winter hearth lives as a series of fixed images inside my own inner hearth - the place of love, memory, and creative inspiration. 

 

I am glad I paid attention to the red alders outside my west windows this morning. While it takes almost nothing to be aware, it requires everything to remember to be present. 

 

(Orig. posted in Oct. 2011)

Image of the Week

"Exploration"

 

Monday Meditations

mindful practices to nourish you throughout the day and week

Choose one rooted more-than-human who you see daily and place a fallen twig or leaf near them every day for five days in a row; say “thank you for being here” as you do so. 

Creative Collaboration #6

Fellow interfaith practitioner, island neighbor, spiritual poet extraordinaire, and – best of all – friend, Emily decided a year and a half ago to write a few poems that she paired with my visual creative work. We’re thrilled to be collaborating in this way, and we’ve continued into 2024. We want to share our work with you again. This is our sixth pairing. 

When Emily gifted this poem to me the other day, she said, “This image of yours, although not an octopus, visually stimulated this poem about sentience…

 

Sentience**

By EmilyJane Mockett

 

Octopi flit & float

In seas of consciousness 

Merging insight of touch

Flushing through them

As if inks touch to page

Casting words to mind

Seeps into hearts space

From sensations beyond

The ocean we swim

Oh octopi

How I understand your

Curious ways of knowing—

Clairsentience

Oh how I didn’t have words

As a child for this

This creep, sweep, 

flushing, brushing

Of colors in my belly

Filling me with fluidity

Insight of Divine creativity 

Flitting & floating 

my feelings of Aliveness

Oh octopi how I wish 

to ask you to dance with me, 

in squirts of purple

leaps of indigo

Deep diving with spirits unseen

 

** noun. the state or quality of being sentient; awareness. sense perception not involving intelligence or mental perception; feeling.

Image of the Week

"Reflecting on Lushness"

Monday Meditations

mindful practices to nourish you throughout the day and week

Compose an email to someone who made your summer special and tell them why. 

Preserves for Crows

The crow lands on an outdoor dining table, plucks a strawberry preserves packet right out of the Smuckers eight-jam dispenser, and hops to the grass. He punctures the plastic peel-away film on top with one swift strike of his bill. With a deftness that betrays repeated endeavors in the past, the crow’s beak comes up dripping with the jelly. A few minutes later he takes the nearly empty plastic packaging to the roof of a four-story hotel. There, perched on the eaves and still dabbing up bits of blood-red jam, he is joined by a smaller crow…who merely watches.  

(Orig. posted in 2016.)