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Archive for Sun
June 24, 2011 at 9:01 pm · Filed under Animals, Community, Earth, Environment, Family, Home, Love, My daughter, Sun, The Good Things, Time, Travel, Trees, Water and tagged: beaches, Colorado, elk, family, God, Grand Canyon, lakes, life, Michigan, mountains, nature, once in a lifetime, Orvis, Ouray, paying attention, present moment, sunset, Upper Peninsula, Utah, Valley of the Gods
I was recently remembering a time that I was driving back to Utah from a trip to Orvis, Colorado. Just a gorgeous area, amazing natural hot springs, totally my thing. Driving home through the evergreen-filled mountains, I passed through a valley of sorts and came upon hundreds, if not thousands, of elk grazing in the setting sunlight. At the time, in 2002, I thought, “There is no way that I will not be back here soon. Maybe even once a year.” Yet, nine years later, I have never been back. Even when I do go back, what are the chances that I will see all those elk that way again…I think maybe that was a once in a lifetime thing.
I’ve been very fortunate to have many of those moments in nature with all the camping and backpacking I did when I was a kid, through the few years after college. Being in nature is always where I have felt most at home, and most felt the presence of God. That’s where it’s easiest for me. I can recall one magical moment after the other from hiking and swimming the crystal clear lakes of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, to walking the pristine beaches of Bali, to riding in a hot air balloon over the stunning desert landscape of the Valley of the Gods. Each place, each time, I know that about 25% of me was thinking, “I’ll be back here; I’ll see this again in my life.” And never have I ever re-created one of those moments. This leads me to realize again the ancient truth that here and now is all we are guaranteed. See each moment, and appreciate it, for just what it is in all its spectacular singularity. A once in a lifetime moment. Because in less than an hour things will be different. Maybe even very, very different.
You will never go back.
While I have been required to see natural beauty in a tamer setting these days, I recognize that all of the above applies very much to my family life, which has taken priority in my life over the past seven years. It’s always been a priority, to be sure, but since my own marriage and the birth/upcoming birth of my children that priority has shifted to becoming nearly all consuming. I have yet to find a way to completely synthesize my love of travel and the natural world into my current life, but I’m not too worried about it. I know that the moments I have with my children and spouse, parents, brother, and grandparents are as beautiful and unrepeatable as any sunset over the Grand Canyon. Moreso. I could have moved to any one of those amazing places if I wanted to, but always the draw of my family has pulled me back home. I do believe that love, and relationships with other people, is all that we will take with us when we leave Earth. Though it would be nice to take a few of those lakes and sunsets, too!
Basically, what I am trying to say is that every moment is once in a lifetime. I think my daughter has made me realize that more than ever as she changes so quicky from week to week.
May 25, 2011 at 1:40 am · Filed under Big Cities, Community, Family, Home, Religion, Small Towns, Sun, Time, Travel, Trees and tagged: beginner's mind, Buddhism, Christianity, family, home, religion, spirituality, travel
It would probably be impossible to have had a life more stable than the one I have thus far lived. I have lived in the same city since birth except for a year and a half “abroad”. I have never experienced a move as my parents, who have been happily married for forty years, bought the house they currently live in when I was an infant. My grandparents have lived in their house since before I was born, and they were married for sixty four years. I attended the same high school as my mom. My dad grew up down the street from where I am now and lived there from the time he was born until he got married. That’s the house in which his father died, and where his mother lived for over fifty years — until she moved into a nursing home. He has never lived anywhere but here either. There is no divorce in my family. I feel like, in the midst of a big city, I have had a stereotypically small town experience. And that I have been lucky to have had every important privilege.
Sometimes I feel so attached to this place and this life that I don’t even see it anymore. It’s like looking at my own face in the mirror. I’ve been looking at the same things for so long that they’ve almost become invisible to me. Driving to a restaurant downtown, I suddenly saw the city, the hazy sunset over the fluffy trees, the little houses snuggled close together. I saw the city as if for the first time and managed to grab hold of that image. In Buddhism, there is talk of trying to maintain a Beginner’s Mind — to keep that freshness, that quality of really seeing something for what it is. I have that when I am traveling; I see every little detail of a new place as if it’s charmed. I notice everything from apartment balconies, to little pink flowers streetside, to Spanish moss in the trees, to the little boy holding his father’s hand. I want to try to reclaim that freshness of Beginner’s Mind when I look at my own city, so that I am actually seeing where I am — so that I actually perceive the life I am living.
(And for those us who are longtime adherents to a specific faith tradition, it’s important to also see things as they really are — to not be so attached to our beliefs that we can’t see the truth anymore).
January 18, 2011 at 3:07 am · Filed under Big Cities, Community, Death, Fences, Home, Sun and tagged: Community, neighbors, obituaries, paying attention, snow, winter beauty, winter scenery
This past week a couple things happened that made me want to write something down on “paper” again — made me want to get something down “for the record”. The first thing that “happened” was that as I drove through my neighborhood for the millionth time, I suddenly noticed how beautiful the glittering snow around me actually was. First, I noticed that I was being blinded. But when I took a closer look, I noticed how the clear sunlight was catching every snowflake’s diamond edges, reflecting in tiny heavenly lights all around me. Even through my salt encrusted windows I could see how spectacular this was, and it made me stand still in my insides and look around, where lately I feel I’ve been spinning my wheels. Winter is the season that I least appreciate, and typically I just grit my teeth and try to survive it without feeling too much of anything. But this time, I was able to see its unique beauty.
Next, I was dismayed to learn today that my neighbor in the house directly to the south of me passed on a few weeks ago, and I had absolutely no idea. This information made me stand still once again, as I wondered how I could have been so oblivious as to have not noticed this. Upon further reflection, I felt I was not such a bad neighbor as I recalled that she had spent 80% of her time this past year in a nursing home. She was almost never in her own home, and every night I would look from my window through hers, lights on with the aid of timers, wondering how she was doing, wondering about what her life had been like, wondering about the details of a person I happened to live beside. When I look through her window now, the timers still have the lights on, but it feels so much more lonely knowing she’s not out there somewhere, still remotely attached to her house. I guess I believe that she still is out there somewhere. She lived alone, and was 88 years old. I have wondered what shit she had to deal with over the course of all those years, a black woman in America, being young during the days of legalized racism. I had three conversations with her in the last four years. This makes me feel like a crappy person. Or at least a crappy neighbor. I did give her my phone number (along with some zucchini bread) in case she ever needed anything, but she never called….
I guess what dismays me so much is that I live such an isolated life that I had no idea that the person living right next to me was gone. I would have attended her funeral service, but I knew nothing about it. My grandfather reads the obituaries every day, but that’s not a practice of mine yet…I think when you’re older you’re looking for friends’ names — expecting to see friends’ names. Or maybe that is what a member of a community is supposed to do.
It’s odd how (to paraphrase Ferris Buhler) when you’re running along with your eyes on the ground, life — both beautiful and sad – just slips quietly by without a word.
(Rest in Peace, Helen).
November 16, 2010 at 12:33 am · Filed under Community, Fences, Meditation, Religion, Sun, Time and tagged: candles, Meditation, Quaker, Quaker Church, The Little Soul and the Sun, unity
When I got married, a man with whom J. and I worked gave us a little book entitled The Little Soul and the Sun. I didn’t read it for years…actually I think the first time I read it was four years later when S. was born. It is technically a children’s book, so I thought maybe I would read it to her at some point. It’s pretty intense…and pretty profound. I don’t think I will read it to her in its unedited (edited by me) version for awhile. There are parts of it that I don’t know that I am totally behind; however, for the most part I am mesmerized by it. For one thing, the illustrations are amazing. One image, in particular, is captivating.
The text on that page says something like, “We are all candles burning, and together we make up the sun.” The illustration on that page is of the sun, but it’s a close up so that we see that the sun is made up of a million individual candles burning. It’s really a beautiful image.
At our Quaker church the other Sunday, the pastor read the piece of scripture about letting your light shine, and not hiding it away under a basket. My family always sits in the back of the congregation so that we are less disruptive with our two year old. During the period of silent meditation (which in some Quaker services is the entire service, but in this service is only ten or fifteen minutes) I kept thinking of that image from the book — all those candles on fire that together make up the sun.
Looking out at all the people in front of me, I kept seeing us as those many candles burning all together. Something about the silence made the image even more prevalent in my mind’s eye. Then I kept thinking, “You will see all these people again later.” Well, moreso than just the people in my congregation, because obviously I will see them again. But I feel like every stranger I pass on the street who in that moment I feel like I will never see again…maybe I will. Maybe I will know them all very well, or remember that I have always known them, once the veil is lifted.
September 7, 2010 at 8:48 pm · Filed under Animals, Earth, Home, Meditation, Religion, Sky, Sun, The Good Things, Trees and tagged: birds, cars, energy, magnetics, Meditation, New Mexico, Quaker, streets, trees, woods
The Quaker meeting we attend had the service outside Sunday, in the meditational woods. The weather has been perfect in the afternoons, and very cool in the mornings and evenings, though we are in need of rain. As is typical here, the season has changed overnight: from air conditioning, to nearly needing the heat. The temperature was just right for the service, and the sky was so blue I felt like I was in New Mexico. The dry air contributed to the effect. We sat on folding chairs in a half circle facing the stone patio. Twenty year old trees surrounded us and separated us from the street, though not from its car noise. Having lived in this city since birth, I remember when this “woods” was planted, when I was a long ways off from ever attending this meeting. There are sacrifices that you make when you commit to one place for life, but there are also benefits you would otherwise miss out on. Such as seeing a tree grow up.
During the period of silent meditation, I was admiring the shapeliness of a nearby tulip leaf when the incessant car noise began to irritate me. Before I let it ruin my experience, I caught myself. There is absolutely nothing I can do about the fact that there are busy streets in this city, or the fact that there are lots of cars. The birds did not seem to be fixating on the noise; they went about their business of swooping and singing. The car noise did not appear to be affecting their lives in any way…
It is what it is.
I looked at all the people and trees, the flowering plants, the birds and the butterflies. The warm sunshine filtered down and seemed to make everything glow. In my mind’s eye, I saw each of these things as a ball of energy. As we drift and orbit around each other, currents pass back and forth between us, like lightning between clouds. I imagined this to be like a child’s toy that I’ve seen my nephew play with; there are little balls and sticks, which are all magnetic. You can build these geometric shapes with them. I imagined all the beings around me to be connected like this, like an invisible web of connected energy.
August 28, 2010 at 7:24 pm · Filed under Community, Love, Meditation, Poetry, Prayer, Sun, Water and tagged: love, mysticism
Lean over the edge;
touch the water.
Stop fighting the current
and get out of the boat.
Get into the river
and let go.
You will hear the water
rushing past your ears.
You will feel chills
although the water’s warm.
It will be like sailors
on the open ocean
connecting starry dots
to make a constellation.
Each experience will feel
like the spinning dial stops
and clicks on certain numbers
until the open lock.
It will be the breaking down
of a wall, one brick at a time,
a blinding light becoming
more and more exposed.
I feel I am very very close
to you.
July 8, 2010 at 6:45 pm · Filed under Barns, Earth, Home, Love, Poetry, Small Towns, Sun, The Good Things, Travel, Trees, Wind and tagged: corn, farming, sonnet, soybeans, summer
Several trees seem to swim
in a field flooded with corn.
With the small hairs on my arm, I feel
the wind; with the leaves on the tree, I see it.
The sun setting behind us
lights all the rusty tassels –
pegs in a Lite Brite board,
and the silks are pink tissues popping out.
Waves of heat and sound: a cicada buzz
begins to deafen while the hazy air comes
close against our skin
through open windows.
Soybeans on our other side:
a dark and secret forest green.
June 4, 2010 at 2:50 am · Filed under Earth, Love, Meditation, Religion, Sky, Sun, Teaching, Water, Wind and tagged: buoyancy, Coleman Barks, emptiness, existence, Jesus, Muhammed, mysticism, ocean, prophets, Rumi, Shams of Tabriz, Sufi
At the beginning of each semester in school, we try to push the re-set button, in a sense, with our students. We kind of go over the expectations so everything is fresh, and then we’re ready to start new again. So we do that at the beginning of the year, and after every break. Or that’s the goal.
I read this poem by the Sufi mystic Rumi (translated by Coleman Barks) in a book I am reading right now. Reading it kind of felt like pushing a re-set button for my own self. I love the poetry of Rumi, but I haven’t read it in a long time. This poem is about love — for his teacher and for the Divine. I’ll re-type the poem here (and dedicate its re-typing to the ocean!):
BUOYANCY
Love has taken away all my practices
And filled me with poetry.
I tried to keep quietly repeating,
“No strength but yours,”
But I couldn’t.
I had to clap and sing.
I used to be respectable and chaste and stable,
but who can stand in this strong wind
and remember those things?
A mountain keeps an echo deep inside itself.
That’s how I hold your voice.
I am scrap wood thrown in your fire,
and quickly reduced to smoke.
I saw you and became empty.
This emptiness, more beautiful than existence,
it obliterates existence, and yet when it comes,
existence thrives and creates more existence.
The sky is blue. The world is a blind man
squatting on the road.
But whoever sees your emptiness
sees beyond blue and beyond the blind man.
A great soul hides like Mohammed, or Jesus,
moving through a crowd in a city
where no one knows him.
To praise is to praise
how one surrenders
to the emptiness.
To praise the sun is to praise your own eyes.
Praise, the ocean. What we say, a little ship.
So the sea-journey goes on, and who knows where!
Just to be held by the ocean is the best luck
we could have. It’s a total waking up!
Why should we grieve that we’ve been sleeping?
It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been unconscious.
We’re groggy, but let the guilt go.
Feel the motions of tenderness
around you, the buoyancy.
March 21, 2010 at 2:03 am · Filed under Children, Family, Home, Language, Music, Sun, Teaching, Time, Travel and tagged: desert, sunshine
I have a T-shirt that has a sun on it. My daughter loves it and always points to the yellow circle. The other night I said “bye bye” to the setting sun as we sat on the porch and she watched me. She watches everything that I do so carefully. Then we read a new counting book about the desert and the first page says, “One sun shines” with a picture of a big yellow sun over a desert landscape. I asked her, “Where’s the sun?” She pointed to it in the book and then immediately to the real setting sun.
As I drive to work every morning, the sun is rising on my left. I’m usually listening to music on my favorite station and it’s just a good moment for me — the sun, and the music, and time where no one needs anything from me. Once I get to work, I feel like a waitress at a restaurant, spinning in ten directions at once, throwing Of Mice and Men one way and very basic literacy materials another. At least this way, the day goes quickly, though I often feel like I am holding my breath until I can see my daughter again. At least a couple times each day, I step out the back door and sit on the steps. I breathe in and out and count to ten and feel the sun shining warmly on my face: “One sun shines.”
October 17, 2009 at 4:35 pm · Filed under Poetry, Sun, Travel and tagged: haiku
Morning drive to work.
Dark and lovely shapes — edges
begin to lighten.
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