Unknown's avatar

Autumn Sentiments

The autumn years of life.  The harvest of a lifetime.  Gathering together the products of work and character.  There’s something nostalgic and lonesome about autumn, sweet and melancholic.  Glossy photos of food and family and warm colors seem so appetizing.  I am planning to host Thanksgiving dinner for Steve’s family, and I keep daydreaming about how the table will look.  I want my home to be filled with warmth and love, good smells, earthy colors, sparkles of glass, silver, and candlelight.  Of course, this will be on a modest scale.  Martha Stewart does not live anywhere near here.  I have song lyrics stuck in my head from Barry Manilow’s “Paradise Cafe 2:00am” CD… “Oh, how I hate to see October go.”  How will I get my Thanksgiving vegetables now that the farmer’s market is closed?  The acorn squash and broccoli we had last night were delicious, dressed only in butter, salt & pepper.  The earth is so good to us and autumn is the applause before a winter curtain.  How do you feel when you’re giving a standing ovation, damp-faced and shining, heart bursting, swallowing hard, delaying your exodus into the next moment?  I feel that way about autumn.  I remember driving home from dropping one of my children off at preschool one cloudy November day and bursting into tears.  I tried to figure out what that was about and ended up writing this poem:

Change

In autumn, the trees start to sing once again

of the bittersweet mystery of change.

Is it beauty or pain now attached to my soul?

Is it grief…or relief…or nostalgia?

In the scarlet and gold,

the blood-red of life’s hold…on my heart

and the warmth of its love

mingles memories and years

into afternoon tears

falling softly…as leaves…to the ground.

Unknown's avatar

Mad Farmers

I picked up a book of Wendell Berry’s poetry from off Steve’s shelf.  The book is called The Country of Marriage, and this poem is contained therein.

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer. 

When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it. 

Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed. 

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest. 

Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years. 

Listen to carrion -- put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men. 

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth? 

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts. 

As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go. 

Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

 Has much changed since 1971? Are there mad farmers occupying Wall Street? 
Unknown's avatar

Think Big

How often do you think big….sooooo big!?

How do you keep the bigger picture in mind in a culture so enamored of minutiae?  What reminds you to “look up from your life”?  What words do you use to communicate the unknowable edges of the universe?  How do you maintain a posture of humility in an egocentric nation?  How often do you forsake the light of a screen to seek the light of the stars?

After traveling for 4 weeks to the west coast and back, my favorite memory became the night sky over Bandolier National Monument in New Mexico.  The heavens came down to the horizon without tall trees to push them back.  The stars spoke to me of vast possibilities, of fates and predictions thrown to the night winds.  I had the feeling that anything could happen.  I was far away from home, far away from my past.  I looked up and felt that it was time for me to dream new things.  I felt that my younger ambitions had already played their hand — I had been married to my teenage sweetheart until we were parted by death, I had raised 4 children to the age of majority, I had dabbled in the entertainment of various interests — and that greater things still revolved untouched before me.  I cried tears of relief and felt rested in the engulfing spaciousness.

My former spiritual director used to talk about “the MORE” of life.   The MORE is the mystery, the vastness, the infinity of which we can be aware without ever grasping.  The trick is to be aware of that while living out a particular life of responsibility.  Loving the whole universe can be done by practicing love for a specific part.  Here are some ways that has been illustrated: Mother Theresa used to say, “We can do no great things only small things with great love.”  My husband and I used to lead workshops for engaged and married couples for our church.  I told the couples that “my marriage informs my image of God and my image of God informs my marriage”.  Wendell Berry writes (in The Body and the Earth) “To live in marriage is a responsible way to live in sexuality, as to live in a household is a responsible way to live in the world.  One cannot enact or fulfill one’s love for womankind or mankind, or even for all the women or men to whom one is attracted.  If one is to have the power and delight of one’s sexuality, then the generality of instinct must be resolved in a responsible relationship to ta particular person.  Similarly, one cannot live in the world: that is, one cannot become, in the easy, generalizing sense with which the phrase is commonly used, a ‘world citizen.’  There can be no such thing as a ‘global village.’  No matter how much one may love the world as a whole, one can live fully in it only by living responsibly in some small part of it.  Where we live and who we live there with define the terms of our relationship to the world and to humanity.  We thus come again to the paradox that one can become whole only by the responsible acceptance of one’s partiality.”  So, think universally, act locally.

Living between mountains and grains of sand

What is thinking universally?  How do you keep the MORE of life in mind?  And how do you act on this mindset?

Wendell Berry, again, from Home Economics:

“To call the unknown by its right name, ‘mystery’, is to suggest that we had better respect the possibility of a larger, unseen pattern that can be damaged or destroyed and, with it, the smaller patterns.  This respecting of mystery obviously has something or other to do with religion, and we moderns have defended ourselves against it by turning it over to religion specialists, who take advantage of our indifference by claiming to know a lot about it.  What impresses me about it, however, is the insistent practicality implicit in it.  If we are up against mystery, then we dare act only on the most modest assumptions.  The modern scientific program has held that we must act on the basis of knowledge, which, because its effects are so manifestly large, we have assumed to be ample.  But if we are up against mystery, then knowledge is relatively small, and the ancient program is the right one.  Act on the basis of ignorance.  Acting on the basis of ignorance, paradoxically, requires one to know things, remember things — for instance, that failure is possible, that error is possible, that second changes are desirable (so don’t risk everything on the first chance), and so on.”

Remembering that we act on the basis of ignorance (because we really have no choice) should keep us humble.  Allowing that every seemingly random thing, like the way the rain falls from the sky, might be a pattern that we are just too myopic to recognize should keep us looking to the bigger picture.  Practicing love without the will to power (as Jung defines it) in particular relationships should keep us honest.  That is the way I want to point my canoe.

Unknown's avatar

Going Deeper

‘There is something rich and alive in these people. They want to be able to breathe the Great Breath. They are like children, helpless. And then they’re like demons. But somewhere, I believe, they want the breath of life and the communion of the brave, more than anything.’

She was surprised at herself, suddenly using this language. But her weariness and her sense of devastation had been so complete, that the Other Breath in the air, and the bluish dark power in the earth had become, almost suddenly, more real to her than so-called reality. Concrete, jarring, exasperating reality had melted away, and a soft world of potency stood in its place, the velvety dark flux from the earth, the delicate yet supreme life-breath in the inner air. Behind the fierce sun the dark eyes of a deeper sun were watching, and between the bluish ribs of the mountains a powerful heart was secretly beating, the heart of the earth.  — from The Plumed Serpent by D. H. Lawrence

Steve and I are reading this novel aloud.  The chapter that follows this quote describes a sensual ritual inspired by the god Quetzalcoatl.  D.H. writes with a rhythmic repetition that is especially enhanced in the hearing of it.  The protagonist, Kate, is an Irish woman opening herself to the experience of Mexico in the 1920s; the political and racial and sexual tensions pulsate under the glaring sun and a dark softness broods beneath them.  Last night, we listened to some selections of Richard Strauss (Four Last Songs), Shostakovich (Movements III and IV of the 5th symphony), and Wagner (prelude and Liebestod from “Tristan und Isolde”) and talked about sinking into deeper places in the soul.  Obsession, ego, openness, control.  And under-girding it all, the space for life and love to unfold, which I might call “God”.  It’s like moving from a caress to a deep-tissue massage.  How much can you stand?  Does it feel dangerous?  I feel a “safety valve” kick in when I am in that dark night which always brings me back to the light.  I don’t know if that’s my ego wrestling control out of the situation or an intrinsic optimism that says that the space where everything takes place is basically safe.  When I am seized by grief or anxiety, I can only cry so much…and then I stop.  Steve seems to have a Slavic tolerance for brooding that far exceeds mine.

And today, Steve is dizzy and nauseated.  He took an antihistamine yesterday for his allergies, and he never takes drugs.  So he is sleeping it off beside me, breathing deeply and regularly.  A squirrel hangs upside down outside the window eating maple seeds amid the green and golden foliage.  The body, bodies, the earth: we move in and out of shadow and sunshine and time.  Nothing lasts, not brooding or joy, cohesion or disbursement.  The universe is in motion.  No wonder we feel dizzy sometimes.

Sky and water on a moving planet

Unknown's avatar

How are you feeling today?

Last night I read a play that really impressed me.  It is a piece of writing that satisfies on many levels.  It’s called “W;t” (or “Wit”) by Margaret Edson, and it won the Pulitzer Prize for drama in 1999.  I recommend it highly, especially to the Approximate Chef and Memma.  You will love the protagonist, a 50 year old professor of seventeenth century poetry, specializing in John Donne.  She has stage 4 ovarian cancer, and the action is set entirely in the hospital.  Her understanding of life, of living from your wits, is rigorous, exacting, detailed, intelligent.  Being treated for cancer puts her in a situation that is painful, humiliating, and collaborative.  The script is brilliant and suddenly tender at the end in a way that doesn’t degenerate into sentimentality, but strikes firmly at the heart.  If I were to see this live in the theater, I’m sure I would be unable to rise from my seat for a good half hour after the curtain fell.  I’d be savoring every emotion.  Read it and you’ll see what I mean.  One of the “running gags” is that the intern keeps reminding himself of the “clinical” practice of asking the patient how she is feeling.  The question may seem moot, or insensitive, or humorous, but it points to self-awareness regularly, which for most of us is sorely needed.

I am noticing the subtle changes of aging.  I hear popping and cracking in my joints whenever I get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom.  I feel stiffness in the morning from sleeping on our rock-hard futon.  I have never been very flexible, and today, I tried to do yoga along with a DVD.  I found myself mesmerized by the instructor’s body and thinking of my sister Dharam, who has taught yoga, acrobatics and dance for 30 years.  It is so beautiful to watch, and I feel like my body will never be able to do it.   Memma can do it; she is fluid and flexible and of a completely different body type.  I wonder if all bodies can if they practice regularly.  The problem is fear.  I am afraid and mistrust my own body.  The way to dismantle fear is with understanding.  I had a massage a week ago, and as each muscle was touched, I felt as if I were being introduced to it for the first time.  “Oh!  That’s my muscle going from there…to…there.  It feels a bit tight and tender; I wonder if I can relax it?  Breathe….”  I am trying not to think things like, “Oh, my god!  I am so stiff and creaky!  There must be something really wrong with me.  I probably have bone cancer!”

I keep reminding myself that I just had a full physical, mammogram and pap, and blood work done, all with normal results.  If I hadn’t, I could probably convince myself that I had one foot in the grave.  My hypochondria is fully actualized.  I’m sure part of that is due to living with Jim throughout the stages of his illness and death.  The vigilance we developed became a blessing and a curse.  The trick is finding balance, finding the Middle Way.  As I stand with my toes and heels together, arms at my side, breathing deeply through my nose, I remember this.  Balance.  Breath.  Practice.  Love myself.  Ask myself compassionately, “How are you feeling today?”

Feeling fine, thanks!

Unknown's avatar

Bibliophilia

Steve's office, next to the bedroom

Books are amazing.  They’re so diverse, so intriguing, so satisfying.  I live with about 40,000 of them in this house, and yet, there are so many more to look at.  We went to a Friends of the Library Book Sale in West Berlin today.  Tables and tables full of boxes of books lined the room.   Every time I think I might be getting sick of looking at books, a cover catches my eye.  A picture or a title throws a thought against my consciousness, and I’m hooked again.  I can’t resist a book on natural history or a cookbook on chocolate or a biographical picture book on Roberto Benigni.  The world is a fascinating place.  So, after the book sale, where did we go?  To a bookstore… to meet with the Socrates Cafe group.  Steve has been talking about them since we first started dating, but he hasn’t gone to a meeting for about a year.  They were very glad to see him again.  I was introduced to the group of 2 women and 7 men as the only newbie.  We put 3 questions up on the dry erase board and voted for our favorite.  “Is life meaningless?” was the winner.   Is life meaningless?  We’re surrounded by books, words and pictures about life.  If  life is meaningless, we’re certainly doing our damnedest to create meaning to put in it.  Ah, but is there a capital M – Meaning as in a meaning that was put into life by something or someone bigger and other than us?  The discussion goes on.  The group dynamic plays out on the stage.  An hour and a half goes by, and then the leading couple asks us out to dinner.  A charming pair of psychologists make great dinner companions, in my book (pun intended).  I had a thoroughly enjoyable day.  It felt great to meet with and talk to new people.  I feel like I’ve brought a hundred new friends home with me as well.  I feel alive and engaged!  Life has meaning and death has meaning; everything has meaning and everything is valuable!  I feel like Walt Whitman in one of his litanies of affirmation.  If you spent an hour browsing through a library or a bookstore, how would you feel?  Expanded?  Sensitized,  like tiny hairs of consciousness were prickled on your mind?

Before the meeting, we walked on the shore of Lake Michigan looking past the breakers where spinnakers danced on the horizon.  Gusts of wind and sunshine exhilarated our senses.  I wish I had brought my camera.  I like to try to hold on to the bedazzlement of life.  I suppose that books do the same thing, symbolically trying to capture something of wonder.  From the snatches that I read this morning, here is a dazzling quote:

“I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women, And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of the laps.  What do you think has become of the young and old men?  And what do you think has become  of the women and children?  They are alive and well somewhere.  The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.”   Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself” from Leaves of Grass

Unknown's avatar

Priscilla Means Ancient

On August 21, 1962 at about four in the afternoon, my mother gave birth to her fourth daughter and named her Priscilla Grace.  That was me.  Imagine growing up in the cool and hip 60s & 70s with a name like Priscilla.  Well, Mrs. Presley may have helped me out a bit, but since I was born in Massachusetts, my name sounded in my ears with all the Puritanical pizzazz of a rusty shoe buckle.  It wasn’t until I was naming my own children that I bothered to find out what the name means.  Of course, I knew it came from the Bible.   I knew it was Latin.  I didn’t know it meant ‘ancient’.  How flattering.  I am ancient in a dead language.  And my middle name, Grace, is intentionally theological but also implies 15 other definitions in dictionary.com.   For a little kid, it was a lot of name.

Well, I am no longer a little kid.  I am beginning my 50th year of life and will be celebrating it daily in this blog until its culmination, and possibly beyond.   I am thrilled to begin with naming a blog and a domain.  My parents never gave me a nickname.  I didn’t acquire one until a 3 year old who lived at a camp where I was employed as a college student started calling me “Scilla”.   It sounded so much more like me than “Pris” or the cringe-inducing “Prissy”.   So this blog is dubbed scillagrace to symbolize ancient elegance of manner, action, form, motion and moral strength.  It is my goal to post entries worthy of the name.  It is my goal to avoid being dogmatic and prissy.  I want to challenge myself to go deeper into subjects that explore the ancient grace of life.   It is a lot of name and a lot of subject, to be sure.  We’ll see how it goes.