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Peace Walk

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Yesterday, I blogged several quotes from Thich Nhat Hahn.  Last night, I came across a passage in Living Buddha, Living Christ that illuminated my journey through widowhood, change, and doubt.

“One day when you are plunged into the dark night of doubt, the images and notions that were helpful in the beginning no longer help.  They only cover up the anguish and suffering that have begun to surface.  Thomas Merton wrote, ‘The most crucial aspect of this experience is precisely the temptation to doubt God Himself.’  This is a genuine risk.  If you stick to an idea or an image of God and if you do not touch the reality of God, one day you will be plunged into doubt.  According to Merton, ‘Here we are advancing beyond the stage where God made Himself accessible to our mind in simple and primitive images.’  Simple and primitive images may have been the object of our faith in God in the beginning, but as we advance, He becomes present without any image, beyond any satisfactory mental representation.  We come to a point where any notion we had can no longer represent God.”

“The reality of God”…beyond any notion or representation, there is a reality, an experience.  Returning regularly to this experience is what Thich Nhat Hahn refers to as “deep practice”.  It requires awareness, mindfulness, being awake and paying attention.  What is the experience of being in this living world?

I went for a walk yesterday in a strong wind and looked up to the trees.  They were all swaying in their own way, in different directions, at different levels, different speeds.  They have no notion that is “wind”.  They have an experience.

The river touches the stones and mud in the river bed, it touches the banks, it touches the wind with its surface and reflects the trees that rise high above it.  It inhabits its course without a concept or an image of anything.

I enjoy images.  I become attached to them.  Their primitive simplicity appeals to my limited brain and feels comfortable.  I wonder now if that’s why I often become “stuck”.  It’s as if I become unable to see the forest because I look so constantly at the trees.  The experience of ‘forest’ is so much more.

Every time I take a photo, I put my experience into a frame.  Would a frameless view of reality take me beyond my doubts?  Beyond my fears?

When I was a cantor at my church, I’d sing a refrain during Vespers, framing the prayers that people offered up in the pews: “Shepherd me, O God, beyond my wants, beyond my fears, from death into life.”

Shepherd me, O God, beyond my doubts, wants, fears, images, and notions…from death into Life.

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Meditation

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I got myself into a mood last night while Steve was gone. We had mailed out job applications earlier that day for Old World Wisconsin, a seasonal living history museum, and gradually my anxieties about my life and work began escalating.  I searched the internet like a magic 8 ball, and the best advice I found was a quote from Teddy Roosevelt, “Far and away the best prize that life has to offer is the chance to work hard at work worth doing.”

What is “work worth doing”?  How do I want to spend my life’s energy?  What is worth it?  Am I even worthy of my life if I don’t do something worth doing with it?  Steve came home to find me sitting in the dark, staring out the window.  “Are you okay?” he asked tentatively.  Fortunately, we both have the ability to laugh at our moods, acknowledge them and joke about them and pay attention to them without getting too attached to them.  I did some doodling and some stream-of-consciousness writing and played my sopranino recorder a bit to loosen up and allow something to emerge.  I fell asleep with this phrase in my head: “Teach peace”.

This morning my thoughts turned to flowers and Thich Nhat Hahn.  He is one of the greatest teachers of peace, in my opinion.  If you’ve never heard of him, I urge you to do a little research.  Reading his books helped me through pivotal stages of grief and anger and crises of faith after my husband died.  I got a very personal message from his words, but his vision is for the entire world as well.  Peace begins internally and has consequences on a global scale.  I do believe that.  Today, I invite you to a meditation using Thich Nhat Hahn’s words and photos I took last summer of peonies from our garden.  I hope it nudges you awake to the happiness in you…as it did for me!

“If we are peaceful, if we are happy, we can smile and blossom like a flower, and everyone in our family, our entire society, will benefit from our peace.”
– Thich Nhat Hahn, Being Peace

“The source of love is deep in us and we can help others realize a lot of happiness. One word, one action, one thought can reduce another person’s suffering and bring that person joy.”

“The most precious gift we can offer anyone is our attention. When mindfulness embraces those we love, they will bloom like flowers.”

“Each moment is a chance for us to make peace with the world, to make peace possible for the world, to make happiness possible for the world.”
― Teachings on Love

“Our notions about happiness entrap us. We forget that they are just ideas. Our idea of happiness can prevent us from actually being happy. We fail to see the opportunity for joy that is right in front of us when we are caught in a belief that happiness should take a particular form.”

‎”The earth is so beautiful. We are beautiful also. We can allow ourselves to walk mindfully, touching the earth, our wonderful mother, with each step. We don’t need to wish our friends, ‘Peace be with you.’ Peace is already with them. We only need to help them cultivate the habit of touching peace in each moment.”

WALKING MEDITATION

Take my hand.
We will walk.
We will only walk.
We will enjoy our walk
without thinking of arriving anywhere.
Walk peacefully.
Walk happily.
Our walk is a peace walk.
Our walk is a happiness walk.

Then we learn
that there is no peace walk;
that peace is the walk;
that there is no happiness walk;
that happiness is the walk.
We walk for ourselves.
We walk for everyone
always hand in hand.

Walk and touch peace every moment.
Walk and touch happiness every moment.
Each step brings a fresh breeze.
Each step makes a flower bloom under our feet.
Kiss the Earth with your feet.
Print on Earth your love and happiness.

Earth will be safe
when we feel in us enough safety.

– from Call Me by My True Names: The Collected Poems of Thich Nhat Hanh

“Smile, breathe, and go slowly.”

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Lamb

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In some parts of the world, it’s lambing season.  I’ve seen some beautiful photos from bloggers in rural areas, and I want to share my “Lamb” story, too.

Steve and I went on a cross-country camping trip in the summer of 2009.  One of our primary destinations was Zion National Park in Utah.  We chose to camp in nearby Dixie National Forest.  The National Forest designation allows camping free of charge anywhere within the boundaries.  The land is also used for other things, which present something of a mystery to me.  Houses are built in National Forests.  ATV roads and logging operations also exist there.  The official motto on many National Forest signs is “Land of Many Uses”.  You’re never really sure what the land is being used for until you get there, drive around, and check it out.  This was my first experience traveling like this.  I was used to researching websites and making reservations with check-in and check-out times.  Steve assured me that traveling without plans is mostly safe and more of an adventure.  “Be open to what arises” was his Zen-like mantra. This trip would definitely shape our relationship, and I was excited about the possibilities.

After bumping down a narrow ATV road in Steve’s Toyota Camry, we discovered a nice spot in an aspen grove away from the big camper-trailers that had gathered in the valley for an off-road rally event.  We parked the car and began to look for level ground to set up the tent.  In the quiet of the woods, I heard a faint sound.  A bird with an unfamiliar song…rather like the sound of a bleating…goat?  “Did you hear that?”  I asked Steve.  Odd.  I picked up a roll of toilet paper and began to look for a likely tree to designate as my powder room.  Then I saw her.  At the base of an aspen, dirty white fur blended into the leaf cover and the white bark.  She let out a mournful cry.  “Maa-aa-aa!”  Oh, my goodness!  “Steve!”  She was skin and bones.  A dry umbilical cord hung from her belly.  Her long tail was caked with mud.  She rose and began walking away from us.  She was shaky and obviously hungry.  We started throwing out questions to each other.  What do we have here?  (I guessed a goat because sheep don’t have long tails. What did I know?)  Where is her mother?  She needs help.  What should we do?  Where can we take her?  How do we catch her?  How involved do we want to get?  Where is the ranger station?  How long would it take to get there?  It’s getting dark; should we set up camp and make dinner first?

We decided to catch her and drive her toward the ranger station, even though we knew it was closed.  I put on my leather fire gloves and picked her up.  She weighed almost nothing, but I wanted to be gentle and careful of her sharp hoofs.  We set off slowly toward the populated area of the forest and came upon a big, white pickup truck we thought might belong to a ranger.  It wasn’t a ranger, but a local who was able to tell us that we had a lamb and that there were free-ranging flocks in the forest.  We drove back to camp with this information, hopeful that we’d come upon a shepherd on horseback whom we’d seen earlier.  As we set up camp, the lamb stayed close.  We tried to feed her milk from a water bottle, but she just didn’t catch on.  She was bumping and nuzzling between my legs, looking to nurse.  I felt helpless not having the equipment she was seeking.  Steve wanted to allow her to sleep in the tent with us that night to keep warm.  I feel like an ogre now for saying ‘no’, but I was more “citified” back then.  She slept on a blanket just outside the tent with her back against its slope all night.  In the morning, we made breakfast, took pictures and figured out a plan.

Looking for milk in all the wrong places

The plastic bottle fails

So skinny

What am I going to do with you, huh?

Love me!

We decided to take a hike.  Perhaps we’d find the shepherd.  Perhaps Lamb would find her mother.  We set out with Lamb following for a bit, then she turned around and sat at the base of the tent again.  We went off toward the valley overlook.  Suddenly, I heard a clanking bell sound and the bleating of…SHEEP!  The flock was in the valley!  We raced back to camp, put Lamb in the car, and drove off to the valley.  I will never forget the image of Steve crossing the road with Lamb in his outstretched hands, little legs flailing.  It wasn’t so easy as just setting her down off the side of the road, though.  Oh, no!  She kept following ME!  I’d creep as close as I dared to the flock without scaring them further away, set her down and then turn and run toward Steve.  He was laughing his head off because bounding behind me with more energy than she actually had was the little Lamb, ears flapping, leaping over the tall grass.  Obviously, we had to use more stealth, more trickery.  I crept very carefully in toward some ewes, put Lamb beside me and stayed stock still.  Finally, she recognized her own kind and started moving toward them.  As she moved in, I moved back, until finally there was enough distance between us that she couldn’t see me.  She began pursuing the ewes, bleating and trying to nurse.  My last vision of her was rather sad.  She came up behind a ewe who turned and knocked her off her feet with an angry neck butt.  I saw Lamb’s white legs upended in the grass.  She hadn’t much strength left, but I hoped her persistence would get her some milk.  Or that the shepherd would show up soon.  I turned toward the car in earnest and forbid myself to look back.

Of course I’ll never know the exact outcome of our encounter with Lamb.  I am grateful for all that she taught us about being open to what arises, talking about how we want to behave toward others, and acting with compassion in the best way we can.  That little Lamb was instrumental in our formation in many ways, and I hope that we were able to help her.

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Sap Rising

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Yesterday I went to another Maple Sugar presentation training.  This one was a “Living History” demonstration.  A theater veteran of 35 years took on the persona of “Amos” and told the kindergarteners how he would go with his father and grandfather, beginning at the age of 10, into the woods for a month every year to make maple syrup. When the daytime temperatures are above freezing and the nighttime temperatures still dip below, the sap starts rising in the trees.  We’ve had some very warm nights now, and the leaf buds may already be popping, which means our maple syrup season has been shortened by several weeks.  Once the leaves come out, the sap turns bitter.  It takes about 40 gallons of sap to make a gallon of syrup.  You have to keep your fires going continually to boil it down.  One hundred years ago, it wasn’t unusual for a farm to have 700 taps going at once, so collection and boiling was an intense process.  The kids got pulled out of school and lived in the Sugarbush camp while the sap was running; they spent their time making spiles (spouts), tending fires, collecting buckets and stirring buckets of boiling sap.  And they didn’t bathe the whole time!  (Kindergarteners get a kick out of hearing that!)  For extra energy during the work day, they kept a chunk of Jack Wax in their pockets.  This is maple syrup that has been poured out on some clean snow and frozen into a hard candy.  The kindergarteners got to do a taste test, comparing real maple syrup with two different pancake syrups, and sampling maple sugar clinging to a Popsicle stick.  Real maple syrup is not as sweet and sticky as the high fructose corn syrup blends, and it has a more distinctive flavor.  It’s delicious, but it’s expensive because it is very labor intensive to produce.  Here’s another little factoid: squirrels like maple sap.  They climb into the tops of the trees and bite off the end of a twig and just lick away at the running sap.  I have yet to see this, but I’m hoping I might catch my little friend in the sugar maple outside my bedroom window doing just that.

The trails were very muddy out there in the woods, but the moss was very green.  Spring is in the air!

Boiling the sap over a walnut & hickory fire

Just to reassure you, tapping trees for maple syrup doesn’t hurt the tree.  The bark scabs over and the tree keeps producing plenty of sap to stay alive.  Trees that are big enough to hug (36-45 inches in circumference) are big enough to tap…and then to thank with a appreciative embrace!   Enjoy your neck of the woods, wherever you are!

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Photo Walk

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It has been about 60 degrees the past two days; so conducive to wandering around the neighborhood with my camera!  I wish I’d had it with me last night when I walked to my voice student’s house for his lesson.  The moon was almost full, and I kept saying to myself, “Oh, wow!  That would make a good shot!”  It was such a balmy evening that I kept thinking about endless nights playing Kick the Can as a child.  That summertime feeling is creeping up on me!  Daylight savings time kicks in on Sunday.  It’s still light at 6pm as we’re sitting down to dinner now.  Steve and I are really getting the itch to go camping.  We’ll probably take off next week if it stays this warm!  Here are some photos from yesterday:

Enjoy your day!

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Solitude and Community

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Steve and I have scheduled a Summit for today.  This is what we call our periodic “relationship discussions” where we aim our canoes and talk about where we’re headed and what we want.  I tend to have a deer-in-the-headlight kind of reaction to certain phrases that have been used in these intense forums simply because I get over-anxious about coming up with a “right answer”.  One of those phrases is “on the same page”.  I hate it when Steve uses that expression, and I have forbid it from future talks. It makes me freeze up. “What does that mean?  Do I have to think the same way as you?  Do I have to be you?  I don’t know how to do that!”  So he now describes what he’s after in a different way.  Another question that is beginning to have the freeze effect is “What do you want?”  I am dangerously close to over-thinking that one, too, and getting defensive.  “What do I want when?  Now?  5 years from now?  What do I want about what?  I don’t know what I want!”  It was really helpful when he put it to me this way: “We have a really great relationship.  But we can always do better.  What are some areas where you want us to do better or differently than what we’re doing now?”  Suddenly, I began to have thoughts and ideas where before I would just draw a blank.

The first area on my brainstorm list was community.  I want to do better in this area.  We are both nurturing our inner lives very conscientiously and intentionally, and I really like that.  I also want to work intentionally on community.  This morning, I received notice of a new post by thousandfoldecho.  The quote by Orhan Pamuk described the formation of a writer’s inner life so well.  The blog author then turned that question over to musicians and asked, “What do you think of the musician’s paradox of needing both solitude and community?”  I think this is probably any human’s paradox.  We all benefit from both.  The work of finding that balance in your own life is what keeps my partner and me coming back together for Summit meetings.

So how do you go about building community, finding and developing relationships where you can be your true, honest self?  I am more conscious of being myself in every encounter now that I’m focusing on that.  I used to just slip into roles very easily without a thought.  That was the actress in me.  It was a way of life that was smooth and slippery, easy to glide by.  I would be who people wanted me to be.  Now, I’m trying to allow myself to be…myself.  Even with the grocery clerk.  And my broker’s secretary.  And my voice students.  This is a no-brainer to many people, and they wouldn’t know how to do anything else.  I think I got into “acting” very young and had some early encouragement that kept me there.  My inner life was so different.  Writing is a way for me to really exercise that inner self, bring it out of hiding without costuming it for a certain audience.  One writer whom I really admire is Annie Dillard.  I just finished An American Childhood and even had a dream about meeting her.  I love how she writes about her inner life and becoming aware of others.  But I’ll save that for another post.  For today, I’ll leave you with this photo.  I think watching waves roll into shore is a good background for musing about solitude and community.  I invite you to share your thoughts on the subject, too!

Lake Michigan again

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About Last Night…

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I skipped posting a blog entry yesterday.  We left town at 10:15 in the morning and drove to Chicago for a matinee at the Lyric Opera.  Then we went out to dinner with my newly legal daughter and didn’t return home until midnight.  That is my official factual excuse and reads kind of like the ones my mother used to write to my teachers in elementary school.  “Please excuse Priscilla’s absence from school yesterday.  She had stomach flu.”  The end.  Oh, but last night was wonderful.  I was aware of so much, and now I’m just not sure what to share, where to start, which story to begin.  If I had brought a camera with me, I might just present a series of abstracts and let you fill in the rest.  I didn’t bring a camera; I brought myself.  The data is in me, the images, the sensations, the concepts.  I am full and perhaps trying to stay that way.  If I leak a bit of the experience, will I lose it somehow?  If I try to distill the essence of the evening, will I vaporize much of what I so enjoyed?  Am I allowed to carry my life around like a secret?  Of course, I’m allowed.  The real question is, do I want to?  Why post and share and write and tell?  I sometimes hover between bursting like a pinata and hording like a dragon.  What do you do with the precious value of living?

Smile.  I’ll start with that.

Driving the Interstate with Steve, holding hands and laughing to Garrison Keillor’s radio broadcast “A Prairie Home Companion”.  Finding an alternate route on two-lane highways through the fields when we found the Interstate was closed in one section.  Settling in the upper balcony under a golden ceiling to listen to the virtuosity of a live performance of Baroque music.  Closing my eyes to the modern staging of Handel’s “Rinaldo” and imagining powdered wigs and candlelight.  Imagining what it would feel like to have those glorious high notes, trills, and runs burble out from my own mouth.  Watching my daughter talk about her life, noting her gestures, her warmth, her composure, marveling at her maturity.  Tasting truffle oil, mushrooms, garlic, Sangiovese, gnocchi, gelato – savoring and exclaiming pleasurably to one another in mid sentence.  Talking to the hostess about her Italian family, the recipes, the home country, the history.  Speaking words of love and support and appreciation to my daughter, noticing the shape of the space between us.  Riding home in the dark, so sleepy, so content.

“We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.”
― Thornton Wilder

photo from the restaurant's website

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Too Wise

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YY UR YY UB ICUR YY 4 ME

Too wise you are, too wise you be; I see you are too wise for me.

Last night we had what the weather report called “Wintry Mix”.  It sounds like it should be a seasonal snack, perhaps cranberries, nuts, and chocolate, but it’s actually freezing rain and snow.  This morning, the sun was shining, the clouds had disappeared, and the light was dazzling.  I feel like anything that happens today is going to be amazing.  Which is a great way to feel going into a job interview.  I had an appointment to meet a brand new mom who is looking for help.  I sat across from her at the coffee shop looking into a young and exhausted face and remembered what it was like to be in that transition.  The anxiety, the lack of sleep, the hunger, the bewilderment, the change of pace, the suspension of norms, and the hope and excitement that this may actually be the greatest thing you can do with your life right now…which you too often forget.  I was ten years younger than she is when I was going through that transition.  I am now seventeen years older than she is.  I have no resume, I just have my experience, the wisdom and calm that has settled into the lines on my face and the rhythm of my breath and the desire to share that peace where I can.  Maybe this is a person who will find that useful.

Tomorrow I go to the opera and visit my baby in the big city.  I get to treat her to a birthday dinner and buy her a drink legally.  And maybe next week I’ll get to hold a newborn to my chest.  Life is precious.  I am grateful to be here.

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Situational Assessment

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Is life a problem to be solved?

I was raised by a very well educated mother who called herself a “domestic engineer” during the 70s when “housewife” was out of vogue and her peers were going out into the marketplace to get paying jobs.  She is a problem-solver, and very good at it.  She can load a dishwasher more efficiently than anyone I know.  She used to draw up construction plans for my house showing ways to add another bedroom or maximize my kitchen space.  She is a very useful person to have in your corner, provided you know what you want and what you consider a problem.   Sometimes her energy would confuse me.  Does my kitchen need to be remodeled?  It wasn’t something I’d considered.

My kids are in their 20s now.  They are making big assessments and decisions about their lives.   Grad school? Marriage? Property? Career?  The problem-solver in me wants to step in and draw up a plan for them.  My wiser self steps back and urges them to draw up their own plans.  My even more philosophical self steps back and says, “Why is this a problem to be solved?”  The only way to answer that question is to know what you want.

I’ll use the photo above as an example.  Some people would take a look at it and think that certain things have to be done.  The bank needs to be shored up and supported, perhaps by concrete, so that the steps can continue.  Some others might say that the steps need to be removed and ground cover planted to prevent erosion.  Some others might say that a more effective barrier should be erected to prevent people from falling off the edge.  And some would say, “Just let it be.”   There’s a stream cutting through here, heading out to Lake Michigan.  People want to get down to the beach from the top of the hill.  Those are the situations.  What do I want?  What is my responsibility?

I want to take photographs.  I want to get down to the beach, but I’m already on the other side of the stream where I’ve found steps going all the way down.  I like this situation the way it is.  To me, it is not a problem to be solved; it is a photo opportunity, a place to be enjoyed.  If there was a two year old who was coming down those steps, it’d be a different story.  But that’s not the situation here, so I don’t have to worry about that, even though I can imagine reasons to worry.  I think I probably do too much of that.

So, kids, when you’re thinking about grad school, marriage, property, career and feeling overwhelmed, ask yourself, “What do I really want?  What responsibility do I want to take on?”  Think of how you want to live life, not just how you will solve problems.   Follow your bliss.  The decisions you make are the threads in the fabric of your life, they will give it texture and variation and interest.  Enjoy creating your very own!

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Be Still and Know

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A gray morning.  I woke up too early, stumbled through breakfast in a fog, rinsed the dishes then lay back down in bed to “hit the reset button”.  I closed my eyes and thought of Lake Michigan.  My grandmother owned a cottage on the lake.  My childhood summers included a few weeks there each year.  My favorite thing about that time was that much of it was unstructured.  I could wake up, pull on a sweatshirt, walk barefoot out on the cement porch, let the screen door thwack closed behind me, and be on the beach without a backward glance.  Alone on a stretch of sand with the water as still as a bathtub, I could see “sand waves” under the surface and shiny stones just resting there in patient silence.  I wanted to be like one of those stones this morning.  Still and ancient, reflective.

photo credit: Gael Kurath, U.S. Geological Survey

I thought of a phrase this morning, as I realized what day it was.  “March first, ask questions later.”  That is not the way I want to live.

Breathe.  Be still.  Be quiet.  Settle like a beach stone.  Reflect.  Listen to the birds.

How do you post silence?  How do you publish peace?  How can I share the feeling of vastness that sweeps over me when I look at a calm horizon?  If you’ve ever stood in the early light and heard the rushing of your own heartbeat in your ears, you know.

You know and understand.