Love wholeheartedly, be surprised, give thanks and praise – then you will discover the fullness of your life.
~Br. David Steindl-Rast
Hello from the Bogs
Finding grace in the ordinary
The truth is, however, that there is nothing very “normal” about nature. Once upon a time there were no flowers at all.
~ Loren Eiseley
In the presence of everything
Silence is not the absence of something but the presence of everything . . . It is the presence of time, undisturbed. It can be felt within the chest. Silence nurtures our nature, our human nature, and lets us know who we are. Left with a more receptive mind and a more attuned ear, we become better listeners not only to nature but to each other. Silence can be carried like embers from a fire. Silence can be found, and silence can find you. Silence can be lost and also recovered. But silence cannot be imagined, although most people think so. To experience the soul-swelling wonder of silence, you must hear it.
~ Gordon Hempton in ONE SQUARE INCH OF SILENCE
Where have all the rabbits gone?
Live in each season as it passes… Breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each. Be blown on by all the winds. Open all your pores and bathe in all the tides of Nature, in all her streams and oceans, at all seasons. Grow green with spring, yellow and ripe with autumn. Drink of each season’s influence as a vial.
~ Henry David Thoreau
I have sometimes questioned my devotion to the minutiae of the seasons—what a boring story they might make, an anti-narrative. How quaint to write the date every summer when I see the first passionflower blooming in the field. How out of proportion to the news of the day. But when I read Thoreau, I am validated in my own impulse to write about the seasons. Taking note of seasonal events is a practice that can catalyze us to experience them more fully, to drink and taste them. It is a way to sear them more deeply into our skin, blaze them into our eyes and hearts. My journals extend off the page, on my many walks, my hands full of fruit and forage, my pores open; I am blown on by all the winds, resigned to the influences. The swells of subtle emotion that the seasons conjure in us as they pass again each time contain within them all the spirals of our seasons past, the hopes of seasons to come. I suppose this is also to say, if it is not clear by now, that phenology is to me not just record-keeping but a kind of scripture. In this repetition and refrain, a single season gathers our memories and dreams as we add new layers of meaning to our lives—as we orbit the very meaning of being alive.
~ Holly Haworth, from “A Circling Story” in Emergence Magazine
Bella
At approximately 2:00 PM today, Bella Cat died. She’s been declining for a while and although we weren’t sure we were making the right call, we took her to the vet today to help her move on. The vet, after examining her, reassured us over and over again that it was the right call. Unknown to us when we made the appointment, Bella had a mass on or near her kidneys. She seemed to be in pain whenever she would eat or drink or use the litter box and that, in addition to her diagnosed dementia, was why we made the appointment in the first place. Her quality of life was not good except when she was in a stupor from drugs. The dementia was causing her to be in panic mode nearly all the time. The only time she wasn’t yowling and meowing as if in pain was when she was being held or high on drugs.
I want to write something up for Bella the way I did for Izzy last year, but I just can’t right now. This year has already brought a lot in terms of my health adventures, some family news that isn’t great (but not unfixable), and the death of another of our furry family members is too much right now. My photos are packed away, too, so I can’t really go through and find some of the old ones of Bella until we get settled (no idea when that will be — we’re still in Maryland for now).
I just want to mark the date. My blog(s) are helpful when it comes to that. And maybe I just want to start down the road towards grieving Bella. Writing helps. I don’t know how or why. Just that it does.
One last note or two: I could almost swear I saw Bella leave her body during her last breath. Maybe Izzy was there to greet her. I hope so.
A Monday meander: Packing up
Februate
–To purify, cleanse, or rejuvenate, esp. in a ritual or ceremonial context. From Latin “februare” (to purify) from “februa” (purifications, expiatory rites) plural of “februum” (a means of purification, expiatory offerings) which is of uncertain origin, said to be a Sabine word.
Used in a sentence: “𝐻𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑒𝑙, 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝒇𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒖𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑐.”
~ Grandiloquent word of the day
A ramble and a wander
The Way It Is
by William StaffordThere’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.
breezes at dawn 