In pursuit of color

I had some free time yesterday, and there were errands to run, so I set out in my car.  But after getting a mile or two from the house, three things were clear: the autumn colors were at their peak, the sky was lightly cloudy (a perfect foil for the brightly colored leaves), and the weather was about to shift; within a day or two the wind and rain will have reduced most of our deciduous trees to bare branches. So I drove back to the house to get my camera, and set out again.

The most gorgeous trees were often in rather ugly locations; mostly shopping malls.  Do developers plant them in rows around the malls to disguise the ugliness of commerce?  I found this one, for example, behind a video store that had gone out of business.  But it was fun to drive with this as a side objective, noticing where the colors shone the brightest. 

In the end, my errands were completely unsuccessful (though I did find a particular brand of tea I was looking for, and I got some chocolate-covered marzipan (a favorite treat)).  But my eyes came home greatly refreshed, and my camera came home full of color and joy.  Despite the rain and wind, it was a lovely afternoon.

Small disturbances

"Small signs of friendliness can create much joy and small disturbances between people much sadness, while the "great events" of the day often do not touch us so deeply.  An unexpected note from a friend or the passing remark from a neighbor can make or break my day emotionally, while inflation and recession, war and oppression do not touch my emotions directly.  A distant catastrophe has less effect than a nearby mishap, and an interpersonal tiff raises more hackles than a world-wide calamity."

--Henri Nouwen, The Genesee Diary

I think we're all aware of this phenomenon: it seems particularly prevalent during the teenage years, although I remember coming back from my freshman year in college all distraught about the Viet Nam War, and being furious with my mother because she was only interested in something that happened at choir practice that week...

I don't know about you, but I do feel a little guilty about not being more easily disturbed about the plight of the world.  On the other hand, I am all TOO easily disturbed by that, and over the years I've decided to save my energy for the places I can make a difference.  It's not that I don't give thought to war, famine, or injustice, but it's more that I try to draw parallels through tonglen. 

If I am distraught, I hold space in my heart for others who are distraught; if the sky looks like some air battle is taking place above the clouds, I try to hold space in my heart for those for whom this is actually occurring.  If I am hungry, I try to hold space in my heart for the world's hungry... and do what I can to make a difference here on the island.  It's a matter of staying conscious, I think -- and a way of ensuring we don't get too caught up in our own challenges and ignore those of others.

That said, it's been a rough couple of days, and I found myself snapping at my husband last night when he came to me with another major project he needs me to take on.  We are not usually snappers, he and I, and I notice both of us have been a little frayed lately.  I'm looking forward to the weekend, and the chance to sleep in, unwind, and restore the gentleness in the house.

Under a lowering sky

We received the sad news yesterday that a friend of ours who has been struggling with a recent divorce and his daughters' decisions to move away, put an end to his life this week.

There's so much I could say, but I actually think my husband said it best: "Sad, sad, sad." It is a terribly sad thing, and I worry greatly about his decision's impact on their daughters.  And of course, as is always true in cases like this, those of us who cared for him can't help wondering if there might have been something more we could have done to avert this tragedy.

I'm certain -- wherever he is -- that he's making beautiful music.   I'm hoping that he finds the peace that eluded him in this life.  And I'm praying really hard for those two lovely girls...

A lesson in love

This handsome boy is Alex.  His fur is ridiculously thick and soft, and he is (we are fond of saying) a dog in a cat suit.  He goes for walks with us when we walk the dog, he comes when he is called, he loves to play with the tennis ball, and he adores me; in fact, he adores most everybody.

Alex will wrap his arms around the neck of a complete stranger and lick their cheeks and hands until they cry for mercy: he's just one amazing bundle of unconditional love.  I've had cats all my life, too many to count, but I was never really a cat person until I met Alex -- the best, most intelligent and affectionate cat it's ever been my privilege to know.

... But in a late night run to the emergency vet last night -- our only choice after multiple attacks of wheezing -- he was diagnosed with heart disease.

Bad prognosis.  Many tears.

Fortunately, 2 x-rays, a night of oxygen, and $800 later we are thrilled to learn it was just an asthma attack, probably brought on by a change in cat litter.  (They stopped carrying our old stuff, so we had switched.)  But what a lesson, to go through that.  Now I get another chance to give some of that love back.  I plan to make time to do more of that.

Expanding our sense of community

We humans are so interesting.  We crave companionship, and yet we crave alone time, too.  My friends who live alone do their best to arrange social time on the weekends, while friends who are in relationship confide they are desperate for time apart; time to get centered and pull themselves together.

Henri Nouwen talks about these conflicting pulls as well -- he goes to a monastery to get some alone time with God, but then gets distressed when the monks don't converse with him, or he doesn't get mail from his friends.

... and of course some of us need more -- or less -- social time than others.  For myself -- perhaps because my husband is around most of the time -- alone time looks particularly appealing.  But I know from experience that when I do get it I like seeing that light in someone else's window across the water in the morning; like knowing there are folks nearby I can visit if I'm in the mood -- or call upon in case of emergency. 

But ours is also a pretty close neighborhood: because our environment is so unique, and occasionally challenging, we keep track of one another, know each other's names and phone numbers, and watch out for each other's homes.  It's a community: we know that what happens to one of us happens -- at some level -- to all of us, and that's important to me. 

My job is to get better at feeling that way about the larger world out there.

Life is good

With my husband sleeping upstairs, I elected not to play chant while meditating this morning.  But I could still hear Ana Hernandez singing "Om Namah Shivaya" in my head, and my sit time was immeasurably enriched and cooled by that.

In the end, today's meditation felt the way this photo makes me feel: calm, clear, directed, steady, and very present.  It helps that I woke up this morning with a new idea for a creative project in my head; helps also that, as he continues writing during his time at the monastery, Henri Nouwen's words in Genesee Diary are becoming more spacious and self-accepting; more open to the connectedness of life.  And it also helps that we had a truly marvelous dinner with friends last night, all food fresh from their garden and cooked to perfection.

Life is good.

Imaging the sacred art of chant

Since I wrote about ekphrasis yesterday and included a pointer to the ECVA Exhibition call for Imaging the Sacred Art of Chant, I thought I'd try my hand at "painting" to music; specifically, the chant music of Ana Hernandez and Ruth Cunningham (HARC).

The music is simply gorgeous (easy to find on itunes), and it led me to create a new madonna, seen here.  She's actually a compilation of three different statues -- a Buddha, a Mary, and a Mother Earth -- and the background is a mix of photos and paintings I've done over the years.

It was a wonderful, meditative experience, creating to Ana and Ruth's glorious music, and there was a glorious sense of rightness and fulfillment around what emerged for me.  I'm not sure I could write to this music; words and rhythms don't flow as well for me if I'm hearing words and rhythms outside my head.  But I could imagine that meditation would be greatly enhanced with this musical accompaniment; think I'll try it sometime!