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Ushering in Autumn

While some were sleeping this morning.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate summer: I do. I love it deeply, from the first rich flush of hawthorn blossoms to the last fading mauves of August heather. I love the green and the growing, the treasures of the hedgerows, and the always astonishing abundance of the land which surrounds me. It’s just that I love autumn and winter more. Something opens up in me then – something soft and deep and glowing – which is far too shy to expose itself to the inexhaustible light of summer.

~ Sharon Blackie, The Enchanted Life: Unlocking the Magic of the Everyday

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A Monday meander: Beauty

Black-eyed Susan in the front meadow.

When we awaken to the call of Beauty, we become aware of new ways of being in the world.  We were created to be creators.  At its deepest heart, creativity is meant to serve and evoke beauty.  When this desire and capacity come alive, new wells spring up in parched ground; difficulty becomes invitation, and rather than striving against the grain of our nature, we fall into rhythm with its deepest urgency and passion.

~ John O’Donohue, Beauty

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Thursday’s news

Leaning into the morning.

Without attention, the human sense of wonder and the holy will stir occasionally, but to become a steady flame it must be tended.

~ Huston Smith

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A Monday meander: Finding routine

Red, red roses on a Sunday in May.

Understanding is not conceptual, and therefore cannot be passed on. It is an immediate experience, and immediate experience can only be talked about (very inadequately), never shared. Nobody can actually feel another’s pain or grief, another’s love or joy or hunger. And similarly nobody can experience another’s understanding of a given event or situation… We must always remember that knowledge of understanding is not the same thing as the understanding, which is the raw material of that knowledge. It is as different from understanding as the doctor’s prescription for penicillin is different from penicillin.

Understanding is not inherited, nor can it be laboriously acquired. It is something which, when circumstances are favorable, comes to us, so to say, of its own accord. All of us are knowers, all the time; it is only occasionally and in spite of ourselves that we understand the mystery of given reality.

~ Aldous Huxley

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Circling back around

Little hands.  Artwork gift for Mother’s Day.

… holiness is made of dailiness, of living life as it comes to me, not as I insist it be.

~ Joan Chittister, The Gift of Years

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The softness of spring

Dogwood dreaming.

Sometimes you are privileged with a glimpse of the other world, when the light shines up from the west as the sun sets and dazzles something wet. The world is just water and light, a slide show through which your spirit glides.

~ Fanny Howe

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A Monday meander from the Bogs

A Wednesday morning moon. An hour or so before sunrise.

Every little trifle, for some reason, does seem incalculably important today, and when you say of a thing that ‘nothing hangs on it,’ it sounds like blasphemy. There’s never any knowing – (how am I to put it?) – which of our actions, which of our idlenesses won’t have things hanging on it for ever.

~ E. M. Forster, Where Angels Fear to Tread

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