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Beautiful October days

Good morning from the garden where the zinnias have gone mad with blooms.

We’re all — trees, humans, insects, birds, bacteria — pluralities. Life is embodied network. These living networks are not places of omnibenevolent Oneness. Instead, they are where ecological and evolutionary tensions between cooperation and conflict are negotiated and resolved. These struggles often result not in the evolution of stronger, more disconnected selves but in the dissolution of the self into relationship.

Because life is network, there is no “nature” or “environment,” separate and apart from humans. We are part of the community of life, composed of relationships with “others,” so the human/nature duality that lives near the heart of many philosophies is, from a biological perspective, illusory. We are not, in the words of the folk hymn, wayfaring strangers traveling through this world.

Nor are we the estranged creatures of Wordsworth’s lyrical ballads, fallen out of Nature into a “stagnant pool” of artifice where we misshape “the beauteous forms of things.” Our bodies and minds, our “Science and Art,” are as natural and wild as they ever were.

We cannot step outside life’s songs. This music made us; it is our nature.

—David George Haskell

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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 Tuesday meander: Late summer

They have colors in common.

The voice of compassion is not absorbed with itself.  It is not a voice intent on its own satisfaction or affirmation; rather it is a voice imbued with understanding, forgiveness and healing.  This voice dwells somewhere in every human heart.  Ultimately it is the voice of the soul.  Part of the joy in developing a spiritual life is the discovery of this beautiful gift that you perhaps never even suspected you had.  When you take the time to draw on your listening-imagination, you will begin to hear this gentle voice at the heart of your life.  It is deeper and surer than all the other voices of disappointment, unease, self-criticism and bleakness.  All holiness is about learning to hear the voice of your own soul.

~ John O’Donohue, Beauty:  Rediscovering the true source of compassion, serenity, and hope

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Hands on

Praying hands.

People often said that eyes showed a person’s soul, but I’d always thought it was hands that spoke the truth

~ Veronica Rossi, Rebel Spy

Our troubled world today needs hands — helping, giving, loving, and caring hands — we need a lot of them, not fingers — pointing fingers — there are too many of them.

~ Andawn F

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A Monday meander: With the boys

At the Point on a rainy day.

No child ever receives a box of colored crayons and says, “What’s the point? I can’t draw.” Nor does she reject a jar of modeling dough because sculpture is too complicated. If you give him a guitar, he gets sounds out of it without fuss. If you ask her to sing, she doesn’t refuse to because she doesn’t know the words or because she hasn’t got a perfect voice: she simply takes a breath, opens her mouth and belts it out!

~ Fabiana Fondevila, Where Wonder Lives

Real generosity towards the future lies in giving all to the present.

~ Albert Camus

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Contrasts

One dewy morning.

When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider
the orderliness of the world. Notice
something you have never noticed before,

like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.

Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
shaking the water-sparks from its wings.

Let grief be your sister, she will whether or not.
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
like the diligent leaves.

A lifetime isn’t long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.

Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.

In the glare of your mind, be modest
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.

Live with the beetle, and the wind.

~ Mary Oliver

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In the morning

In the hazy glow of an August morning.

In the beginning was the dream. In the eternal night where no dawn broke, the dream deepened. Before anything ever was, it had to be dreamed. Everything had its beginning in possibility. Every single thing is somehow the expression and incarnation of a thought. If a thing had never been thought, it could never be. If we take Nature as the great artist of longing then all presences in the world have emerged from her mind and imagination. We are children of the earth’s dreaming.

~ John O’Donohue, Eternal Echoes Continue reading “In the morning”