Tree Rattle

I heard the Trees rattle this morning. I've never heard that before. The wind had picked up again, causing the branches to knock against each other. Of course, that happens whenever the wind blows, but the long deep freeze we are having is unusual.

The completely frozen branches sounded like dried coral in a wind chime. I suppose this kind of thing happens further North all the time, but for me it is something new. My culture invites me to worry about whether the trees can survive this cold, but I remember that the trees have old wisdom. They have been living on this planet through all sorts of weather for a long time. How they get through this will be a manifestation of that wisdom.

Then it occurs to me that Humans have been living on this planet for a long time, too. We have survived through all different types of weather as well. We learned how to get through. I wonder where in me this ancient wisdom is lurking.

Today, I will be paying attention to ways in which my ancient wisdom might be showing itself and effecting what I do in response to this remarkable cold as I listen to the Trees rattle.

Snowflake

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a single Snowflake falling. I tuned my head to get a better look, but it was lost in the white background. It got me thinking about how that single flake was unlike any other flake that had been or will be.

This reminds me about the miraculous uniqueness of every part of this amazing Creation I get to be a part of, and the importance of me valuing and enacting my own uniqueness.

Today, I will be remembering Snowflake as she inspires me to be more fully who I am.

Crow's Call

It was still cold this morning, but the wind had died down. Fine snow flakes floated down like dust. I realized Crow had been calling. I hadn't been listening. I was caught up in my thoughts about the cold.

This reminds how powerful my thoughts can be. Rather than noticing what is happening around me, I was living in worry about the cold.

Crow finally got a response from family in the East. Today, I will pay attention to the power of my thoughts and notice when they are distracting me from Crow's call.

Dangerous Cold

The air temperature this morning was one degree. The record for today is negative three. With the wind chill, it feels like negative twenty. My culture uses words like brutal and dangerous to describe this kind of cold. I am invited to consider the cold as a threat to me personally.

But the cold is not about me. It is not dangerous, it just is. I can make choices in relation to the cold that will put me in danger, but that is about my choices, not the cold itself. The cold that is difficult for me, just like the warmth that is difficult for some other creatures, it just what that: Cold. What I choose to do in it is what determines it's effect on me.

Today, I will be paying attention to the choices I make and their effects, and declining invitations that suggest that the weather is responsible for my mistakes. 

Mouse and Snow

This kind of snow is perfect for Mouse. The crust on the first Snow covered by the light fluffy stuff we got two days ago means she can tunnel from place to place more easily. While she is under the snow it is harder for Coyote and Owl to find her.

But she has to run on top of the Snow sometimes. When she does, the Snow does not serve her anymore. When she is on top of the Snow, Coyote and Owl have the advantage. Mouse's dark brown fur against the bright white snow makes her very easy to see, and her tracks connect and expose her tunnels.

This gets me thinking about the balance of Love. For Mouse, Owl, and Coyote, Snow is a help and a problem at the same time. No one gets all of the advantage, nor does anyone get all of the struggle. Love gives each opportunities and risks. What Mouse and Owl and Coyote choose to do with what they are given is up to them.

Today, I will be on the lookout for the opportunities that Love gives me, and paying attention to the choices I have that, like Snow for Mouse, are perfect for me.

Christmas Starts Today

I woke up this morning and realized that I have had Christmas backwards all these years. Up, till now it has been about preparations, and planning for the big day. Family comes together and the staging is set. When the day arrives, we share gift and stories and a great deal of joy, and then it is over. Along with it's end leaves the invitation to be a bit kinder to each other, more patient and more forgiving.

But what are we celebrating?

Jesus didn't show up to say that everything was awesome. Even if I take up the Christian story of Jesus, the big boss doesn't send in a supervisor because things are going well. The supervisor shows up when there is a problem. And the supervisor's arrival doesn't signal the end of the work, but the beginning.

Today, I am taking up a new vision of Christmas, where Christmas marks he beginning of something, not the culmination of months of preparation. To me, the message Jesus brought was about the true nature of Love and that it is our human responsibility to care for one another. Rather than the end, Christmas day will be the start of another opportunity to live more fully in the message of Love and caring, sacrifice and commitment. Today, I pledge to take up this message. I will Love more, care more, and work harder not to be distracted by fear and judgment and doubt.

Love

To say that hate is the opposite of love is to say that the Moon is the opposite of the Sun. Like the solar system, hate and anger and joy and hunger and happiness all live within the context of Love, just like the planets live within the influence of the Sun. Each planet manifests it's relationship to the Sun in different ways, but each is still a planet of the Sun.

Fear and laughter, hate and joy, pain and ecstasy are all part of Love. What I choose to manifest is up to me. The power in that choice is profound. Today, I will take responsibility for the how I choose to manifest Love in my life. I will be aware of the power I wield, and the effects of the choices I make.

7 Billion Geniuses-The Music Metaphor XIV-The Power of Change

Ice Path

It is sill possible to see the bricks in the walkway up to the cabin, but they are covered with a thin sheen of ice. From the looks of the forecast, the ice will be there for a while. This isn't the first time it has happened. When it does, it would take ice climbing crampons to safely navigate the path.

Our solution is to find a new path, and we do. This morning you can see the tracks branching out into the ice covered snow that surrounds our familiar root. Regardless of the ice we find on our path, we can still get where we are going, we just find a new way to get there.

The ice will melt. New snow will come. It will get warmer. All this is coming. But for today, we find new routs, that create new possibilities.

The Plan

I distinctly remember the first time I allowed myself to give up on “the plan.” It's a long story that culminates with my family; myself, my wife, and two very young children, stuck in highway traffic in a non-air conditioned car on a very hot summer day heading south, away from the beach.

“The Plan” was to reconnecting with some old friends at a party in the city. We had made a commitment, and, up till that moment, if I committed to doing something, that commitment overruled anything that showed up in my path. It could have been my children's flushed faces, or my own ambivalence, or the occasional sea breeze that could still reach us from the, as yet, not too distance coast. Whatever it was, somehow I was able to let “the plan” go. We pulled off at the next exit, and headed for the Ocean.

Predictability, our friends in the city were understanding. They issued as a rain check and wished us well. I don't remember much about what happened after turning around. It seems the lesson wasn't in what happened next, but in the turning itself.

Since then, “the plan” has lost much of it's power. Rather than a blue print of what will happen, it is a scaffolding around what might. It is a soft story of possibility that lets us figure out what we might want to take along, but it doesn't limit us or prohibit us from changing course along the way.

“The plan” has a way of sneaking back into my life. Like most problems, it likes to connect itself to things that matter to me. It tries to connect itself to ideas like responsibility and letting other people down.

I have found that the best way for me to determine when “the plan” is trying take over is to pause and ponder. If I can stop what I'm doing, take a couple of breathes, notice what's going on around me, and still feel good about my next steps, I will continue on. If, however, I am pulled to put my head down, ignore some of what is happening, and forge ahead, I can be pretty sure “the plan” is working it's magic.

Today, I will be looking out for times when “the plan” tries to take over and blind me from seeing options. I will avoid the seduction of commitments that don't mean anything to anyone but “the plan” and allow my day to find it's way illuminated by the light of the possibilities that arise.

Early Snow

When the eleven o'clock snow storm starts at eight in the morning, I can get caught up in thoughts that something is amiss. Then I take a breath and realize that the snow starts when it starts. 

My work is to attend to what I can control, what I do in response. The morning wood run will be a bit wetter, and I'll have to start shoveling a bit earlier. Other than that I will sit back and enjoy the beauty around me.

Toe Lesson III

I will find out tomorrow if the risk of amputation still looms. For today, however, I have ten toes. I am grateful for my toes and whatever time I have left with all of them.

This reminds me how easily I can take things for granted, including my toes.

Today, I will use my toe as a reminder to pay attention to all of my blessings, to my fingers and legs and arms and feet and friends and health, to the Sky and Earth and Air and on and on. There are many.  If I lose my toe it's absence will serve as a reminder of how rich my life truly is.

Fire's Time

Some mornings the fire is harder to start than others. There are a number of factors that effects this, but ultimately, it comes down to time. I have to invest more time in the fire when it is hard to start.

The fire reminds me that my life is interwoven with billions of other lives including the lives of the Trees that are now my firewood. How their lives play out leading up to the time that they spark into flame is not something I can control. The fire will start when it will start. My role is to participate, add air and fuel and, with patience, in its time, fire will arrive.

Toe Lesson II

With the fresh Snow and Rain of yesterday, my frozen barefoot tracks no longer exist. They have been replaced by the half barefoot/half booted tracks required by my frostbite healing process.

I encounter my tracks and think about impermanence. My tracks will change. My toe will change. The sadness I felt when I saw my barefoot tracks can be a part of the past. The image only lives in my mind. The tracks are gone. I can let them go if I chose to, or I can hang onto the memory and allow it to continue to cause me pain. The choice is mine, in this moment, right here, right now.

Toe Lesson I

As I was walking the path to my sitting spot this morning, I was confronted by my barefoot tracks frozen in last weeks snow. Seeing my tracks brought me to a place of regret. Because of the frostbite on my toe, I will have to wear shoes for the rest of the winter. I will have to find another way to stay centered and present.

Then it occurred to me that the reason I have frostbite is because being barefoot didn't keep me present and centered in the first place. It came to me that my frostbitten toe, which is now numb but healing, is the answer. It is a reminder of what happened, but also a reminder of where I am now. The discomfort it brings me mirrors the tactile experience of being barefoot. It is also a reminder to reflect on exactly what I am attending to now, what I might be missing, and what the consequence of that can be.

I am excited about the direction my toe will take me. I look forward to finding out what I notice now.

7 Billion Geniuses-The Music Metaphor XIII-Use Your Doubt

Frost Bite

When I woke up this morning, my toe was still numb. I got up, did my breath work and headed out to urgent care. By all accounts it is a minor case of frostbite, effecting a small area of one toe. As long as it doesn't get worse, I should be able to keep the toe. Now, all I can do is wait.

Waiting requires patience. Waiting opens up time for regret and shame and guilt. What I could have done. What I should have done. What people will think. All these thoughts have been a part of my patience.

So why didn't I go put my boots on when I started to see signs of trouble? It was that question that really got things rolling.

Why?

I started thinking about why I have been barefoot for the past ten years. It was about connection. Being barefoot helps me stay connected to the moment I am in. It is not about getting people's attention or suffering when it gets cold. And it is certainly not about ignoring my physical experience.

So why I didn't do anything?

Because I put what I was trying to accomplish ahead of taking care of myself. I put my expectations for myself ahead of what has actually happening to my foot. I allowed my ego to take over and distract me from the moment I was in.

Now I am back to this moment, and I have another choice to make. I can let the pain I feel right now be a reminder of what I didn't do, or I can allow it to be a testament to what I can do now. If I am acting consistently with my intentions, I will be paying attention to this moment. I will be using this pain as a reminder to take care of me. I will be keeping my toe warm and doing what I can to heal. I will be directing my energy into this moment, not the past or the future, or my imaginings of what might happen next.

Shame and guilt and regret will not serve me, regardless of what happens. The best I can do for me is to be here, now, in the midst of the effects of all of my actions. What happens next is not for me to know, so I can let it go.

Finch

As I sat breathing this morning, I noticed a group of Finches searching tree branches for bugs. I was humbled by these tiny bird's ability to survive and thrive in such cold weather. It seems like their small bodies would freeze in a matter of moments.

When I am out I this type of cold I am protected by layers, and even still I can only take it for so long before retreating to the warmth of the cabin. As a kid I thought that if you fell asleep in the cold you would die. I got this idea for movies and TV shows, where imperiled adventurers struggle to keep each other awake during long cold nights. Yet there was Finch. With no cabin to retreat to, she goes about her day, cold or no cold.

Finch got me thinking about the mythologies we create for ourselves. Mythologies about what is possible, and about what we can and can't survive. Having slept out in the cold, with appropriate gear, I know that it's not a death sentence. It's actually pretty amazing, but for so long I believed it was something I could not do. So often the limits I place on myself are only real in my mind. Once I test those limits, I realize that don't actually exist.

Today, I will be paying attention to times when what I think I can't do gets in the way of me experiencing what is actually possible.

Cold Air

My first inhale this morning stung my nose and reminded me that when the Air gets this cold if I breath in too quickly, I will start coughing. The chilly Air requires that I be mindful of my breath.

Today, I am grateful for this cold reminder to take time, slow down, and pay attention to the effects of my actions.

Frozen Tracks

Exiting the Eastern door this morning, I was grated by my barefoot tracks. They were frozen in the slushy snow now turned to ice. Remnants of last evenings sojourn outside to breathe, they drew my attention back to the wonder of tracks.

Captured in the ice were remnants of me; how I walked in the ice last night, on my toes to avoid as much of the chill as possible, where I walked, straight out to the screen house and back, and when I walked, before it was cold enough for the slush be freeze into this morning's ice.

But there is a wider arc contained in these tracks. These tracks, combined with all the tracks I have ever set down through my steps and my actions, connect back to the beginnings of me. And the tracks of the beginnings of me connect back to the beginnings of everything. My beginnings connect back to my parents and their beginnings. Those tracks connect back to their parents and on and on back to the beginnings of everything. My tracks in the ice also connect forward to me, right here, right now.

I appreciate this reminder of my connection back to the beginnings that link to me now. Today, I will be mindful of the tracks I leave today and what they reflect about my intentions for living, and how they manifest what I hold dear.

Snow Feel

The view that greeted me as I walked out the Eastern door this morning looked like a black and white photo. The light was not yet bright enough to bring color to the land. In the dimness, the only way I could tell it was snowing was by feeling the flakes on my face. This got me thinking about the importance of paying attention to all my senses. My eyes did not know it was snowing, neither could I smell the snow.

Today, I will be paying attention to how all of my scenes inform me about the world around me. I'll do my best to avoid the illusions created when I rely only on a few.

No Wind

It took me a while this morning to notice that the wind wasn't blowing. It got me thinking about the importance of notice what isn't as much as what is. It's easy for assumptions to keep me from noticing what isn't happening around me.

Today, I will be paying as much attention to what is absent as what is present.

Here's the new video. Hope you find it useful.

Snow Light

The snow covers up the skylights, but I notice that it is still a bright morning. It's because of the reflected light from the snow on the ground and hanging on the trees. In fact, on days like today, light seems to be everywhere. This gets me thinking about balance. No matter how dark things can get, there is always light somewhere. It's just up to me to keep my eyes open so I can see it.

Cold Air

The cold morning air and thoughts of the coming storm distract me from the moment I am in. Thoughts about keeping the cabin warm remove me from what I am doing; sitting and breathing.

In this moment, I can not control the fires I will make in the coming days, and there will be no moment in which I can control the size and effects of the storm.

So I return to what I am doing. I breathe in, and I breathe out. Now I am typing. That is what I am doing. That is what I can control. The rest will have to take care of itself.

What Do We Do?

There is a tremendous amount of sadness and confusion in the cabin as my children learn that one of their musical inspirations has been accused of rape. They don't know what to do in response.

This question of how to respond gets me thinking, “In order to achieve what?”

As we continue to muddle through what seems to be a particularly complex part of our cultural history, I plan to use this question as an aid to keep my responses as thoughtful and intentional as possible.

Worry?

I sit out in the warm morning air and am invited into a place of worry. Is it fluky weather, or further evidence that we have done great damage to the Earth?

I believe that everything that happens simply creates further possibilities.

Worry is passive. It invites us to wonder things like, “Should this have happened?” Or “What will happen next?”

I prefer to say, “This is what has happened. What is possible now as a result?”

That's what I'm doing today.

Noticing

Not two miles North of the cabin, US route 95 carries 6 lanes of traffic up and down the Seacoast of New England. As close as it is, there are times when the wind blows just right, and I can no longer hear the highway. This morning was one of those times. All I could hear was my breath, the accommodating breeze, and two Owls hooting to the Southeast. I am so used to ignoring the noise of the highway, that it took me a while to realize that it wasn't there.

This got me thinking about how routinized expectations can get me to miss things. I was so used to ignoring the sound of the highway, that I almost didn't notice that it wasn't there. Once I did, I realized that I could hear the sound of my breathing. Noticing the quiet opened me up to what else was available to me.

Today, I will be noticing times when what I think is happening gets in the way of me noticing what is.

Barefooting II

I had to do some cutting of trees yesterday, so I had to put my boots on. The first thing I noticed as I walked out of the cabin and off the front porch, was how little I was paying attention to where my feet were. Having walked off the porch many times without shoes, I am aware of how aware I have to be. I need to notice if there is anything there on the ground that I might not want to step in or on. In my boots, I just trudged along, eyes up, focused on where I was going, not where I was.

This brings me back to the reason I choose not to wear shoes in the first place. It is because of the connection it creates between me and the moment I am in. I have to be paying attention to where I am to keep my feet safe. Barefooting is a concrete practice that creates tangible reminders of what happens when I get distracted. It has given me many gifts.

Today, I am gratetful for the gifts in find in the moments I am in.

Barefooting

As a dedicated bare-footer, there are times when I actually have to wear shoes. One is when I'm running the chainsaw. To go barefoot with a chainsaw in my hands would be foolish, and disrespectful of what the saw can do.

This got me thinking about times when some of my practices have to be set aside because of respect, practicality, or common sense. Whether it's going barefoot, sitting and breathing every morning, or saying “Hi” to everyone I meet along my path, I do what I do not because I have to, but because I choose to.

Sometimes they are choices I make to stand up against the status quo. Sometimes they are choices I make to challenge myself or confront fear or doubt. But they are all choices. Sometimes I can even choose not to do them, to stand up against the idea that things can't change.

Whatever the reason and whatever the choice, today I am paying attention to the power of choices, and being grateful for all the effects they have had on my life.

Cherry Tree

Due North of the cabin, stands Cherry Tree. Cherry Tree is probably the oldest tree on the part of the land that was once open Cow pasture. It's mostly dead, though there is a small section of it that still leafs out in Spring.

It is a beautiful tree, tall and expansive, it's many trucks reaching high into the Sky. Even it's dead branches have a specific artistic grace that I find alluring.

I know it will fall soon, or I will cut it down, but for now, it stands tall and beautiful, available for me to appreciate.

Cherry Tree reminds me of the truth that everything is temporary, but even so, there is beauty for me to appreciate if I choose to see it right here, right now. 

Action

On the other side of Pinegrove, I heard some big machines. It reminded me of the day the electric company came in and cleared around the power lines. Their clearing created an opening in the woods that disconnected Pinegrove from the woods further on. I was really upset that day to see such changes in the forest. But today, wondering if they were coming back to clear it out again, I get thinking about how I tend to get settled into a place and think, now that I'm here, everything should stay the same.

Thing is, some changes need to happen in order for me to stay living where I live. Clearing out around the electric lines benefits me. It's part of what keeps the lights on at the cabin. Mindful, thoughtful change is essential if I am to continue to do what I do. Mindless thoughtless change is damaging, and doesn't help anyone.

Today, I will be mindful of my actions. I will be considering their effects and their consequences for others and myself.

7 Billion Geniuses-The Music Metaphor XI-Seeing as Genius

Seagull's Reminder

I was so grateful to hear Seagull call out just as I waked out the Eastern door this morning. Seagull's call was long and loud, and was intermingled with Crow's response. Seagull's call reminded me how close I am to the beach and the Ocean.

This got me thinking about how beauty can be so close, but I will forget to notice. Seagull opened my eyes to the closeness of the Sea.

Today, I will think of Seagull, and remember to open my eyes to the beauty that is all around me.

Choose

When I choose to make my freedom contingent on someone else's choices, I am no longer free. However, my spirit remains free to make another choice.

Deer in the Dark

As I sat in the darkness this morning, I heard Deer trotting through the Northeastern woods. I am grateful for the ability to hear. I am grateful for the knowledge I used to know it was Deer. I am grateful that I have the time to sit and listen.

Today, I will be paying attention to the blessings that fill my life.

Cold and dark?

I could describe this morning as cold and dark, but that's not what it was for me. The first thing I thought of when I saw the dark blue Sky with shards of bright reds and yellows was that it looked like the beginning of a performance.

Today, I will be paying attention to the way I choose to describe things, and the effects of these descriptions.

Fly

Through a skylight this morning, I saw a leaf flying high in the air. A burst of wind caught it, and it flew even higher. This got me thinking about possibilities.

Sometimes a leaf disconnects from a tree and falls to the ground. Sometimes a leaf lets go and flies high in the sky, having a grand ride and landing who knows where.

I wonder what is possible when I let go, and allow the wind carry me.

Today, I will be on the lookout for times when my expectation that falling to the ground is the only possibility get in the way of letting the wind carry me places I couldn't have imagined.

Crow Family

Crow and family greeted me this morning from the Northwestern woods. Their caws were loud and abundant. They got me thinking about the joys of being with the people I love.

I am so grateful for the people in my life, and all that I learn from them.

Thank you. 

Apple Peel Lesson

I was cutting up an apple for breakfast, and I got to thinking about the idea of peeling.

“Where, exactly does the peel end,” I wondered?

I thought back to experiences I have had peeling apples, and it occurred to me that it really doesn't. There are spots where there is more or less peel, but the idea of a point at which the peel ends is an illusion. The peel and every other “part” of the apple slowly transitions from one to the other. Even the seeds are attached though a sort of stem that transition from seed to core.

The same is true for the boundaries that separate us; state from state, country from country, continent from continent, people from people. There is no tangible point at which the river that separates New Hampshire from Maine becomes New Hampshire water and no longer Maine water. It is all water commingling at the shore with the land obscuring the boundary even further.

And it is true for us. The popularity of DNA testing is revealing how intermingled we are with each other. The choice to see myself otherwise is just that; a choice. I can choose to see myself as Apple or peel, but ultimately, both are aspects of the other, and in that way inseparably connected.

Today, I choose to see myself as me and Apple and Earth and Sky, and enjoy what is made possible as a result.

Ice Lesson

It rained yesterday Then the temperature dropped. I know from experience that all this means ice will form. When I stepped out the Eastern door this morning, the intense cold greeted my feet, but even with all this information, I forgot to be mindful of my steps. I slipped anyway.

This got me thinking about how, no matter how mindful I might be in the moment, I will still forget and slip. I might slip into worry or fear or doubt, or focusing on the past. I can look at this as a failure or I can consider it another opportunity to re-focus on my practice.

Today, I am grateful for everything that happens in my life, and how each experience is an opportunity for me to learn something I didn't know before.

Slow Change

The morning glow was a distinct shade of pale pale blue. Gradually, Sky become brighter and more white. As it did, it occurred to me that most change happens slowly. I worked hard to attend to the subtle changes as they unfolded in front of me.

This got me thinking that most of the imperceptibility of change has to do with me not being willing to devote the time to notice.

Today, I will be doing me best to notice the slow subtle changes that are happening around me all the time. 

Star Rise

As I sit in the early morning darkness, I watch a Star rise.  I know it is rising, because there is a leafless branch between me and the Star that I can use as a reference.  When I first sit down, it is below the branch, then behind, then above. Sky starts to shine brighter, and I know that the Sun is not for behind.

All this broadens my perspective to include the slowly turning Earth that brings me morning, the path of Earth around Sun that brings Winter, and the place in which our solar system lives in the Milky-way. It's easy for me to lose track of this larger perspective, and I am grateful to Star for reminding me.

Today, I will be remembering Star as I walk through my day, and thinking about how walking on Earth is like walking on an enormous log floating in the river of Space.

Owl Wings

Owl hooted in the South. Suddenly, I saw a flash of Owl's wing, just before she disappeared behind the roof of the screen house. Then she hooted from the North. I was grateful to have caught even a glimpse of her, as she winged silently above my head.

This reminded me how important it is to keep my eyes open. Head up, eyes open, so I don't miss the possibilities that exist right in from of me, right here, right now.

Today, I will be doing my best to pay attention to each moment of my day. Maybe I'll see Owl's wing again.

Infinite Gray

The first thing that caught my attention this morning was the color of the Sky. Grays and whites morphing into brighter whites with gleaming yellow hues. The variety was staggering, and changing constantly. It was wondrous.

This got me thinking about the infinite complexity of reality. I am grateful to be able to take in such wonder simply by looking up. The bounty of this beauty is available to me constantly.

Today, I will be doing my best to stop, look, and listen, and enjoy the infinite riches that surround me.

Hello

At first, in the dim morning light, there was almost no sound. Then, from the South, I heard Bird begin to chirp quietly. This chirp informed my experience of the existence of my bird cousin.

This got me thinking about greeting my fellow humans. When I say, “Hello,” I am saying, “I am here, and I recognize that you are here, too.” Like Bird, my saying hello has some effect on bringing me into being.

I am grateful to be here today, and I am grateful to be able to say hello to whomever I meet. I look forward to finding out who I will meet today, and what effect they will have on my life. I will begin by going back outside and saying “Hello” to bird.

Fly

This morning, I saw Crow in the Sky. Hurtling Southwesterly, Crow was folding and stretching wings through the gusty wind. It looked like fun to me.

Crow got me thinking. If I had to make the choice between winging through the Sky in communion with the bluster, or coming back to the ground to find food for the day, I would pick the Sky. I would forgo the comfort of food for the experience of unpredictable flight. Thing is, the wind that lifts me today might not be around tomorrow.

This reminds me that sometimes the next right thing is not the safe thing. So I ask myself, “What life enriching choice can I make, right here, right now?” The wind of life might toss me to the ground, but it just might send me to heights I can't even imagine.

Today, I choose to fly.

7 Billion Geniuses-The Music Metaphor-IX-The Cure for Overwhelmed

Overwhelming Fire

This time of year, I build a fire every morning. Building the fire starts with a little newspaper. I put tinder on top of that, and kindling on top of that. Then I light the newspaper.

As the fire starts to build, I add more kindling. Then I wait. Once everything catches and is burning steadily, I start to add larger pieces of wood. As the kindling and smaller pieces of wood burn down into a bed of bright glowing embers, I add still bigger logs. I have to be careful, though. If I add too much wood too soon, the fire gets overwhelmed and can go out.

This gets me thinking about how being overwhelmed can happen to me. Trying to do too much at once can put my fire out. What works for me is to pay attention to doing only the next right thing. I put a log on the fire and wait till it catches and is burning well. I avoid the temptation to think about everything at once, like putting all the wood on the fire at the same time.

Today, I will be paying attention to how I am pacing myself, and doing my best not to take on too much at once. That should keep my fire burning brightly.

Sunrise

Because there are so many leaves down, I can now see the golden embers on the horizon as the Sun rises through leafless branches. In this way the bare Trees expose a beauty once hidden from me.

I am grateful for the cycles of loss and emergence, and remembering to pay attention, as loosing something can distract me from seeing what I have gained.

Singing Tree

This morning, in the dim light, I got to hear the leaf rustle of Tree singing. I was grateful to be able to witness this morning magic.

Today, I will be on the lookout for other easily missable moments of wonder.

Cloudy Sky

This cloudy morning brings with it shades of muted browns and gray. The grass that has survived the first frosts shows bright green, a result of the lingering blue light waves. I notice that Lichen on Maple tree is a different shade of gray. Different from the bark of the tree or the clouds in the sky.

This all gets me thinking about the invitations I receive from my culture to think of certain thing as beautiful, while excluding others. Cold and raw is bad where bright and sunny is better.

It occurs to me that the difference in light creates difference in what I see, and that there is beauty in all of it, if I chose to decline the invitations that can inform my preferences. Different levels of light illuminate different things. More light does not illuminate more, it illuminates differently.

Today I am declining the invitation to think about today's cloudy sky as something other than what is, and paying attention to what I can see in dimness, that I could not in brighter light.

Stands and Mistakes

Because of a number of mistakes, the fixings for tonight's dinner got left out last night. They included chicken, so the whole thing needs to go into the trash. The waste is troublesome, but this goes along with an awareness that there are far bigger problems in the world today. Even still, the series of mistakes and the consequences are something to get by.

The act of actually putting the food in the trash was a beginning, but there is still a process of letting it go that will unfold over the course of the day. Regret will cycle around with acceptance, and I trust that slowly over the course of time, I'll settle into the new menu, and allow our previous plans to go out with the trash.

I am grateful that my mistakes amount only to a minor mishap. I am fortunate enough to be able to waste food without it having any significant impact on my life. The cycle of regret and acceptance, however, is fueled by my awareness of people who's lives include far less bounty. In this way, my difficulty getting past this mistake is emblematic of something important. It would be easy for me to get past the wasted food if I didn't carry this concern and awareness, so I accept the struggle as a small testament to something for which I stand.

Today, I will be paying attention to the way my purposes and intentions can combine with mistakes and create regret. I'll do my best to accept both, as I continue along my path.

Water Diamond

A single water crystal slid silently down the face of the skylight in the early morning Sunshine. Millions of facets sparkled as brightly as the finest diamond, until it melted and became liquid.

The staggering but impermanent beauty of this watery jewel gets me thinking about the invitations I receive to try to make permanent that which is always changing. My culture, although in a constant state of flux, has evolved a mythology of permanence. Permanent beauty, permanent youth, permanent life; these are the goals of my culture. But this culture is missing out on the real beauty that can only exist with change.

The water crystal shimmers as it spins and shrinks. Facets form, greet the Sun, and disappear, leaving space for new facets to form, until the whole crystal vanishes. The beauty is the change. Even diamonds are temporary. They are formed, and they will dissolve. It is only the fleeting timescale of a human lifetime that makes them seem to last forever.

I have been taught to fear decay, and to look at rot as something that is inherently bad. But rot and decay are more than inevitable. They are an essential part of the flow of life. When I watch the water crystal sliding down the skylight, I resist the invitations to wish it would slide and slide forever. I resist the invitation to stop the process, and hold it shining in the Sunlight forever. I resist the invitations to think that beauty is something I can hold onto and keep forever.

And so in this way by my willingness to accept the impermanence of my life, I am able to connect to the eternal of change, of love, and of the energy that is inherently part of the cycles of transformation. I am more likely to see the beauty in everything including rot and decay, and I no longer value the beauty of a diamond over the beauty of a drop of water.

Today, I will be paying attention to the invitations of my culture that inform what I am supposed to think of as beautiful, and what I am supposed to value. I will resist the invitations to fear change so that I may be more likely to see the beauty in its perpetual transformation.

Crow Lesson

As I sat and breathed this morning in the near gale force winds, I saw a group of Crows flying in the Northern sky. They were diving and soaring and cawing out to each other. They circled around to the West, then turned East, dove and rose and vanished from sight. Where they playing or sparing with each other? I don't know what they were doing, but I know what they can do. Crow can fly with skill and grace in extreme winds. I know this because I saw it.

It is not my intention to ascribe my experience onto my creature cousins. I don't now if they were playing or having fun, but I know they can fly in ways I find extraordinary. Without knowing what it is like to be Crow, I know what is like to be me, and watch Crow. In this way, what I get from Crow, or anyone else I observe along my path, can inspire or challenge or remind me in ways that are useful to me, regardless of whether what I see reflects anything that might be real about their experience.

I am grateful for the lessons I receive from my observations of the world around me, and grateful to Crow. The lesson I take from what I saw is to have more fun. I can only hope that Crow and her cousins were having fun, too. 

7 Billion Geniuses-The Music Metaphor VIII-Everything is New

Low Arc Sun

As I sit this morning, I notice that the late Autumnal arc of the Sun has it shining through the Western window of the yurt. Sun shining in through the Eastern door and out through the Western window can only happen at his time of year, when the arc of the Sun is low. This reminds me that as the arc of the Sun changes over the year, different things are illuminated.

This gets me thinking about the importance of different perspectives. Different points of view illuminate different parts of experience. Relying only on my perspective would be like the Sun having only a single arc. So much of life would stay in the shadows.

Today, I will be paying attention to when relying on my perspective alone leaves possibilities in the shadows. I will reach out to others to see what their perspective illuminates.

Brick Path

When I gather Mint in the morning, I go out of the cabin through the Southern door. I walk South/Southeast to the Mint patch. I begin on brick path that “T”s East-West, at which point I leave the path and follow stepping stones through a garden. I get on the brick path again briefly before a stone path leads me to the Mint patch.

My Dad used to say, “Put the path where the people walk.” If I were to stay on the brick path after it “T”'s and follow it East I would curve around slowly, eventually turning South, then Southwest until I came to a fork. The fork is the beginning of a cul-de-sac. The stone path to the Mint patch spurs off of this circle.

The brick path is not where I walk, but it gets me thinking about how, sometimes, a circuitous path that leads me nowhere can be useful. At these times the journey is about the path and not the destination. The brick path is a beautiful path in a beautiful garden. It's curves prolong my experience. It's circle brings me back where I began, without me having to turn around. It is a path to ponder on, not to get somewhere.

Today, I am grateful for the lesson from the circuitous brick path. Today, I will think more about where I am, instead of where I am going.

Turkey Lesson

As I sat and breathed this morning, a group of Turkeys descended from their roost just Northeast of the cabin, to start their slow meander across the land. We have many Turkey neighbors, and often see them carefully perusing the ground for food as they pass by.

Turkey's slow deliberate gate gets me thinking about pace. They remind me that amazing things can happen slowly, and that we do everything step by step.

Today, I will be thinking about the lesson from Turkey and giving myself permission to slow down, and attend to the small steps I take that can lead to something big.

Acceptance II

When I was bucking up wood yesterday, my chainsaw stalled out and I couldn't get it started again. I figured it was a clogged air filter. Cleaning the filter is something I can do, but it is a twenty-four hour process. That meant that the saw was going to be down for the day, and I was going to have to change my plans.

This got me thinking about another form of acceptance. In this situation, it is the acceptance that my plans don't actually mean anything. Nor is attachment to my plans consistent with my intention of acceptance.

Plans are like a door. They are the thing I go through to see what's on there other side. The trick is in not getting attached to the door. When I'm attached to the door, I'm missing all of the possibilities that exist just beyond.

Today, I will be paying attention to my plans so they don't get in the way of my life.

Stacking and Re-Stacking

I woke up this morning and noticed that the woodpile in the woodshed had fallen over. This happens sometimes. I don't know exactly why. There are lots of possible reasons. It could be the ground under the stacks getting harder or softer, or it could be that I didn't stack the wood just right, or it could be that, as the wood continues to dry, the shape of the pile changes, the weight shifts, and the whole thing topples over.

I can't say for sure. It seems that no matter how carefully I stack the wood, this happens sometimes. The one thing I can say is that the pile has fallen over and I have to re-stack it.

This gets me thinking about acceptance. Part of acceptance is accepting that I have to re-stack the wood. But it occurs to me that another part of acceptance started a while ago; The part connected to my knowing that when I stack wood, it might fall over.

Here at the cabin, our wood system in ongoing. I drop trees in late summer/early autumn for the following year. When I'm not dropping trees, I am bucking up the wood from the previous year, getting it ready to split.

Around this time of year, I start splitting and stacking wood that has been drying since last year. That doesn't mean it's completely dry, however, and as a result it is continuing to change. Just like the planks and the cinder blocks and the soil I stack it on. Everything is in a constant state of flux, and though it seem like I am piling one static log onto another, the truth is that the whole picture is in constant motion, making miraculous the fact that the pile doesn't fall over every year.

As I continue to pull back the frame of acceptance, from accepting that the pile has fallen over and the effects that has on my plans for the day, to the reality that the pile might always fall over and that it might fall over after I have re-stacked it, to the fact that the wood is never completely dry and static, nor are the kiln-dried planks it rests on, to the constant movement of the Earth upon which it all rests, I realize that acceptance is more than a practice I take up when I see that something has happened. Acceptance is a way of being that connects me to the ongoing flux of everything. Rather than I tool I can use to deal with day to day situations, it can be a mindset that day to day situation call me back to, through which the particular details of the day find a more meaningful context within the larger frame of life.

In this way, the stacking and re-stacking of wood becomes a reflection of a much larger set of choices. Choices I have made that reflect intentions I have for living. My re-stacking of the wood is no longer a mundane task, but a testament to the confluence of choices leading up to this moment, right here right now. Within this way of thinking, stacking wood, and everything I do connects me to the Sacred, by aligning me with the constant flux of everything. A confluence that began long before me and will go on long after me.

This idea of acceptance transforms what might have been a way to get through the commonplace, into a practice that reconnects us to the eternal. Rather than accepting what we have to do, that we might not want to, we can accept our connection to the constant unfolding of everything and where, within it, we are. In this way, acceptance is not a return to the flow, but a recognition that we are continually a part of it.

With that, I'll go out and re-stack the wood pile, meditating on my connection to the infinite.

Laugh!

The first thing I heard when I went through the Eastern door of the cabin this morning, was Crow. A single caw came from the Southeast. Then, from the Northeast, I heard a series of caws. This kind of call, the caw-caw-caw, always reminds me of laughter, because it seems to be infectious amongst my Crow cousins.

As I sat and listened to them caw-caw-cawing back and forth, I got thinking about the importance of laughter. A good laugh can pull me out of whatever bad mood I happen to be in. I remember when my dad died, how important it was for me and my brothers to sit around and laugh. We laughed about the past, we even laughed about the present; about the fact the my dad was dead, and that the funeral was taking place in the sanctuary where we had played hide and seek as kids, avoiding getting caught by the Janitor, Mr. Peterson.

Our laughter was irreverent, but not disrespectful, and I'm sure my father would have approved. We weren't laughing at anyone but ourselves and the overwhelming situation we were facing. There could be no doubt that learning to live without my father was a serious thing, but learning to use laughter to get through was essential.

I don't believe Crow is ever laughing at anything. I think Crow laughs from the joy of being alive. Whether that is true of not, I appreciate Crow bring laughter into my morning, and reminding me to pay attention to the joy in my own life.

Today, I will remember Crow's lesson and look for opportunities to laugh, and enjoy the healing it brings into my day.

Doing

One of the things I am noticing about the effects of this question, what life enriching choice can I make in this moment, right here right now?, is that it focuses me on what I am doing, not what I have done. This disconnects me from the could'a, should'a, would'a's of my life. Sometimes, the answer to the question is to laugh out loud. That's been fun.

A New Question

When I walked out through the Eastern door this morning, I was so struck by the mild pleasantly humid air that I said, “Good morning!” right out loud. Then I walked to my spot and sat down. As I sat and breathed, a question came to me.

“Why am I here?”

It seems important to write that the emphasis was on “Here,” and not “Why.”

It's been more than a month since I injured my back, and I had my wisdom teeth removed last Friday. As a result I have been living through a period of slowly diminishing pain, and though focusing, I have found it distracting.

I pondered all of this for a bit. Why, Here? With regard to the pain, I am here because of a lack of focus and choices I have made. Then this phrase came to me. “What choice can I make in this moment, right here right now that will enrich my life?”

That stopped me in my pondering tracks for a bit. Then I came up with an answer, “To take in as much of the beauty of this moment as I can.” With that answer rippling out into the Cosmos, the dim colors of the early morning seemed to come into greater relief. The browns and oranges of the early November leaves got brighter, and the details stood out more clearly. That was cool.

That moment passed, so I asked the question again, “What choice can I make in this moment right now that will enrich my life?” This time the answer was to pay closer attention to the way the air felt as I breathed in and out.

Well it's been quite a morning. I have modified the question a bit. Now I am saying, “What life enriching choice can I make in this moment, right here right now?”

Today, I will be asking myself that question over and over again, and listening to the answers. I can't wait to see where all this takes me.

Still

I heard Duck on the pond in the darkness of a quiet morning. I thought, what am I to learn today? Then the word “Still” came to me, as I heard Duck fly over my head moving Southerly.

Today, I will be paying attention to the value of not moving.

Electronic Hum

The electricity goes out, and the first thing I notice is the absence of clock time. The hum of devices is replaced by the sound of the wind and rain, and I start to think about how I am going to have to adjust.

Today, I will be paying attention to things like how much water I use and where it comes from, and enjoying the quiet, because the hum of electricity will eventuality return.

Owl Lesson

I awoke this morning to the sight of limbs down and a tree snapped in half. No damage to the cabin, but the electricity is out. The Wind had diminished some, but it was still gusting pretty hard.

Then I heard it. Two Owls calling back and forth to each other. Owl is a big bird, but still I was struck by the fact that she would be out in the woods calling to a cousin in such a storm. Where else would she be, I reminded myself?

Then I thought about some of the astounding assumptions I make about my creature cousins. It can be so easy for me to forget that Owl lives outside all the time. No matter how cold or windy or stormy it gets, she is out there. She doesn't get grounded because of lightning, or because the runway gets icy.

Owl gets me thinking about what it is like to live outside. Not survive outside, but really live outside, with the same level of comfort and familiarity I have for living inside. I have thought of this before, when watching Seagulls hover along in gale force winds. They don't struggle of strain, they just seem to float in the Sky, as if it's something they just do.

Because it is. Like the Chickadees in February, my creature cousins don't retreat when the weather gets harsh, they just live their lives.

Owl reminds me of the many possibilities for living, and that the way I am living right now is just one of them. Today, I will be paying attention to the invitations of comfort and security that limit my ability to see alternative possibilities that exist right in for of me.

Leaf Lesson

A single leaf falls from Maple Tree, and lands in the Ferns just Northeast of the cabin. This leaf will nourish the Ferns as it decomposes, returning to the Earth everything that came to it through the Tree. Where it lands is a product of when it is released, the strength and direction of the Wind, the power of gravity, and a number of other factors, most of which are outside the control of Maple Tree.

This gets me thinking about how much I would like to control the effects of my actions, even though I can't. I would love to guide them toward the outcomes I think would be best, but this is outside of my control.

Like the leaf, the effects of my actions drift out from the moment of choice to have the effects they will have. The best I can do it pay attention to these effects, and allow what I learn to inform subsequent choices.

Today, I will be honoring this leaf lesson and diverting my energy away from attempts to control, and toward my efforts to learn from my experiences and make different choices.

Tree Time

Due West of the cabin's front porch, there are two Maple Trees. One of them has dropped most of its leaves. The other is still shedding. Seeing his, I realize that, until today, I didn't notice the leaves falling from either Tree.

As I sit and watch the leaves fall one by one, I am aware that I could have taken the time to witness both Trees transform to their current state from their state of bright green leafy-ness, but I did not. This gets me thinking about how the illusion of rapid change is usually a result of me not paying sufficient attention to the gradual transitions of life. I did not wake up one day at the age of fifty four. A significant number of Winters and Springs and Summers and Autumns have transpired to get me where I am today. Noticing the moments of each enriches my experience of my past, and slows time.

No matter how bare the Tree is, each leaf was released one at a time. I have the opportunity to notice and appreciate each transition that happens in my life, from this moment to the next, like leaves falling from a tree. Otherwise I might wake up one day and wonder where it all went.

Today, I am grateful to be able to sit outside for a while watching the leaves fall, and notice the richness of my life.

Freedom

This morning, while I was sitting, Crows circled in the sky and Squirrel ran across the grass, climbing up onto the wood pile. I thought about how familiar her feet must of felt on trees. I'm not sure why, or even if it's true, but it seems that most of the creature cousins I see these days are Squirrels and Crows. This got me thinking about how important these two families are to me.

Then I started to wonder why. Then I remembered. They remind me about the freedom that is possible in my life when I am not distracted by the kind of thinking that links me to things I can't control. When I see Crow fighting with Hawk, or Squirrel making a ten foot leap from tree to tree, I think about what it would take for me to do those kinds of things.

I would have to be present. To be present, I have to be thinking about what I am doing, not what I might do or what might happen. I have to be engage in the life I am leading, not the one I might have lead, or may have someday.

Thank you my creature cousins for reminding me about the importance of being present in my life. Today, I will be doing my best to live this lesson.

Earth Time

Here at the cabin, I plant our Garlic late in the fall. Timing is crucial because it has to be planted before the ground freezes, but late enough so that the bulbs will not start to sprout. This warm Autumn means I am still waiting to plant, and that planting time could be much later this year.

I am reminded that things happen in their own time, not in mine. Waiting till the time is right allows me to reconnect to Earth time, and pay attention to the invitations I receive to discount the flow and the effects it has on my life.