Sitting on a giant rock, in the woods.
It’s been here since the Ice Age, they say, like all the stones here.
Of course, that’s our fault. September has become an extension of summer.
Here, the trees roots are in the Earth. Dozens of species of plants and animals with mutually beneficial, endlessly overlapping, symbiotic relationships thrive here, mostly undisturbed.
Of course, we don’t see most of that. If something can’t be explained in anthropomorphic terms, it’s invisible, or if we do see it, we decide it’s not important. We are not rooted in Mother Earth. We walk on the Earth like we’re walking down a fashion runway, or like little kings and queens greeting their subjects, expecting to be served.
We think that we are so far above the life in places like this. Created in God’s image? Really? We are blasphemous, disgusting warts, a pox on this planet.
Nothing that treats the earth the way we do and uses our intelligence as poorly as we do can claim any connection with any life-giving force.
Humans are created in gods image? Not likely. More like we’ve created him in our own image, and then placed the force of creation in a little shoebox trying to define it in terms we are comfortable with, terms that reflect us.
Until you can sit in a place like this, drop your preconceived notions and see what creation really is, and really does will you ever know anything about creation or life or holiness for that matter.
No. I’m no brilliant one, no guru. I’m just a girl who sits in the woods. You should try it sometime.
*Written at Purgatory Chasm State Park, Sutton MA
There’s a fern by the wall
With her bright green hue
And the sweet pink roses
Are still going strong too
Mugwort dwells in the corner ‘round the side
Doing as she pleases
With no need to hide
The burning bush up front
Just beginning to get some red
Causing my summer loving friends to feel some dread
Crow and Blue Jay mouthing off
But you won’t find me needing to scoff
Warm in the sun
Cool in the shade
September is beautiful
Today I wouldn’t trade
Cars going by
Since I don’t live in the woods
Although quite frequently
I feel like I should
Sitting on this bench
In my own little space
It may not be a palace
But it puts a smile on my face
The air has that early fall crispness
The land anchors life
The trees, perfection in liminality
Some of these houses
Here for more than a hundred years
Smiling spirits
They’ve witnessed a thing or two
Time itself
We cling to it’s structure
Yet it doesn’t exist
All that has been
Is, still and always
Energy never dies, it simply changes shape
Essence and truth
The pulse within
It’s all available to you
The library of the Universe
Hoodie and a hot tea
Hands around the mug
Continuity
Life
The Neighborhood?
It’s bigger than you thought
Chilly night in the neighborhood
I have always had a very strong affinity for history and nature. I feel safe, connected and inspired either out in nature or in old historical buildings.
Libraries are my very favorite place. Especially little town libraries that have been kept up for the last 150 years or so. It gives my heart so much joy to see these buildings being cared for and retained as an important part of the community.
Born on the cusp of the beginning of Gen X, I came of age at a time when Reaganomics opened the door to the life that we are all living now. Productivity and getting ahead in life was how you proved your worth and your permission to be on the planet.
I have always been someone who is far more on the creative side than the logical side.(Despite my huge affinity for a certain pointy eared first officer on Star Trek) I’ve never been the girl who was good at assembly lines, rushing, multitasking, putting out as many cogs per hour as possible to prove your worth. Yet, ironically… It’s pretty much how I’ve made my living since 1982.
What am I drawn to? Quiet, peace, books and reading, taking care of my home. Time in nature. Genealogy. History, especially the history of New England.
For me, slow, peaceful, quiet, well ordered, simple, and understated are life giving and good.
Rushing, loudness, boisterousness, partying, excessive focus on productivity, disorder… To me these things are uncivilized, draining, disgusting and bad.
More irony. As a disabled person in the workforce with responsibility for several elderly and disabled relatives, I have never been able to build a life based on the things that I consider life-giving and good. it isn’t really anyone’s fault, and heaven knows it’s not from a lack of trying. It’s just how things ended up.
As a result, as an adult, the world has never been a safe place for me. I know dozens of people who feel like this, the moment one of us finds someone else like us, we have these quiet conversations and admit these things are true.
To bring it back around to history, and libraries. I think of all of the work that went in to our forefathers making sure that each little town here in New England had a library. In most cases there was one person who donated the library, or few concerns citizens who made sure that it happened.
I love walking through libraries, museums, cemeteries, old bookstores, historic old buildings. I love driving through neighborhoods where the houses are over 100 years old. I have always felt like a transplant from another century, because this one has always been much too harsh and much too quick for me. I long to return to a time when things were done in a more thoughtful manner, and where something other than profit ruled.
Sometimes it feels like too many people these days forget the work that went into things that we take for granted. Things like the library in your town. But more than that, a majority of our ancestors did very hard work with their hands. We are here because of that work. and sometimes when you get a generation or two who have not had to do that kind of work, it feels like maybe we forget - well I haven’t.
So this morning, I will sit in the library till it’s time to go home for lunch before my work shift. I will absorb the vibes in this place and feel comforted being surrounded by books. A place with books in it will always be a good place to me. Every single book is a different world. A place like this is like a portal to everything you could possibly imagine. It feels like safety, it feels like civilization, it feels like goodness, it feels like good sense, it feels like happiness.
Every morning
The cat
Through careful observation
Of his chosen human
Comes to sit on her lap
For 15 minutes before the day’s activities begin
With head butts and snuggles
Purrs and synchronized heartbeats
He reminds her
Of her Center
And to breathe slowly
Muscles that had begun to contract
And thoughts to race
Stop their ascent
Fight or flight forgotten
She breathes, grateful
Eyes closed
And returns his blessing
With a kiss between his ears
He gets up
Returns to birdwatching
At the window
And the day begins
I stacked my books
Of algebra and biology
For the last time
Not continuing on, as the others
Come look, they all urged me
You must make plans
But there was sunshine and warm sand, so I shrugged
It was a perfect beach day
A few years later
Walking the long hallways
High heels making that satisfying
Clickity clack
Faster, they said
I stared at them, puzzled
The way the cat does when he can't understand what I'm doing
I went to the cafeteria and created a mocha coffee
Being rather pleased with myself I must say
Sitting on the floor, playing with my sons
Asking their opinions
You're doing it wrong, I kept hearing
Everyone had thoughts on how it was to be done
I broke eye contact with them and returned to our game
Often, I searched
Who would have tea, and discuss books
And the call of the Red Winged Blackbird
Sometimes, they would stop for a little while
And it was good
Soon, they would have to go
And I would make more tea
Sitting out front with my roses
Listening to the Robins and Sparrows
I arranged my memere's glassware
Just so
And dusted my mother-in-law's pretty bowl
I thought of them
Their stories alive in me as I worked
Why does she do that
Their eyes would say
She'd have more space
If these old things were gone
I just smiled
And kept dusting the treasures
Always and forever
The poet knows
Just who and what they are
To an extent
We are other
We watch
We immerse ourselves
Finding the keys to the Universe
In the tiny design on an old teacup
Or in the ladybug
Landing on our hand
We dip our toes into your world
That values productivity above all else
Because shelter, food, and health care
It drains us
So we come back to the poems
To our notebooks and cups of hot tea
And the pretty chimes mom gave us
Swaying in the spring breeze
A poet is always a poet
Thank all that is good in creation for that
I've always loved music, and it has been a large part of my life since I was a little one. Whether it was lying across the back seat of my dad's car singing along with the radio, or singing as our music teacher Miss Maynard taught us songs in first grade, music has always been close to my heart.
In High School, I made the decision to take chorus as a class. The longtime music teacher had just left, and a new guy, Josef Konkol had just started.
I was a shy kid in High School, so I didn't try out for any solos or any starring roles in the musicals. But, oh, what a GREAT time I had. Between our chorus class, concerts and musicals, I was able to really expand the types of music I was exposed to.
(No offense to dad's Merle Haggard or mom's Roger Whittaker, ha ha)
I was a soprano in those days, and that suited me just fine. I was always harmonizing with songs when I sang along with the radio, and chorally I found that we often had the harmony part. I loved it! "Mr. K" as we quickly dubbed him showed us that music was a vast expanse, and there was much to love about it.
I was a tad "fish out of water" occasionally. The Class of '82 was definitely not short on talent, if I may say. I felt like I was surrounded by superstars, and it was a tad intimidating. But it never stopped me, my uber talented classmates were amazing to watch and I could only be happy for them.
Being in the chorus for the musical all 4 years of High School was wonderful. Hanging around in the auditorium for rehearsals for weeks on end and going to DQ as a cast and crew were heaven to me and seeing all the behind-the-scenes details of how a production was put together was unbelievable.
To this day, I have a love for Broadway music, and so very much more. So many things are a part of my life because of what you taught us. Thanks, Mr. K.
Chorus at school gave me the confidence to sing in the church choir, our director was named Laurie Cetto. (I could be spelling that wrong.) She was amazing, and I loved being in the choir. That was my first experience singing along with guitar. One of the priests at Holy Rosary, Father Denis Cote, also played guitar and sang. Denis was a good soul, and he made a huge difference. May he Rest In Peace.
In between Chorus and Choir, I was listening to Wings Over America by Paul McCartney and Wings. I played that album over and over. I loved the Bee Gees, little brother Andy Gibb and John Denver. John Denver had actual thoughts on how we should be treating our little planet, and he impressed me so much. I was so sad later when we lost him. I also liked Barry Manilow, Styx and REO Speedwagon.
Later, in the "Search" and "TEC" programs in Youth Ministry, I very much enjoyed singing along with my guitar playing friends. It just felt so good.
When my kiddos were little, I raised them with Rock n Roll. We listened to Tom Petty& The Heartbreakers, Beatles, McCartney's Flaming Pie, Zep and a few others. I always sang along in the car and it was just something we did together. We saw some concerts as a family, like Tom Petty, and some others with just my sons and I in various combinations.
Somewhere along the line, things got challenging. Just life, you know? I stopped singing. I didn't belong to any local groups for singing. I stopped listening in the car, didn't even really listen while I worked when "work from home" happened later. Music just wasn't important in my life anymore.
Long story short, which I can blog about another day, I came to understand that I have a deep sensitivity to being exposed to too much mental, visual and auditory stimuli all at once. I get super overwhelmed, and it can shut me down. It causes a great deal of anxiety. I'm getting much better at self-care and I have far better tactics to be able to care for myself in effective ways, so I don't get quite as overwhelmed these days. There could definitely be a missed diagnosis in there somewhere, but like I said, that's a story for another day.
The wonderful part about taking proper care of myself is that music is creeping back into my life. I always play it when I'm on my fitness walks, and sometimes while I work. I'm following new work coming out by bands and artists I like.
And....I'm singing again. It started in the car. Because where else can you belt it out and sound like a dying cow and no one can hear you?! That was as far as it's gotten.
Until today.
I went to services at UUSGU today. I joined this vibrant and wonderful community a few years ago, and it was one of the best decisions I have ever made. I have to give a shout out to Barry Hall and Bob Nicoll who led our music when I first joined. The music you shared and led us in were a huge part of my feeling comfortable at UUSGU and wanting to keep coming back to try another service so many times. Blessings to you both.
Our current music director, Lisa Utzig is just brilliant. So many times, since she has joined us I have found myself listening to her at the piano and just being taken to another place. It's been a while since that happened, I must admit. Thank you for that, Lisa.
And so, that brings us to today. The songs we had on tap at service this morning were just perfect and brought forward so much of what we were discussing at service. I was really feeling inspired and wanted so much to sing, like I did in the old days. I was nervous, thinking I probably sound horrible.
It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, at least based on the fact that nobody turned around and stared at me! Maybe I sound ok, maybe I don't. Maybe I'm choir material. Perhaps I sound terrible. If I can ever get off this 1:30 to 9:00 (pm) shift maybe I'll call Lisa, join our choir and we will find out.
One thing is certain. I am NOT a soprano anymore! Age will do that to you. So, today I took it down the octave and it was mostly comfortable. No one but me knew I hadn't really been singing for so many years now. Nobody knew I was taking a chance and returning to an old love.
But I knew. And it was nice. Really nice.
Today feels like a poem. I suppose they all do, since poems are always knocking on the inside of my noggin and I'm like "I'm WORKING, not NOW!" Have I told you that poems are pushy? Like your cat at 6 AM wanting food, they're sort of something you love but sometimes you want it to shut up and let you have a cup of coffee first, you know?
But, I digress...
Today, I was NOT into it. It? Just the day. Showering, dressing, going out into the world, talking to other humans, all of it. It's the end of the summer, and so this funk I am in is primarily based on "crunchy bones hate summer so when will my life-giving autumn weather get here, it's been months of this unmitigated crap."
I showered and dressed anyway. Today was water communion service at UUSGU and I WANTED to be excited, you know? I found a reasonably presentable outfit, which is getting easier since I've lost 31 pounds so far. Before I joined WW, I had more butt than pants, if I'm being honest.
So, what's Water Communion? This is where we bring a small amount of water from a place that is special to us. During the service, we bring our water forward and pour them together in one large bowl. I didn't have a chance to get water from anywhere special to me, between work and helping the relatives.
Then I remembered my ritual water in the basement refrigerator. I have combined two practices into one which I especially love. The first is "Blue Solar Water" which is a tradition which I believe comes from Hawaii. You take a blue bottle with a plastic cover or cork. Fill the bottle with the water of your choice. I used plain Millbury tap water. Leave the bottle out in the sun for one hour. Once this is done, I put the bottle in the refrigerator. On the night of the full moon, I put the bottle outside again, overnight, and in the morning I take it inside and refrigerate it again.
I use the water to drink, water the plants, or anything else I'd normally do with water. I love thinking of the sacred, peaceful energy of night, with the watchful moon overhead, coupled with the bright, dynamic energy of the sun combined in the water. It reminds me that we are all part of this earth, this cosmos and we're all made of the same star stuff. It helps me stay balanced. Using this water feels like a blessing that says "May we all be well, may we all be healthy, may we all be safe, happy and taken care of."
So, this was the water I shared. Mundane, plain Millbury tap water. But with the blessings of the Moon and the Sun. Isn't that life, though, the mundane and the Divine intertwined? I love it. We are the magic, if we choose to be.
I loved hearing about all of the beautiful places everyone else brought their water from! At the end Reverend Daniel did a blessing of the backpacks, purses, etc for everyone using our combined water. What wonderful blessings for us all as we transition from the slower pace of summer to all the doings of the "Ber Months."
I loved Cherilyn's story today, and Caroline's embodied prayer.
Because my body was so cranky this morning from the soupy weather, I was pretty low energy during our service. When it was time to sing a few times during the service, Kate Gregoire and little Grace came to stand with me. I held the songbook, and Kate held Grace. These simple little moments were some of my favorites during the service today. Kate has a wonderful singing voice, and looking at baby Grace was just beyond sweet. It was like being sprinkled with fairy dust, and I felt a lot better!
So, overall, an ordinary day. Hubby is upstairs watching football (truthfully, he's asleep in the recliner) because 'tis the season, you know. Our sons are sharing coffee and conversation in the dining room which is their Sunday thing. And I'm in my sweet little Sanctuary room in the basement, catching up on some writing.
Sometimes, ordinary is quite magical, indeed.
Blessings for a great week, everyone.
Red dragonflies dart just above the surface of the water, while endless birds swirl and dive, darting back and forth above the little pond. Is that a tadpole swimming there?
I feel at peace in places like this. The structure and pace of our society has always seemed so bizarre, so harsh to me, and so I come to the forest.
The tall ones will teach you, but you must learn to shut up, both internally and externally. For just a few moments, stop being the center of your own attention. Inhale the sweet earthy scent. Simply breathe, slowly. How often do you actually fill your lungs, and breathe slowly? Most of us pass our days taking shallow breaths, like a golden retriever out in the sun too long. Enjoy the air, and just watch the wind play in the trees.
I place my hand on one of the ancient stone monoliths left here during the ice age. Their presence here is comforting. They are far too huge for the developers to move, and so I tell myself they will never come here and pave over this place.
Are places like this our Mother's last stand, places where it's too hard to make a profit? I'm getting upset. Just for this moment, I put it all aside. I leave my hand on the huge stone before me. Just stand and breathe.
You have been here since the Ice Age. You will be here long after me. My heart is at peace in this knowledge. Your wisdom is far beyond us.
I sit for a very long time, enjoying the breeze, the trees, the animals and the stones. I am returned to center and I am myself once again.
I will always come here.
One who scoffs
At the ways of another
Makes himself small
Showing himself a weakling
Only in opening
Allowing the difference
Can he show his strength
What causes you to react
When another lives their life
Not bothering you
It has no effect on you
Mind your own yard
Tend your own affairs
Lest you discover
While you stared and pointed at another
Your own life lies in ruin
A successful day
Is not in things going perfectly
No, instead it is in
A certain quality of attention
This makes all the difference
One you know
It's all in how you PLAY your hand
Not in the actual cards you're dealt
Then, oh then
You get to the good stuff
So, yes,
I would say
A certain quality of attention
Makes all the difference
This goes well beyond
Adapting to change or learning lessons
That which most avoid
And destroy themselves running from
Is child's play for her
Beyond words
Gone the familiar concepts
Taking Will, Choice and Consequence
Creation and Wyrd
To a new place
Divestiture, shedding, rebirth
Some see an angel in white
Others a revenant
She's not even looking at them
She thought it was almost over
But no
This is just the beginning
(Written July 18, 2023, a meditation on the role of woman through the ages)
Handing over your power
So used to it
I mean, that's part of what's so funny
He can't even carry that shit anymore
He tightens his grip
As his hands turn to stone
All he has held so long
Runs through his fingers like so much sand
Let's give a new meaning to corridors of power, shall we?
Everyone wants you, needs you
To possess you, or to BE you
And you just keep handing it over
You give from yourself until you're empty
When You have access to IT ALL
The reversed pyramid
It's everything you know, to ALL OF THEM
Woman giveth, and woman taketh away
The endless thread is woven through the ages
We are the mystics, the river that flows
We are the gateway
So, stand well back
Have some respect
You have no concept of our power
(Written July 18, 2023)
Yeah, we have attitude
Sarcasm, even venom
That's our wall
Don't suggest it's weakness
We'll likely take your head off
The stories are deep here, make no mistake
But they don't drip like syrup
And run through our blood
Oh no, not here
They crystallize in our cells
We breathe them out
Like when your breath turns to ice in winter
When the air runs out
We walk on, stone faced
The horrible and the beautiful
All at once, it's all here
Just don't ask most of us to talk about it
(Originally written March 2023)
Some days
You drag it through
Other days
You grind it out
Finding your groove
That's when the world gets uncomfortable
But, you know what?
You spend your lives hiding
From reality, from each other
From yourselves
I'd rather live in the sun
Fly into the night
And face my own soul
Rather than be a bowl of cold ashes
No conviction
Some look at the world with open eyes
Others prefer them closed
Mine are open
It's not always easy
But I'd never go back
You can't just go through life seeking validation.
When your sense of being OK comes from outside of you, you'll always find two things; a belligerent twit to insist you're wrong, and a sycophant to kiss your ass and tell you you're right.
Treat them both with respect and compassion, but don't listen to either one.
You're the one who has to look at yourself in the mirror.
Get OK with yourself, and the right ones will stick around.
I saw an old photo in an antique shop, taken a hundred years ago, of an old man and a little boy, walking.
They are in a small, picturesque town, walking the road. The town is on their left, and a river is on the right.
I can FEEL them, as if they were here now, as if I knew them. They're going fishing, and I can feel the little boy's excitement.
I get this a lot. I look at something from the past and experience the same thing as I do when I'm talking to live people who are right in front of me.
I've seen some write about this type of experience as if it's scary and they ask how they can "turn it off." What an odd question. For the majority of people, it IS turned off.
For me, it just IS.
(Originally written 12/28/2022)
The velvet night was deep. There were no sounds of people talking, or cars driving by. There was only the Holy stillness. The moon in the sky shone through the clouds that moved across the sky.
Owl sat high up in the ancient White Oak, her good friend. He had seen much in the time that so many humans had come and go.
Many nights Owl and White Oak spent together in this way. Owl would take a meal sometimes and enjoy it in Oak's strong branches. Oak would share the news he learned through his network of roots, communicating with the other trees.
On this very still night, Owl perched in her usual spot, high up in White Oak's branches. She began hearing animal sounds getting closer, it was a large animal!
Soon her keen hearing and eyesight told her who approached, it was Old Bear. As he approached the tree, Owl made her way to a lower branch.
"Greetings, my friend! It is ever so good to see you! My heart is glad for you every day, and I think of you often!" Said Owl. Bear looked up at Owl and smiled, his huge teeth showing, saying "Flattery will get you everywhere." And they both laughed.
They spent an hour or so thus, enjoying talk of their days and remembering old times.
Finally, Old Bear said he grew tired. Owl had noticed that her friend moved a bit more slowly, and some grey fur had appeared around his muzzle. Owl herself had to admit that she avoided the very longest of flights these days. It happened to them all.
"Ah, yes, Old Bear, I too am ready to retire and enjoy a good rest. Sleep well, my beautiful, grumbly friend, and we shall see one another again, Creator willing." Owl replied.
Bear smiled up at Owl. "You are ever in my heart, Owl. Be well, as you bring your messages to those who would hear."
With that, Bear walked into the deepest part of the forest.
Owl stayed with White Oak a bit longer, then she bid him farewell, too. Dawn approached and she was ready for a rest. As Owl flew off to her secret home, White Oak stood as always. Yes, all things change. The Tall Ones understood this well. A day would come when Old Bear's spirit would leave his body, and Owl and Oak would miss him dearly. Owl, too would fly beyond her body, eventually, and her nightly visits with White Oak would be no more. Even Oak would die, although it would take far longer, if no humans interfered. But he knew his essence would continue with all of the other Tall Ones, his stories safe with them, as was their way.
When he did die, he knew that the spirits of Owl and Old Bear and all of his friends who were no longer living would be there, too, for he knew that energy never stops, it simply changes shape. And, the essence of the lives they lived, here in the forest, was a part of the life pulse of this place. In this way, they were always remembered in those who still lived.
The lizard and the owl
Came to speak to me of dreams
There’s been a wall for quite some time
No messages it would seem
The lizard told me that’s not true
All that is needed is within
There’s nothing standing in your way
Let go and step back in
Owl reminded me gently, my visions always find their way
Remember all you’ve ever been
Speak a brand-new day
When light is dark, and dark is life
Sweet glowing depths unknown
Assembly is required
Wrapped in secrets
Carved in stone
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