Listening to the Heart Sutra

 Many days I just have to listen to the heart sutra chanted by the brothers and sisters of Plum Village.   

May we be safe and protected.  May we be surrounded by love and kindness.  And may we live with ease.  

Link here. 

The story of stuff - a beginning

 Starting a new project.  This is the beginning.  23 and me said I might have old age Alzheimer.  So in case I forget, here it is before I do.  

There is a lot of stuff around this house.  I remember that one of my mother’s greatest frustrations as she was leaving us, was trying to tell me the stories of all her stuff.  The same thing happened with Isabella when one day she had to leave her home.  So I am telling the story of stuff here. There will still be many things that you will wonder “what the hell” about.   The stuff has no value except in its story.  The stories I am not telling are the ones you get make up if you decide to keep whatever it is.

When I was in junior high and high school, I liked to look good and that meant wearing fingernail polish and lipstick. When I was thirteen, it all began with just a bit of light lip gloss.  That is what I was permitted.  In high school, I had a spice rack on the wall with all my bottles of polish and colors of lipstick.  I found this cute little poodle to hold one bottle that it is still holding.  Price for the bottle about 25 cents.  Cathy would sneak into my room and get into my make up which drove me crazy.  I found this at grandma’s house and decided to put it in my downstairs medicine cabinet.

This is an eye glass that grandma used whenever we got something in our eye.  She would put water in the cup, hold it up to our eye and then tell us to blink.  It was torture. I was one of those kids who hated getting my hair washed in the bathtub because I did not want water in my eyes. And later I hated opening my eyes underwater when I was learning to swim.   Perhaps there was a connection. 

In the margins

 Writing found in the margins of some books 

The Selected Poems of Li Po

But you drew conclusions

it is all a dream

that each of us can appreciate

from our own perspectives

Du Fu A Life in Poetry

Waiting in a coffee shop

Mother’s Day

are our lives

colliding or coinciding

sometimes it is hard to tell

the coffee is warm and good

Du Fu awaits

perhaps I should enjoy the calm

before the storm

Thank you, Mark,

for sharing an ancient incarnation

of Mary Oliver

Climbing down from mountains and memories

Such contradictions

joy of family and children versus

living as a hermit

does this say anything about the value of women

alice walker

over-

coming

speech-

lessness

All a sad reminder of how we perpetuate through our ignorance

I learned that Alice also cried for the world in a ritual, a ceremony of healing, to show that we are connected to those we love and to the beautiful flowers, grass, stones…

“Whatever has happened to humanity, whatever is currently happening to humanity, it is happening to all of us.”

New Cathay

Contemporary Chinese Poetry

Edited by Ming Di

A dichotomy

alone in a strange city

walking the streets

to a restaurant

passing locked  cars

waiting for someone to

descend a workplace elevator or

staircase and 

emerge.

Connected because we are

the awakening yellow leaves

the flowing river

the red hat sunset

reflected on the steel gray clouds overhead.

Not connected because

I know no one

we each do not know the other

where am I.

Goldie

     Yesterday I finished building an extra fenced space for the chickens and this morning I let them out to use the space. I gave them warnings about the bees and the bees warnings about them. They were so happy to get grass. I sat with them for a while and then decided it was time to have lunch. When I finished eating I thought I would walk over and check on them again.  As soon as I opened the door,  I heard horrible shrill squawks. And then I saw the hawk who had Goldie down. I raced to the chicken yard, shouting, waving my arms to make him give up his prey, but it was too late. The hawk had done too much damage for me to save her. I held her and stoked her head while she died. And now I have six chickens. I hate losing chickens. Below is a video of my girls last Christmas. 

For Carrie

 On this day

holding you for the first time

our eyes met 

touching each other’s hearts

becoming family 

Forever and always  

I love you.

For Lily

Happy Birthday to my dear Lily.  A quarter of a century.  I am so proud of you - your passion and willingness to stand up for what you know is right, the kindness you show when you help promote the dreams of others, and the love you share so genuinely and freely. I am thankful everyday that I am your mother.  I love you dearly.

 

Introductions

 

 

Introductions
In retirement
living life slowly
on a family farm
I fight honeysuckle
talk to my chickens and bees 
stand in wonder under the majesty of trees
appreciate that my gardens can nourish
and am warmed by the sun 

living alone

sewing, reading, reflecting, and writing

grateful to be joining this community

may we be surrounded by love and kindness

and find a way to live in peace

Muses

 Muses

From Joan Walsh Anglund

In A Slice of Snow

On

    the thin line

                      between dawn

                                             and darkness,

Sunrise

           writes

                      her

                            poem. 

***********************************************

Me looking out my window in the morning…..

Cedar tree,

               dancing in the wind,

                                             what song do you hear?

Mu from the Zen tradition

 Mu, no, nothingness….

A monk asked Master Chao-chou, "Has a dog the Buddha Nature or not?" Chao-chou said, "Mu!"

From The Heart Sutra:

Avalokiteshvara while practicing deeply with

the insight that Bring Us to the Other Shore,

suddenly discovered that

all of the five Skandhas are equally empty,

and with that realization

she overcame all ill-being. 

It is in the binary.  Has a dog buddha nature or not.  No to the not and no to the has.  All is empty.  All is full.  Interbeing.  I am the dog and the dog is me. We inter-are.  Both empty and both full.  The same is true of the Buddha.   I am the Buddha and the Buddha is me.  The dog is the Buddha and the Buddha is the dog.  Both empty and both full.  Empty of self and full of being.

Gate, Gate, Paragate, Parasamgate, Bodhi Svaha!

Gate, Gate, Paragate, Parasamgate, Bodhi Svaha!

Gate, Gate, Paragate, Parasamgate, Bodhi Svaha!

Reading

 read using all your intelligences  

Don't just follow words on a page 

but instead  

use your entire being 

to ascertain truth and story

in the beauty 

that surrounds you

 

Sunday Morning Mental Meanderings while giving feedback to a friend's article

 A lot of thoughts are floating around in my head. I often think of Maslow's hierarchy of needs and Brene Brown when confronted with the difficulties of today.  So here are some ideas in general, perhaps not always specific to this portion of writing that are rolling around in my brain. 

I will start with Brene.  The definition of empathy  "  Empathy is the capacity to understand or feel what another person is experiencing from within their frame of reference, that is, the capacity to place oneself in another's position."  I emboldened a part that I feel is the most important.  When I hear the word empathy, I think of the wonderful Brene Brown video on the subject.  I am saying all of this because I think that these are important points to make and come back to over and over again.  (Tell them what you are going to tell them, tell them, tell them what you told them.)   You talk about listening and we know active listening from our rules to live by.  But others do not have that perspective.  Some might say they have listened, but have never truly heard.  I would offer that a principal who says s/he has listened to teachers and then does PD on something totally different has not listened. Then, when the explanation about why this is the right PD is given, that is also not going to be heard because these actions are reciprocal. I think it would be good to write about empathetic listening - active listening.   Today every generation has a cell phone or a computer screen that interferes with listening in the present moment.  Thoughts about the future and ruminations about the past control many minds. For people to be empathetically present for each other is not a common practice. 

Maslow.  Empathy is the cornerstone for each of the stages if you are a person trying to facilitate others in their trajectory upward on the hierarchy because deep listening to others is vital. Security and safety are needed for vulnerability (Brene).  One has to be able to take risks and that can only happen in an environment where others have your back.  I would talk about Maslow at the beginning.  It is something educators know and accept.  It applies to all of us who want to continue to learn and grow.  Risk taking and questioning are important and are evident in schools with an empathetic leader who wants everyone to learn and grow to reach self actualization.  Again, I would suggest that empathy is the foundation for each of the stages in the hierarchy, if one is creating an environment where all reach the top.  One more thing...  if the principal is going to become self-actualized, s/he must also be supported, so creating an empathetic community of learners to support the leader on her journey is vital.  

And just now the idea of "why?" being the most important question/idea just popped into my head.  I remember that from a Marilyn Burns workshop.  It somehow seemed to belong in this note.

This is probably more than you wanted.  Sunday morning mental meanderings!  

Abundance

 I am so grateful for my daughters.  They make my heart sing.  This year, Carrie surprised me for my birthday, a four day visit.  While here, she made a tictoc video of me which I am sharing here. Love in abundance.

Isabella's Dresses

These are Isabella’s dresses. 

My grandmother.  Isabella Whitney Wallach.  Her initials, IWW, she said, also stood for I Won’t Work, the industrialists name for the International Workers of the World, a labor organization which was considered radical.  She said it with a wry smile and so I always felt she was a little proud of that connection.  

I have so many memories of her.  I loved her dearly and spent many days listening. When she was home bound in her nineties at her daughter’s house, we would spend Saturday afternoons together.  She would ask me to bring her a white castle hamburger and fries along with a beer and then I would get to listen to her stories.

But this is about the dresses.  When I was in college, she started giving me her old dresses.  They were from the 30’s and 40’s and I loved them.  I wore them everywhere even during my first teaching year.  I think they helped get me in a contract non-renewal situation.  I was told I did not dress properly.  Who knew that your grandmother’s dresses made you look like a hippie. 

  

The ones I wore in college, I wore out.  And these are the dresses that are left.  The yellow dress was worn at my parents wedding in 1951.  I wore it at their 40th wedding anniversary gathering.  The black dress was my official wedding and funeral dress for a number of years.  The light blue one became my summer wear everywhere dress.   I have outgrown them now, just as she had when she started passing them on to me. And now it is time for me to send them on.  

Living Alone in the Time of Pandemic

My mother was sparing in her advice, but one thing she told me over and over again was that I needed to learn how to live alone.  And now, here I am, in my first year of retirement, a 67-year-old woman, living alone on sixty acres, in a house with no neighbors in sight, during a pandemic. Some things have changed because of my new normal.  I notice things and my senses are more attuned. Perhaps I am embracing more deeply my spiritual side.  There is a stillness here, but it is never quiet. I can go for days without hearing my own voice, but I am surrounded by bird songs, rustlings in the woods, and the music of the springtime frogs and insects. I often talk to my animals: two cats, one dog, ten chickens, and bees. They answer me back in their own way.  My visual sense has also increased. I am comforted by the clouds crossing the blue sky.  The dew shimmers like diamonds reflecting the morning light. The green of the leaves and grasses holds me captive in silent contemplation. I know that I find renewal and energy in nature.   

My sense of self has also become more acute.  I am aware of my need for connection in life, not just during this pandemic. Sometimes I search for that by scrolling through my facebook feed to see what others are doing or by reading online newspapers incessantly.  I want to know that I matter and wonder what I can do to make things better. I am delighted when a letter arrives from a former student, a text pops up from a friend, or a Sunday family phone call is placed. If a glimmer of loneliness arises, I walk outside and look at all the wonders that surround and accompany me.  I comfort myself inside with sewing and writing projects.  I have read so many books. And sometimes I hop in the car for a ride into the city to see the world.

I have an occasional visitor who will join me for lawn chair conversations, and I have a friend and her husband who come and help me clear brush.  We have worked out a routine where we can stay apart while working outdoors and keep each other company.  They love being in the woods, and I have plenty of forest to share.  

I enjoy the solitude of living by myself.  I feel connected to the beauty that surrounds me and get excited by the blooming of springtime. I am never truly alone. I watch the male turkeys put on shows for the hens.  Deer venture into the yard.  I have been taming a feral cat who now lets me pet him.  The summer vegetable garden is almost planted. 

I feel calm and full and settled.   I have arrived at a new place in life and feel at home in my world.  Thank you, Mom.  I think I was able to learn that lesson.

Springtime of hickories

Some of my favorite things to see in springtime are the hickory buds opening up.  I say they are blooming.  I have been watching them for years, first noticing their magic when I lived along the Meramec River 40 years ago.  Their beauty never fades, and I love seeing them this spring in my forest.  Part of my daily ritual is to go out and watch their progress.

This week

Well this happened this week.

My persimmon tree. She produced a lot of fruit, gathered by me and coyotes and possums and raccoons.   She and I had lots of discussions.  Or rather I spoke to her often.  She only answered by the feelings she gave me, her body language when I would stand next to her leaning in and touching her alligator bark. 

I told her that I would not cut her down as long as she continued to sprout. She was ready with green buds, but she was weak and the bark at her base had been scratched away by various animals looking for something inside her, some treasure. And then the wind came on Wednesday.

 I knew she would hit that swing set when she fell, the swing set where I had pushed the girls and sang "How do you like to go up in a swing, up in the air so blue. Oh I do think it the pleasantest thing, ever a child could do."  From Robert Louis Stevenson. 

But I had made my promise.  And now two sources of wonderful memories have collided.  She will become firewood in a woodstove and the swing set some sort of yard art.  They will manifest in a different way.  Continuations.

Reading Thoreau's writing about John Brown reminded me that when I was in school in the 60's,  I was taught that John Brown was "crazy."  When I became a fifth teacher of American History, I studied more deeply, gaining insights into other perspectives, and  I knew that what I was taught was wrong.  I looked for other resources to tell his story.  In that pursuit, I found Jacob Lawrence.  See his work  "The Legend of John Brown Series" here.  His paintings were also used in a book written for children.  The cover and the first two pages are below.  I read that book to my students every year.

Burning

Writing this after spending three days burning the piles of honeysuckle I had spent the winter collecting.  I had to cut each plant up because it was too wet to just light the pile, and I had three of them. I used a portable burn pit, building up a nice bed of coals with old dry wood and then adding the wet green honeysuckle to the bed.  At times it would sizzle. The honeysuckle wood kept me warm three times - when I uprooted it, when I trimmed it to go into the fire pot, and when it burned. The fire was so hot that there were enough coals after the rain and snow to get a fire to reignite easily.  And so I used the same fire for days and days. I banked the coals, and it was ready in the morning to begin again.  

My parents were my neighbors and lived at the top of the hill on this honeysuckle farm.  My dad had a flagpole in his front yard. Each morning, he would raise the flag and then take it down in the evening.  When he got older he was no longer able to do that and so it became very weathered. When I took it down after his death, it was in tatters.  So on the first night of burning, after the sun was down, I retrieved his flag and remembering what he had told me about how to dispose of a flag, I laid it on the fire and watched it burn. Loving him and letting the honeysuckle help me honor and remember him.

Seamus Heaney

Lots of time to read lately. Exploring a new poet.  New to me. A naturalist.  Seamus Heaney.  Below I share one of his poems.

Chris' Forest

1.

In the sopping wet
with boots mired in mud
being careful not to slip
my tool grips the base of the plant
I brace and put all my body weight
against the handle after finding the fulcrum at the base
and in that loose soil the plant starts to give
as I follow the handle down
my whole body pressed down to the dirt
and I grab the top of the plant as I get up
dropping the handle away from my leg
and I pull until I have dislodged the roots
and I apologize and beg the forgiveness
of this invasive species
added to the pile
plant by plant
the ongoing honeysuckle massacre

Turning

March 10, 2020  
Reactions to the corona-virus

Are we experiencing a turning of the dharma wheel?

Spending time at home,
alone,
what do you do
when you have to meet yourself
all day long
with fewer distractions
from what is real?

Simplify, simplify, simplify.

Surrounded by god I smile

"Our society is much more interested in information than wonder, in noise rather than silence...And I feel that we need a lot more wonder and a lot more silence in our lives"
Mr. Rogers

Last night I took a break from reading Living With Wisdom: A Life of Thomas Merton to watch two Mr. Rogers movies.  Surrounded by god, I smile. 

In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers.  
Thomas Merton  Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander