"Gifts from the Sea"

As I packed (way too much), at the last minute I threw in a small book, Gift from the Sea, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. The author also had gone to the seashore to find or lose something. At first I thought I might use this space to report my experiences and observations, but now I find myself to be much as the author discovered on her trip to the beach: "One becomes...bare, open, empty as the beach, erased by today's tides of all yesterday's scribblings. ...Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach--waiting for a gift from the sea."

 For me right NOW there is no waiting, just patience and faith. The bare, open, choiceless emptiness is the gift. Who knows? Perhaps I'll be surprised by another unexpected gift. Until then, dear friends, know that you are loved.

Part II The infinitely persistent ocean did not take long to deliver the next surprisingly delightful gift. Yesterday, Thursday, day 3 of my recuperative retreat, found me tired and a bit astounded that 2 restful days had only scratched the surface of my fatigue. Yet I am acquiring the gift of patience and I yielded to my weariness. Alternately reading a psycho-killer murder mystery and napping I slept away much of the day. When I finally did make my way to the beach, I was treated to a three-ring circus of diving sea birds performing aerial acrobatics, at least 8 cavorting dolphins and young men standing upright on their surfboards, each rowing with an oar like gondoliers (Stand-Up-Paddling). All this entertainment continued for quite a while much to my enjoyment. Later I met an elderly gentleman and his dog who are staying in the same building where I am taking my retreat. "Did you see the porpoises this afternoon?" he asked. Indeed, I had. He said he'd been coming here for years and had never seen anything like it. I claim their visit as my own special gift from the sea. A gift of being and watching without waiting, of being surprised by life itself. I continue to be patient with myself and my process.

Part III gift 3: Marine Layer. At first glance out the window the land-sea-sky-scape appears to be uniformly gray interrupted only by the white accents of waves breaking on the shore. Upon closer scrutiny I begin to detect shades of gray revealing lines of demarcation that distinguish sky from sea and sea from land. Then a tinge of green and a hint of tan, muted colors show themselves as I focus my gaze. If I can discern green, surely blue and yellow are not far off. There is a certain bliss found in this break from the routine of perfectly sun-drenched days at the beach. Yes, even perfection can fall victim to monotony. Contrast provides opportunities to form a preference for one type of experience over another; sometimes the preference is simply more contrast--just for the experience. After a brief glimmer of blue sky and golden sunlight, the marine layer moves in with a renewed determination. Now, the distinction between sky and sea has been completely erased, the horizon no longer visible and the distant reef just a memory. March 2011

So, this happened today: This morning I went to my parent's church for all saints remembrance service where all members who died in the past year were honored, including my mother. I lit her candle as the bell rang. Then I rode with my youngest brother's family to the unveiling of our oldest brother's grave stone where he was buried last year in the interfaith section of the Jewish cemetery in Iowa City. Several stones had been placed on the grave by visitors during the course of the year. He referred to his practice as being a Judiacising Method(toa)ist. He was a scholar and a long-time peace advocate/activist. His widow is Jewish and they kept a Jewish home. Both their memories are for a blessing. Mother and brother.

 The roses in the upper corners are the symbols of the Rosenbaum family; the bottom images are the likeness of yarrow plants in blossom, Steve's favorite plant.  The dried yarrow stalks are used to cast reading from the I Ching.  He was an avid researcher of I Ching and genealogy.

I returned home and petted the cat, wrote, sipped bourbon and spun some soulful tunes, including this, played at his funeral last October (2015) and again today:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYU17J6Wjzc

In the morning a new day begins.

You're looking for a muse, that's how it seems to me.
I'm not your muse. No, no I'm sure it's not me.
I'm more like an interesting character you meet on the way.
We are the character actors in each other's play.

Our interactions propel the stories
on their separate trajectories,
so let's skip the part
that leads to broken hearts.

Let's be the buddies
in those buddy flicks
who stay true throughout
and send each other off
with nothing but good wishes.

The Love Geek

It is cool to Be
ALL LOVE
and to Love All
Beings

To Love the Infinite Source
Creator GOD
To Love all Its Creation
It is an expansive Love

To direct that Pure True Heart
Love
Toward a specific
unique individual being
for shear joy without expectation
Concentrates and amplifies
The current of this powerful
Unconditional Love
streaming through me.

To shower endearments upon another
warms my heart.

I am a Geek of Love.

Confessions of a relunctant writer

Forgive me, Blog, it has been over a year since my last entry here. During this time I have committed a vast quantity of words to page without exposing many to the light of day. Why should I? Just because they demand to be written doesn't mean they must be shared, does it? Aren't they for my own edification? Instructive to me personally and of no use, meaning or even intelligible to any other, isn't that their nature? Blog does not prescribe a formula of chants and prayers to let me off the hook. Blog simply waits for the words to be let loose upon the sphere just for the "so what?" of it. So what? I am hesitantly, fitfully committing to my writing and, yes, even applying craft to the inspiration of words that flow. Words, often unbidden, relentlessly demand to be placed on the page. I, their willing, if sluggish servant, finally acquiesce. All of my diversions, excuses and avoidance tactics born of my one fear of loss of love in the form of rejection have abandoned me. I am now at the mercy of the words that come to me. First draft commences; the work is begun; and now begins the fun each day a few pages for the meager wages of contentment and satisfaction. If I were a woodcarver instead of a writer it would be like this: I've just planted a sapling now to tend and water and prune waiting for it to produce a healthy branch to spare only then can I wield my craft, start to pare all this preparation before the creation of the actual piece of art.  And now we say: One Day at a Time

Why Blog?

What drives a person to create a blog, to record and post thoughts and ideas for the world to comment upon? Is it the feeling that everything is changing so radically at such a rapid pace that one must jump out of the turmoil now and then to take a longer, broader view of the events that seem to be tumbling along like so many snowflakes in an avalanche gaining speed and mass as they roll past? In such times more than one I know feel compelled to yell, "Stop! for a moment. I've got something to say about what's going on here." Some are called to blog because they have something to say that must be said. Others are compelled to employ the written word and have little choice but to write things down, things like fleeting thoughts, flashes of insight, observations, or simply recording the details of an ordinary day because those are the best kind. I'm one of the latter.

Over the years I've been encouraged by teachers, friends, cohorts, and colleagues to “keep writing,” as if I could say “No!” to this impulse. Personally, I prefer writing to speaking. I have always admired those who think on their feet. Those wonders who can reply calmly, lucidly, rationally--in the moment--to anyone in any forum about any topic. The most spontaneous and reasonable response I come up with are memorized replies I can pull out as needed: “You've got a point there. I'll have to take time to consider it more deeply.” or “This is an important and complex (decision, issue...), I'll want to meditate on it and get back to you after a day or two. Shall we set up a time to meet then?” But, when I take the time to write, and through the process of that writing, I find the right words and these are the words I write. I think you get the picture. So, I write words spelled out with punctuation, but, still, why blog? Those that really have something that needs to be said, those bloggers' blogs should be posted, read, and passed around. But why would I blog? For the chance to connect with another soul who might think upon reading it, “Yes, something similar happened to me and I believe I felt much the same way.” This person might then tell me how she (or he) reacted in her particular set of circumstances. And there might be that one comment that reads, “I thought I was the only one who felt that way. Thank you.” Lately, after a little egging on from a few close associates, I began to ask, “Why not blog?” This is my first entry and I'm curious about what words, ideas, topics will find their way here.