Fields & Streets of Peace, LLVL

Right here, right now, outside your door (and inside too!) life is astonishing.

Too often in the cold and grey we fail to notice nature’s Beauty. Winter has its own Beauty, it’s different from any other season. And we wish it away.

I lived in the Bay Area long enough to appreciate the subtlety of its seasons. and they’re gorgeous. Except for the riot of Spring green, they’re softer. Spring comes one by one and not in a blaze of glory. Fall has muted but beautiful color. I always had to work for the sweetness of the summer browns.

But back here I love the slowly marching progression of seasons. Moving toward the deep of winter and slowly backing away. The patchwork fields are glorious. The river is alternately icy and misty. The pavement shines. Is it dangerous. Yes the weather has dangers in it. And here they’re obvious. Walk carefully. Wear enough clothes. Be part of weather. And take a drive out into the country where the winter wheat is starting.

And if you can’t do that, take a walk around the block or simply stand still and be present to the moment. Weather. it is what it is, and it’s glorious, right here where you live la vida local.

Clouds for Peace, LLVL

Today’s clouds are more cotton batting and last night’s fog is today’s ice slick, so please be careful. That’ll teach us to be so disdainful of dry, frigid weather!

But clouds… wonderful, wonderful clouds. Mystery, grandeur, fun… they have it all going on. I live in a river valley, so there are hills (we call them mountains, they’re very old mountains, so let’s not hurt their feelings by pointing out that their majesty does not come from their height.) that the clouds can amass against. Our climate is right for thunderstorms so clouds can build and build and build. And some days it’s so clear that the contrails of planes are all you see, as they turn the sky into a windowpane print.

Clouds are great for metaphor, and they’re lovely just as is, without any import at all. Clouds, with or without meaning sauce. My mom painted clouds a lot. She also painted their shadows. I think, I’ve said, it took her paintings to teach me about cloud shadows. And, of course, my father the scientist would be explaining about the cold air meeting the warm air as he was exclaiming about the beauty and the bounty!

But there’s something about the grandeur of the sky that captures our attention and soothes our souls. Each locale has their own clouds as true to the area as our terrain. Local beauties!

But these particular clouds, drifting across a Pennsylvania field remind me of Love peeping out and Peace overflowing. I like the science of clouds and I’m happy to have it exist right alongside their lovely metaphors. Let’s hear it for Mother Nature! Watch where you’re walking, but don’t neglect to look up, the Divine might be smiling at you… Here’s looking at you, kid!

Falling in Love, Peace, LLVL

I wonder if it’s that simple. Just to fall in Love. To allow myself to become curious and infatuated with everything outside my door. What is this and why is it like that?

When I was in seminary, I spoke about finding the new Eden… but it’s really more like co-creating a new Eden, isn’t it. If we want to live in Eden, we have to make it. Not by walling ourselves off or excluding people, but rather by making a place where everyone is welcome, where we work for Justice and Life is revered.

Some of that starts with not hating my life, with being welcoming of the Beauty I live in and celebrating the Beauty I contribute to. It means focusing on what is important — not in ignoring what is ugly and unPeaceful, but on working to change that.

There are so many ways to make a difference. We all “see” from a different perspective. But if we begin to celebrate what we see that’s beautiful and to make better the stuff that’s not… it’s got to get better.

Part of what I’m beginning to see as important — or should I say, what I’m beginning to say that I can do — is to help see and describe one place where people can make a difference — a lot of one places… maybe this, maybe that. There’s not just one place, but there might be one place for you.

What do you (allow yourself to) fall in Love with outside your door? It’s a fair question, isn’t it. If nothing does, open your heart… there’s something wonderful waiting for you.

Candlelit Peace

I don’t know what it is that candles do for me… or rather I know what, but I don’t know why.

OK, throw that all out. I know that sitting in a room with lit candles calms me. I also know that when I light them with intention, that I might be present, that I might be calmed, that I might appreciate the beauty of where I am (where I live!) and the gift of the dark.

Now as I mourn my sister’s passing. I create a small, quiet, beautifully lit oasis so that I might sit in contemplation.

To give myself that Peace, I must make my space beautiful, a place I want to be… The whole process helps, and indulges the luxury of time and of being exactly how I am, feeling what I feel and feeling wonderful in the midst of it.

I love the sweetness of the dark for all it offers me… May you find comfort in the dark as well. May we leave those sweet oases with Peace on our hearts and go back into the world as its envoys.

Autumn Sabbath Peace

Here where I am, it’s a warm, foggy rainy morning. Watch out, it’ll be slippery underfoot, thanks to all the leaves lying about on sidewalks (really, i could have swept!).

Pretty soon, I’ll get up and get ready for church, but I’m enjoying a few last minutes cozy in my living room, writing to you. I’m preaching about my reluctance to claim myself publicly as a minister. Odd. I adore my work, yet somehow can’t be all braggy about it. I guess I’m just tired of the role churches play and don’t play in the world. so, i’m practicing… Say, did you know I’m the minister of a small, lovely, involved UU congregation. Yep, I am.

Last evening’s walk was gorgeous. Every sense got called to attention. It was a good reminder that every season has moments that call to us. It’s too easy to complain about Fall that turns to Winter. When we do that, we skip right over the beauty each season, each day, even each moment can offer.

The moon was so big and the moment so perfect it was easy to put things into perspective. This is a vast and wonderful world, and I am a very small pilgrim on its crust. Still, in the midst of finding my place, I could feel the world pushing me to speak out, speak up. For Peace. For the Earth. For the Web. (Really, do other people get to just crunch through the leaves and not think about this stuff? I sure do get caught on the meaning!) Here I am: one little flyspeck for Peace, overcome with the Beauty and Abundance.

But as June Jordan reminded us: “We do what we can, more than that, what can anyone ask?” So, today, on this misty Autumn Sabbath, enjoy the moment and speak up for Life. Speak out for Peace.

Exhale for Peace

And inhale too. But the inhale is automatic; the exhale needs concentration. And without breath, there is no peace.

Some days there’s too much to be done. I keep remembering that biblical injunction: Sufficient unto the days are the troubles thereof. Well, sometimes the troubles are more than sufficient. Particularly as I struggle with grief.

You have to keep an eagle eye on grief. When is it grief? When does it tilt toward depression. How do you honor the grief and stay faithful to yourself? How do you deal with the grief and the what the world needs? Luckily I have a great team of PCP who are tracking me: watching my BP, holding me accountable to exercise… (must get in pool today. must. must.) So easy to postpone. Work, Inertia. Grief. Inertia. Hello, Exercise, Oxygen. Come back, WW. Count those points. All of which needs to be balanced with staring into space.

If there’s anything I’m sure of, grief is a physical activity as well as one of the heart, soul and mind. Careful with those fragile bodies. I’m not at all sure we don’t need to resurrect some of those Victorian grieving traditions, to look at cultures that mourn well and see what we need to take on. “Getting on with life” is not only overrated, it’s ridiculous. Absence is as real a thing as presence. It’s disorienting. All that energy, dispersing into the universe. They’ve just discovered that energy carries memory. Wild science fiction as truth (and metaphor) as a person’s life swirls past you on their way out the door. Is it ridiculous to consider being present to Absence?

On those days when those memories lay you low, you want to lay low. But sometimes life, insistent and constant, has other ideas. Just because your heart is breaking doesn’t mean someone else’s life isn’t falling apart. And sometimes, not always, you have to be there with your hands out to catch someone before they hit the ground. That’s hard. That’s life.

When that happens, you have to try and remember the beauty. You have to lean on your friends. You have to get a good night’s sleep. And, in my opinion, you have to help out. Because folks need you. You may not be graceful. You may botch up the catch. You may need to keep a list of references on hand so you can find other support for folk who look to you for help.

And as you offer a steadying hand. Look for the beauty that inspires and supports you. Life. A fragile boat. And the hands on the oars are uncertain. But on we paddle. And hold the sweetness close.

Autumn River Peace

Looking down from the bridge into the slowly moving Susquehanna this morning, I was caught by the beauty. It was picture perfect — looking ‘way too much like many of those sympathy cards I’ve recently received.

So at first I was stuck with that image. And then I recognized the movement of the water, flowing down to the ever renewing ocean. The gorgeous red and gold leaves slipping down over the stones were just the symbols of Fall’s slipping away…

And suddenly, I was smiling again. Happy to think about the notion renewal and rebirth… far away and unknown, but reassuring in some weird, but deeply visceral way. It was also a lovely reminder of how beautiful Deb’s life was and of what I’d been called to do and the ways I’d responded, ways I was proud of. I loved her. She’d needed me. I’d been there to the best of my abilities. She knew that and accepted my love and returned it full measure.

And now a gentle reminder that leaves slipping by are the way of the season… and incredibly beautiful. And I am a sad and lucky woman. Let us take it all in as it comes to us, all the sweet abundance, because in that we can search for Peace. Finding it, even if only from time to time, we can begin to spread it abroad.

Spiral Sabbath Peace

Our lives are so busy. I think we, okay, I, often fail to notice the rhythm of the spiral. And I think we often fail to stop when we finally make it into the center to enjoy the Peace, before turning and moving back out into an every deepening meaning. In and out, in and out, and so we weave our lives.

I’ve been in a frenzy, trying to reclaim my house and write my bits for this weekend.

So much ahead. The terror and sadness of saying a formal good-bye to Deb. The joy of gathered family and the gift of my Swedish sisters’ visit. Counting noses in the swimming pool — and missing the absent. The overwhelm of too much stuff and the joy in seeing this beautiful house re-become my home and refuge. (and maybe even the place where I invite you to tea. How long has that been!)

Fall, in all its beauty, ready for our admiration. A cornucopia of opportunities for interesting ways to spend a lovely Sabbath. A musician, a play, a labyrinth, a Circle. Today I’ll take some time to replenish myself for the trek into the middle of that circle, a circle that is both everything and nothingness.

What will you do to pass this day in Peace? May your day be one of Beauty. Wishing you a blessed Sabbath, my Friends…

Profligate Peace

Oh, I had such an Evans moment yesterday. I’m still not sure that it’s finished. I went (at long last) to replace the glass shade that was broken when I moved into this house. And that, I slowly figured out, was seven years ago. Despite the huge amount of stuff at my place (and really, thanks to my friends, there’s more, but there’s also less!), I am not really a shopper. I acquire, but not because I set out on acquisition trips. And the looking thing of shopping that people do, so not me.

But I had to go to Bloomsburg yesterday and the lamp store was on the way. I’ve been feeling numb recently. Long lists of things to do, no sense that I will ever accomplish what needs to be accomplished by due dates. And I’m churning. Up in the morning, writing, sorting, meeting with those who need me… and the day goes on. It’s been so hectic here as the arrival of the new stuff has been an opportunity to pull everything out, look, sort, wash/clean, put in order, recycle, toss. You’ve seen my posts, you know.

But there I was. I did not buy the most expensive lampshade. Saying no to the upsell, I bought what I came to buy. But then, from across a crowded room. a brilliant flash of turquoise. Turquoise, well you know… turquoise. The exact turquoise, it must be said, that is in the rug that graces my living room floor, carefully agreed upon by my mother and father… the color mavens of 736 East Third.

Color was a thing in our house. So was fabric. So were lines of furniture, dishes, glassware, paintings. My mom was an artist. My dad, a dye chemist for a rug factory. A date who went to a play with my family came away bemused: You were all talking about the set of the sleeves on the heroine’s dress. Well, yes, they were very cunningly wrought. And didn’t every family? Well, it seemed not. Who knew? What DO people talk about?

My brother’s first wife, upon showing me a jar of peach freezer jam and at the same time talking about a “wall” of thin shelves for canned goods, was taken aback when I lifted that jar and said, “oh, my goodness, can you imagine the light in this kitchen filtered through this gorgeous peach jam???” “Your brother said exactly the same thing,” she said. Of course he would.

And Deb and Ann? you knew us by our colors. (Although I never wore the hot pink velor pants — I wore the turquoise polkadotted ones, back in the day. Our houses riot with color. And sure I wear black… but that’s only a foil for all the color.

But color hasn’t been very interesting to me these days. It’s a no-color world after your sister goes away. It will change, I know that. But it’s not going to be a quick transition. And I’m, quite frankly, mopey and overcome by the list, The LIST of things, that Must Be Done. And the shopping has been strictly whatever is needed at the moment. I forget food. I buy the silver polish. There’s TP. There’s paper towels.

Deb redid old oil lamps for us, and I broke my shade. And so it sat. But now she’s gone and I’m getting company and so, I will buy a new one. In memory of who she was. So there I was, a woman, checking things off the list. Do this, do that. sigh.

The store of lampshades is outside of town, along a highway. The owner has all kinds of stuff in that store and you have to weave your way through. She remembered the lamp (oh, a Juno, very nice. Yes four lamps, a red and three green shades, must have done it about 8 years ago. Your sister, was she a tall woman? — why yes, she did, yes, she was.) But one lamp shade a little furniture polish and I was outta there. Until I turned my head.

There it was, a vivid turquoise shade. Extravagantly exquisite. The color of my people. And she had two. Two! for the lamps for which I’ve never found anything but mediocre hats, lamps which came to me from my buddy Rocky (my home — a paean to my beloved dead) and now sit on the table behind his wonderful squishy leather sofa. They could have new hats. My house could be blessed with turquoise light.

Oh, I am in lust. I have no idea whether I’ll succumb… They would be Lampshades of a Lifetime. There would be Peace at home in their gentle glow. Shallow? As my friend from seminary used to say: “Shallow can be nice.” My husband won’t mind my being happy with lampshades, but he won’t understand it. His people came up buying antiques, took pride in not wearing something until it had weathered in the drawer. Pondered long and hard before buying something. Traded in antiques. Useful antiques. I come from a family where my dad would successively put on every new present he’d gotten at Christmas time, and there he’d be a sweater over his robe, a hat, new mitts… in a place with beautiful carpets on the floor and fine lines, color and fabric on the furniture.

Lust for life, a reminder that I am alive and that there will be life after my sister’s death, and because of her profligate extravagance? Mine will be filled with beauty, fine lines, color and fine fabrics. And maybe turquoise lampshades. Maybe. There is Peace in lampshades, you ask. Oh, yes. Beauty is not a sin. Neither is abundance. It’s all about how you hold it and how you share it.

Threads of Peace

One of the interesting parts of writing the musings is that a line sometimes emerges that you hadn’t planned. There you are heading somewhere, and poof, a new metaphor. I was caught by the notion of spinning the mist into the threads of Peace.

Before we can begin to weave a blanket to warm us, we must spin the thread and that thread must contain all the colors of the seasons, winter whites, spring greens, summer golds and winter reds and oranges, the many colors of the sky and the waters and our beloved Mother Earth.

Only then can we begin to weave a blanket that will comfort and protect all of us. I am here, we can tell the world, these are my colors, this is what I know and can teach you about. Which are yours… what can you tell me about them?

My father, the dye chemist, was very proud that he could hand spin… and proud too that he could find the chemicals that made the colors sing. Everything adds something to the thread. Some of it will be expertly spun, some of it some of us will make a hash of… but once there is thread, we can weave that bumpy, uneven totally gorgeous mantle of Peace.

Sacred Village

Building a World of Peace, Village by Sacred Village.

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