Greetings! Taking a small break from writing. Lot’s to think about these days. Peace to you. Two videos for you!
Enjoy Wendell Barry’s reading of The Peace of Wild Things.
Deep Peace of the Running Wave to You
Greetings! Taking a small break from writing. Lot’s to think about these days. Peace to you. Two videos for you!
Enjoy Wendell Barry’s reading of The Peace of Wild Things.
Deep Peace of the Running Wave to You
“Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.”
“Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.
One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.
As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.
He came closer still and called out “Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?”
The young man paused, looked up, and replied “Throwing starfish into the ocean.”
“I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?” asked the somewhat startled wise man.
To this, the young man replied, “The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them in, they’ll die.”
Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, “But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can’t possibly make a difference!”
At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said,
“It made a difference for that one.”
― Loren Eiseley
It’s a big wide world with lots going on. Billions of people all over this pale blue dot wake up to a life of ease or suffering, joy or sorrow. There’s a million things “right” in the world. And a million things “wrong”.
Despair and hope dwell and linger in everyone’s life. Some days we try to close the door against despair. Other days we open the door to hope.
In this story the wise man walking along the beach knows what a huge act of hope and faith he is undertaking tossing star fish, one at a time, back into the ocean in the hopes of offering each one a chance at life. Something inside of him was incredibly strong, calling on him, to act for the benefit of one starfish each time.
“It made a difference for that one.”
Isn’t that all any of us can do at any one time? Lift each other up one by one. To reach out again and again and to just try our best.
I cannot, even in my dreams, believe I can make much difference in this world. But I do know when I go to work and hug a child, it matters. I know when my husband and I hold each other in joy or sorrow, it matters. I know that my children knowing they have a home to “come home” to matters. I know that when I look someone in the eye and call them on a racist or misogynist comment or joke, that it matters. My taking action, one action at a time, matters.
And I know, like the man on the beach, that each star fish is worth the effort and hope just like I know each person is worth, and deserving of, the same kind of effort and hope.
One by one, even against the odds. It is about what we are called to do. This showing up, this reaching out to lift others up, this hope that is born in the light of love, and hope, and patience that glows in each one of us.
Again, from Loren Eisley:
“Looking so, across the centuries and the millennia, toward the animal men of the past, one can see a faint light, like a patch of sunlight moving over the dark shadows on a forest floor. It shifts and widens, it winks out, it comes again, but it persists. It is the human spirit, the human soul, however transient, however faulty men may claim it to be. In its coming man had no part. It merely came, that curious light, and man, the animal, sought to be something that no animal had been before. Cruel he might be, vengeful he might be, but there had entered into his nature a curious wistful gentleness and courage. It seemed to have little to do with survival, for such men died over and over. They did not value life compared to what they saw in themselves — that strange inner light which has come from no man knows where, and which was not made by us. It has followed us all the way from the age of ice, from the dark borders of the ancient forest into which our footprints vanish… Man may grow until he towers to the skies, but without this light he is nothing, and his place is nothing. Even as we try to deny the light, we know that it has made us, and what we are without it remains meaningless.
Let that Light that is in you guide you. Show up. Bend down and toss the starfish back into the ocean in an act of love and kindness. Simply because for that one star fish it made a difference.
Like those star fish the wise man believed worthy, so is each human being.
*Readings This Week
*NEW!! Little Works in Progress
Many years ago, at the Farmer’s Market in Ithaca, my husband and I were slowly wandering from booth to booth soaking in the colors and bounty from local farms. My dearest friend, Connie, was with us as we paused in front of the booth of a local artist, Jim Hardesty. Before us were dozens of Chinese brush paintings….sinuous strokes of ink and pigment transformed into birds and flowers. And, Kwan Yin.
I felt like she was calling my name. Calling me to invite her into my life.
Kwan Yin, Quan Yin, Kuanyin, Guanyin, Padma-pâni. Her name means
One Who Sees and Hears the Cry from the Human World.
Many of us have felt compassion towards someone else. We feel the pain and suffering of others, especially of those we love deeply. We long, almost ache, to find a way to ease their suffering.
Life is a series of waves coming ashore. There are waves of love, kindness, forgiveness and generosity. And right behind those waves are the waves of violence, division, indifference and cruelty. Lapping the shore. Pushing and pulling on our heart and our fears. Some days we may feel as if we are drowning in our own suffering or in the pain of someone we love. Barely, we keep our head above the waters churning and foaming. Some days we soften, relax, let go and float softly, cradled in a lullaby of the calm waters.
When we turn away from, run from, harden ourselves against that which is painful, we are turning away from that which is a part of life. We can become protective. We may begin to live in fear.
We can, instead, choose to look at that pain and fear and open our heart to compassion. Like a beautiful garden, tended with love from the heart, compassion grows from generosity, wisdom, loving kindness, empathy, equanimity and courage. The fruits and flowers from this garden have the power to heal suffering.
Compassion is a way, a path, of maneuvering through a world and life that brings each one of us beauty and love and well as pain and suffering.
Compassion is not reserved only for those we love and respect. It is also for those who may threaten or frighten us. This is a world full of billions of people we will never know, yet our compassion in thought, and deed must include these people too. There are human beings in the world facing intolerable suffering. Of such magnitude that I will venture to say no one reading this can even imagine the degree of suffering.
Somewhere in all this we have to think about and come to terms with the fact that our ability to heal through compassion walks side by side with our capacity to cause the suffering. And we choose…..we choose and then learn to heal or we increase the divides between us.
Enter Kwan Yin. She is sometimes holding a willow branch, flexible, able to bend and not break, even in the strongest of winds or fiercest of deluge. Other times she has a thousand arms and one, all seeing eye. She is in constant awareness and her response is all embracing. Sometimes she is a warrior brandishing weapons to root out suffering. Mine holds quince blossoms from time immemorial. Kwan Yin hears the cries of our suffering. The suffering of the people of the world. And she reaches out with compassion to heal that suffering.
I know I feel overwhelmed sometimes by the magnitude and breadth of the suffering of people around the world. I don’t, and I don’t believe I can, have the answers. But, I can choose to hear the cries, to listen to the stories, to care. To not run or hid from the suffering of others. In so doing I begin to see “the rest of the story.” The loneliness and fear in and of others, the blame and anger, the mistrust, the intolerance and ignorance. Awareness teaches us how to be helpful through compassion, kindness, strength. It gives rise to understanding and and a desire to bring about the end of suffering.
We don’t have the power to change the hearts of others. We do, however, have the power and responsibility for our own state of mind, the values we carry within our heart. We make the choice to stand hand in hand with those who work endlessly to alleviate the pain of war, disease, hunger, oppression. Or, we walk hand in hand with those who spread fear, mistrust, violence, persecution, revenge.
In order to hear the cries of the world and to find the courage and strength to uplift through compassion we first have to allow our own hearts to be open. We have to look within. We have to close our eyes and listen. To the noise of the world, the cries of those in pain and who are suffering. When we have heard, we open our eyes to see, then we choose what we will do. We take action.
Who is listening?
“later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
where does it hurt?
Who is listening?
Check out this week’s readings: This Week
I bet you have one. Maybe it’s not under your bed but perhaps in a closet….a box with dust on top. Filled with faded and curling reminders of moments in your life that were captured through a lens. If you’re like me, there are snapshots that make you laugh until you cry while others leave you pondering, “What the heck is this? I don’t remember this at all!”
I actually have a couple of boxes. The larger box is under my bed and I look through it more often than the other. This box contains a mishmash of memories of childhood friends, college friends. My children. There are photographs of India, Japan and Europe. There are family pictures and pet pictures. There is one of me at 6, floating in a pond in Puerto Rico getting my toes nibbled by little fish…you can see on my face that it tickles. It’s mostly a heart warming box of memories.
The other box is buried deep in the back of the closet. Some of these photographs are of Belgium. I was there in 1974 to participate in the Second World Conference on Religion and Peace.
“The Second World Conference on Religion and Peace (2nd world assembly) was held at Louvain, Belgium, from August 28 – September 3, 1974. Attended by participants from 50 countries, the general theme of this assembly was “Religion and the Quality of Life.” It was more of a working conference than the 1st assembly, with more time spent in four simultaneous commissions (disarmament and security, economic development and human liberation, human rights and fundamental freedoms, and environment and survival), and in working parties and panel discussions. The Louvain Declaration, adopted overwhelmingly, was widely distributed after the assembly.” ( link Swarthmore Library )
At this conference I met many people I came to love dearly. People of all ages, from countries all over the world and of many religions. This was a breath-taking mosaic of people coming together to build bridges, to foster and work towards understanding and compassion. Young and old, white and Black. Muslim, Christian, Jain, Jewish, Buddhist…and from religions I had never heard of.
There are 4 pictures from that box that I put in the other box. Of people I came to love during that week. Of myself discovering the miracle of a chocolate filled croissant.
( Belgium, 1974. Yes, there are chocolate croissants in that basket.)
I moved these photographs from one box to the other because in the hidden box are strikingly grey, cold, sterile, pain filled photographs of a Nazi concentration camp.
You can take a virtual tour here Virtual Tour of Breendonk
In 1974 I was a 16-year-old white, Christian girl. I had no insecurities in life. I was loved. I had plenty of food, trendy clothing and a comfortable, safe and secure home with a TV, dishwasher, washing machine and dryer, flush toilet and running water. There were lights in every room. In the winter the heat came on. I was healthy. I had a bike, a cat, a dog. I went to school. We had a sail boat, a motor boat and two cars. Family vacations happened several times a year. I was planning to go to college in a few years. I was traveling in Europe. My future would be similar.
Then I met Breendonk.
And a man named Philip Noel-Baker, the 1959 Nobel Peace Prize recipient. He was 89 in 1974.
I have tried before, and it is really not possible for me to clearly express the feelings and emotions I had walking through the halls, into the cells, standing before the execution site of Breendonk. And this wasn’t even the “worst” of the “Camps”.
It was however a testament to the greatest expression of man’s inhumanity towards his fellow-man. The perfect witness to hatred, power, violence, intolerance, fear, greed and ego.
Looking at the photographs I have of Breendonk causes a visceral reaction in my body.
After our tour of Breendonk we were gathered by our bus, collecting ourselves, our emotions and our things. Someone asked where Philip Noel-Baker was. Another person and I offered to go find him. It meant going back into Breendonk.
We found him in The Names Room. Standing before the urns holding the remains of the prisoners executed at Breendonk. Alone and sobbing.
“I do not understand.” That was all he said.
This was one of those life altering experiences some people talk about. An experience so powerful it is etched deeply and permanently into your heart. Never to be forgotten even if the concrete memory of it is delegated to a box tucked into the back corners of a closet.
Friday, two days ago, was International Holocaust Remembrance Day.
In 1939 the United States closed it’s doors and refused thousands of Jewish refugees fleeing the nightmare that was the Nazi regime. Shunned, abandoned, deemed unacceptable, they were forced to return to the remaining countries that had accepted them before, and would accept them back. Unsure of and fearful for their future. Hundreds of these rejected souls were subsequently murdered by the Nazi’s. In total, the Holocaust witnessed 6 million human beings exterminated by the Nazis. 1.5 million of those were children.
“destruction or slaughter on a mass scale”
The International Day of Remembrance was created to commemorate the victims of the Holocaust. It represented the call to stand in unity with the promise of Never Again. This day of honoring and remembering was Friday.
On Friday President Trump closed the doors to the United States again and has forbidden the entry of thousands of refugees fleeing for their lives. They are fleeing war, torture, genocide, famine. Running from a high probability of death. Things most of you reading this can not with any sense of reality comprehend.
It has happened again. On the day dedicated to remembering and never forgetting.
We have forgotten.
Speak out. Do not be silent.
My hope for the new year is that it be filled with healing. That we have the courage and commitment to every each and every one of us on this earth to look around and see we have to do things differently. For each other. We must do something. I know there is much that is good and beautiful in the world. I see both every day. I feel, see, hear the goodness, the kindness, the beauty. Hopefully I also help to contribute the existence of both. And yet….
I watched some old movies over vacation. From the 40’s and 50’s. I feel, in many ways, we are in the same place with some things. I’m talking about the things that haven’t improved, changed. I’m talking about the same social prejudices and oppression. The same racial profiling. The same stereotyping. We still try to fix things through violence and killing, bullying and punishing. We still live in fear. We still discriminate because of many things. It appears we haven’t gotten very far.
I find the different responses to this blog interesting. There is the group who says, “Wow, so serious. Lighten up. It’s all good. Just let it go.” Another suggests I not be political. There is a smaller group that keeps saying “I am so sorry you are hurting so much.” The largest group says, “Thank you for inspiring me and making me think. Thank you for challenging me.” And, there it is….I hear people don’t want to talk politics, or to be serious. I hear lighten up, EVERYTHING is good…just let go, don’t worry. I hear that “hurting” is sad. I hear I may inspire others.
I will be political because that is what governs us as a whole. So many of us are left behind. Invisible. Ignored. I am serious and I will not lighten up or let go of feeling empathy and compassion for those suffering, in pain and being oppressed and held down. I do hurt and I think that is a good thing, not something I or others should feel sad about. I care. I hope I do inspire people…even a little bit. Someone said something very powerful to me a little ways back, they said “You make me think about things differently.” That’s all I want to do. You don’t have to agree with me. Just think. Learn something new that doesn’t play into your confirmation biases. I work hard every day to try to check in on these for myself…it is very difficult, but so important.
Now here we are at the dawn of a new year. We’ll celebrate in infinite amounts of ways from drunken stupors to running for life as homes are being bombed. Some will watch a loved one die tonight, while somewhere else a new life will burst forth and cry the air into his or her lungs. Many of us will pause and be grateful. Thankful. Many of us will cry out.
Some of us will light bon fires and throw pieces of the past year into the flames to symbolically release them from our lives for ever. Some will sing and dance and honor Nature. Some of us will make a list including the promise to loose weight, eat better, give up something, make time for ourselves, travel, do something new.
Me? I am going to use this poem to guide me through the new year.
Kiss the Earth
Walk and touch peace every moment.
Walk and touch happiness every moment.
Each step brings a fresh breeze.
Each step makes a flower bloom.
Kiss the Earth with your feet.
Bring the Earth your love and happiness.
The Earth will be safe
when we feel safe in ourselves.
~by Thich Nhat Hanh
My resolution is to use this poem to ground me daily. With every step, to kiss the Earth.
For my action, I will use Thay’s poem as my centering prayer, my chant, as I go through my day. To be mindful of each step. As it kisses the Earth. To walk with awareness and find and touch peace. To walk with awareness and touch happiness. To bring the Earth my love and happiness combined with concern and care. To work towards all of feeling safe in and with ourselves so the Earth will be safe too.
I am also choosing one word to be my lamp lighting the way through the year. I will carry it with me throughout the day, as a reminder of my intentions.
My word is “open”. My intention is to be open. Open to Empathy. To Compassion. To Truth. To Hope. To the stories of all. To not shut myself off to the suffering and sorrow in the world. To be open. To not turn away. To bear witness.
I’d really like to hear from you. Tell me your hopes for the new year.
As always, a link to what I’ve been reading: This Week
I’ve started three different posts and cannot finish any of them.
Recently I was contacted by a woman who told me she read my posts on India to her mother and that her mother had cried. Her mom had not returned to India since leaving as a child. In hearing her daughter read my posts, her mom was transported back to the India she remembered as a child.
There is almost too much going on for me in the world right now. Processing and understanding takes longer.
I know I grew as a compassionate, caring person through my travels and living and sharing with people with different values, religion and upbringing than what I had. I became more thoughtful, less fearful, more open. Embracing and rejoicing in differences was easy. It was about respect, love, interest, faith, hope, understanding.
I feel like we are loosing that idea. That possibility. Of becoming richer, in all senses, and wiser through embracing diversity. Fear and isolation are taking hold and it hurts my heart.
So here are two of my past favorites and most popular:
For many of us there is something supremely healing being in the presence of the ocean. It may be the color, the light. Or the sound of the waves and gulls. Or the briny smell and salty taste of the water. For me, it was never about the sand!!
My grandfather lived across the street from the ocean in Florida. Every visit there was a re-acquaintance with something in Nature I couldn’t have anywhere else except by the ocean. The ocean always brought comfort and a kind of healing. The world slowed down along the edge of the beach. Worries seemed to get washed out to sea as the waves came and went. It has been the same for every ocean I have stood next to or swum in. It heals.
The walks along the beach always gifted treasures. Broken shells. Maybe a whole shell! A small, asymmetrical piece of sea glass…worn smooth from the power of the sea. Maybe a “mermaids purse”. Alien looking pieces of seaweed. Perhaps a withered Man-O-War. A little crab claw. Sometimes the sand itself was the treasure. A myriad of sparkles and color….minute pieces of minerals, quartz, rock, shell and coral skeletons.
by Mary Oliver
I go down to the edge of the sea.
How everything shines in the morning light!
The cusp of the whelk, the broken cupboard of the clam,
the opened, blue mussels, moon snails, pale pink and barnacle scarred—
and nothing at all whole or shut, but tattered, split,
dropped by the gulls onto the gray rocks and all the moisture gone.
It’s like a schoolhouse of little words, thousands of words.
First you figure out what each one means by itself, the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop full of moonlight.
Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story.
As Mary Oliver said, each gift, each small–each broken miracle of treasure from the vast, moving, living ocean, was like discovering a new word. A piece to the puzzle of the language of the ocean. Of Nature. Of Life. Collections of whole and broken parts from the ocean, told a story. You could read in the brokenness, the color, the bleached out parts, the smoothed edges, the Story that only those pieces together could tell.
There is nothing in the whole world that is any different. There are broken pieces everywhere that, when put together, allow us to read the Story….. But brokenness isn’t always comfortable, it isn’t always pretty. It might hurt to know the beauty of the wholeness that was or could have been. There is so much we are blind and deaf to. So much we try not to touch or feel, smell or taste. We turn away.
“That smells fishy.” “Turn a blind eye.” “Rough around the edges.” “That’s a bitter pill to swallow.” “That just falls on deaf ears.”
Every broken part. Every completed whole. Everything we happen upon, every person we meet, every rain drop that falls, each sunrise we witness, is a new word in the language of Life. Each conflict, each treaty, the hate and fear, each love story. The woman with acid burns on her face, the crying child bleeding after FGM, the crumbling shell of Aleppo, the flooding streets of Miami, the parched land on fire. The protest chant, the psalm being sung. Parts of the Story….a wondrous Story. A titan of a Story.
Each experience we allow, acknowledge and process, each person we meet the eyes of, each story we listen to, each hand shake or hug we offer, is another word in the language of life on this planet. Our vocabulary is enriched as often as we pay attention to what is before us.
We may want to turn away from all the broken pieces, the bitterness in life, the things we don’t want to hear or think about. But they won’t go away. Each broken part offers us the chance to see the whole. To mend the pieces. To gain the new words to read and understand the whole Story. The bitter pill may heal us. The seeing eye is witness. The sound of crying makes us long for laughter. The feel of roughness and jagged edges helps us know where to smooth things out.
I’ve been working on learning from all the broken pieces I encounter. Looking at them instead of turning away and in so doing I am coming to understand my own biases and prejudices. These are the jagged shards of poverty, the broken shell that is oppression, the piercing thorn of injustice. I am trying to learn the vocabulary…to listen, in order to hear and understand, the painful and heartbreaking stories of those I do not know. Of things I will never experience. When I feel roughed up emotionally and spiritually I know it is part of the process of finding where my work needs to be done.
Are any of us whole and unbroken? Can we be when others are not? Look around the world, in our country. So many of us are fragmented and broken. All of us are missing so much of the vocabulary…all those broken pieces we step over, throw away… that we need in order to read the whole story. To understand. So many of us are afraid of pain and hurt. For ourselves and others. Yet, being afraid of these does not make it so that others do not live in fear and pain. Because the world is full of people living in fear and pain. So many of us are fearful of loss and aloneness. You or I may not be fearful of loss and aloneness, but millions live with these feelings every minute of every day. Many are filled with mistrust and anger. You or I may not feel anger or mistrust, but people all of the world are angry at and mistrustful of others, their government, their circumstances. We are content in our ignorance of many things.
That is not what I hope for. What I believe is possible. What I trust the end of the Story to be.
Now is a good time in our history to become fluent in the language of the Story of Life on this Earth. To understand we do not know most of the Story. To learn how to read all the words. To pick up new vocabulary for the sake of broadening our understanding. You might not want to think about racism or oppression, or fully understand the meaning of the words. But racism and oppression exists everywhere whether you want to think about it and understand it or not. Both of them hurt people. Both of them diminish the possibility of the individual and society. It’s time to piece together the broken and fragmented words, feelings, fears, hopes and people. To understand. To read all the chapters of the Story. To care. To give a damn. To strive towards wholeness.
Please check out what I’ve been reading this week This Week