Monday, August 17, 2009
Dances with Chainsaw
Big wind a couple of weeks back broke a sizable limb in the ash tree in our front yard. I climbed up with a bow saw and cut down all but an 8' section that was too thick to tackle with a hand saw - it would have to wait until I got the chainsaw working again. I finally replaced the sparkplug this weekend. Fired up on second pull, figured I was good to go, so I got out a 16' extension ladder and climbed up there with the saw. But I couldn't quite manage the vigorous pull required to get it started while balancing on a limb, so I climb back down the ladder, started it while standing on the ground, then climbed back up, holding the running saw in one hand, throttling it to keep it running, thinking to myself, "is this such a good idea?" Well, better than calling a tree service. I get up there, position myself to have enough leverage on the saw to cut through the limb. Fortunately, the teeth were sharp so the cutting was easy. Cut it in 2 sections so that there was less chance of things going awry as the pieces fell. Short of it - I survived to tell the tale.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
A Week in the Land of Enchantment
The Land of Enchantment draws us in many ways – the land, the light, the people. We came to relax, explore, and experience her charms. Rather than making our usual straight drive to Taos or Santa Fe, we took routes we had never been on and saw places that were new to us, arriving in our usual haunts only towards the end of our trip. New Mexico rewarded us, and revealed herself to us in new ways.
Three cultures – Native American, Spanish and Anglo – coexist and blend here in unique ways. We had rich and enlightening encounters with all three. Near Crown Point, driving west on a back road of the Navaho Nation, we saw a man galloping a horse along the side of the road. This got our curiosity up so when we saw a cluster of trucks and people at a show grounds we slowed and realized there was a rodeo happening. We drove in, parked among the horse trailers and walked into a Navaho rodeo. We were the only white faces there, but no one seemed to mind or pay any particular attention to us. We sat and watched a youth rodeo - young girls roping sheep, young boys riding bucking bulls, and young men competing in tandem cow roping. On our tour of the Sky City on the Acoma reservation we met a native who had worked in casinos but had returned to being a tour guide because it allowed him to be more true to himself and tell the story of his people, which he did with pride and undisguised resentment for what the Spaniards had done to his ancestors.
Along the sparsely populated stretch of highway 53 between Zuni Pueblo and Grant we passed a café and campground. It had all the trappings of a New Age enclave – selling trinkets and serving organic meals made with homegrown produce. We stopped, ordered espresso and spent time chatting with the owner and his lover (presumably, flowery outfit, long painted fingernails) who waited tables. They had fled Salt Lake City and were now running this remote outpost together.
South of Santa Fe we visited el Rancho de las Golondrinas, a living history museum spread across 200 acres. With restored buildings, exhibits and guides in period costumes it recreates, as authentically as possible, the living and working conditions of Spanish colonial New Mexico in the 18th and 19th centuries. While we rested on the steps of a small chapel, a well-dressed Hispanic gentleman, who we had seen earlier on the rancho, approached and asked “con permiso?,” gesturing with his camera. We nodded and he took our picture. Later, while we were browsing the merchandise he approached and began a conversation. His refined, courteous manner reflected that of the Spanish landowners who had been in the area for generations.
The encounter we enjoyed most, however, was with Carlos and Alfredo in the small village of Chimayo. Carlos Medina sells chilies, crosses and a large array of other tourist trinkets from his family home near the famous Chimayo Sanctuary. He thoroughly enjoyed letting customers sample the amazingly flavorful chili blends, which he scoped up with pistachio shells and handed over with specific tasting instructions. He also liked to tell stories, so after we had bought a few bags of his product we stayed on, listening to him tell of his encounters with supernatural powers, his extraordinary dreams and his philosophy of life. When we shared our interpretations of his experiences he always listened attentively. We talked long after his mom had locked up and his coworker and friend since childhood, Alfredo, had left.
We returned the next evening, also, as it happened, at closing time. Nevertheless, Carlos happily prepared some food for us and then both he and Alfredo stuck around while we ate on the patio. This time it was Alfredo who told stories of his life. He was like a cat with 9 lives – having nearly drowned as an infant, having been rushed to the hospital with a quarter stuck in his windpipe as a child, having been crushed between 2 cars in his driveway, having been hit by a van crossing the highway and thrown 25 feet, leaving him in a coma for 21 days, and having been in surgery to remove a tumor in his neck where the tracheotomy failed and he again nearly died. He said that all this taught him to not think of money, possessions or family, but to think only of God. Carlos added his stories of near-death experiences and again, with no one apparently feeling like they had to be anywhere else, we sat and talked for a long time. These times gave us a remarkable glimpse into the life of people who work the land and seldom venture far from the place where they were born.
Another distinct subculture in New Mexico, of course, is the artist – both the indigenous type (Native American and Hispanic) and the transplanted Anglo. While walking the streets of the small village of Truchas, we stopped in a gallery of a woman, who had moved to the US from Sweden. After browsing her paintings we began talking (we had actually spent some time speaking with her a couple of years ago when we had visited the same gallery). After sharing stories of our backgrounds we talked about the economy, rural life and the trials of raising children. In the same village we spoke several other artists in their studios, including a Hispanic man whose family had been carving wooden religious figures for generations. In Taos we visited with an Anglo artist we had become friends with on a previous trip. We picked up previous conversations as they had started yesterday.
Each person we met in New Mexico gave us something – a story, a kind smile or gesture, a visual statement of who they were. We felt incredibly blessed to have felt part of the dynamic and diverse cultural landscape of a very special place.
Three cultures – Native American, Spanish and Anglo – coexist and blend here in unique ways. We had rich and enlightening encounters with all three. Near Crown Point, driving west on a back road of the Navaho Nation, we saw a man galloping a horse along the side of the road. This got our curiosity up so when we saw a cluster of trucks and people at a show grounds we slowed and realized there was a rodeo happening. We drove in, parked among the horse trailers and walked into a Navaho rodeo. We were the only white faces there, but no one seemed to mind or pay any particular attention to us. We sat and watched a youth rodeo - young girls roping sheep, young boys riding bucking bulls, and young men competing in tandem cow roping. On our tour of the Sky City on the Acoma reservation we met a native who had worked in casinos but had returned to being a tour guide because it allowed him to be more true to himself and tell the story of his people, which he did with pride and undisguised resentment for what the Spaniards had done to his ancestors.
Along the sparsely populated stretch of highway 53 between Zuni Pueblo and Grant we passed a café and campground. It had all the trappings of a New Age enclave – selling trinkets and serving organic meals made with homegrown produce. We stopped, ordered espresso and spent time chatting with the owner and his lover (presumably, flowery outfit, long painted fingernails) who waited tables. They had fled Salt Lake City and were now running this remote outpost together.
South of Santa Fe we visited el Rancho de las Golondrinas, a living history museum spread across 200 acres. With restored buildings, exhibits and guides in period costumes it recreates, as authentically as possible, the living and working conditions of Spanish colonial New Mexico in the 18th and 19th centuries. While we rested on the steps of a small chapel, a well-dressed Hispanic gentleman, who we had seen earlier on the rancho, approached and asked “con permiso?,” gesturing with his camera. We nodded and he took our picture. Later, while we were browsing the merchandise he approached and began a conversation. His refined, courteous manner reflected that of the Spanish landowners who had been in the area for generations.
The encounter we enjoyed most, however, was with Carlos and Alfredo in the small village of Chimayo. Carlos Medina sells chilies, crosses and a large array of other tourist trinkets from his family home near the famous Chimayo Sanctuary. He thoroughly enjoyed letting customers sample the amazingly flavorful chili blends, which he scoped up with pistachio shells and handed over with specific tasting instructions. He also liked to tell stories, so after we had bought a few bags of his product we stayed on, listening to him tell of his encounters with supernatural powers, his extraordinary dreams and his philosophy of life. When we shared our interpretations of his experiences he always listened attentively. We talked long after his mom had locked up and his coworker and friend since childhood, Alfredo, had left.
We returned the next evening, also, as it happened, at closing time. Nevertheless, Carlos happily prepared some food for us and then both he and Alfredo stuck around while we ate on the patio. This time it was Alfredo who told stories of his life. He was like a cat with 9 lives – having nearly drowned as an infant, having been rushed to the hospital with a quarter stuck in his windpipe as a child, having been crushed between 2 cars in his driveway, having been hit by a van crossing the highway and thrown 25 feet, leaving him in a coma for 21 days, and having been in surgery to remove a tumor in his neck where the tracheotomy failed and he again nearly died. He said that all this taught him to not think of money, possessions or family, but to think only of God. Carlos added his stories of near-death experiences and again, with no one apparently feeling like they had to be anywhere else, we sat and talked for a long time. These times gave us a remarkable glimpse into the life of people who work the land and seldom venture far from the place where they were born.
Another distinct subculture in New Mexico, of course, is the artist – both the indigenous type (Native American and Hispanic) and the transplanted Anglo. While walking the streets of the small village of Truchas, we stopped in a gallery of a woman, who had moved to the US from Sweden. After browsing her paintings we began talking (we had actually spent some time speaking with her a couple of years ago when we had visited the same gallery). After sharing stories of our backgrounds we talked about the economy, rural life and the trials of raising children. In the same village we spoke several other artists in their studios, including a Hispanic man whose family had been carving wooden religious figures for generations. In Taos we visited with an Anglo artist we had become friends with on a previous trip. We picked up previous conversations as they had started yesterday.
Each person we met in New Mexico gave us something – a story, a kind smile or gesture, a visual statement of who they were. We felt incredibly blessed to have felt part of the dynamic and diverse cultural landscape of a very special place.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Dancing Through the Day
I attended the 33rd International Symposium on Remote Sensing of the Environment (ISRSE-33) in Stresa, Italy last week. On Thursday I gave a talk in a session that I was co-chairing, which started at 11 am, ended at 12:30. The GEO Architecture and Data Committee (ADC) meeting also started at 11 am, so I knew I'd miss the beginning. In addition, I was to make a presentation to the GEO Science and Technology Meeting (STC) at 2:15 pm, and had to help someone make a presentation remotely to the ADC at 2:40 pm. On top of all this, I was to meet and introduce the president of the Italian state Telecom Company (the research division) at 1:00 - 1:30. Recipe for disaster? You guessed it.
When I loaded my presentation into the central computer system of the conference (Windows based) some of my figures did not show, because I had prepared it on a Mac. This was discovered 20 min before the beginning of the session. I desperately tried to convert the images, but no go. Ok, I'll use my laptop to project. But I didn't have the video converter cable with me. Desperately looked for a mac owner who might have one. My co-chair shows up. She has the mac connector. whew! Wait, wrong version, doesn't fit my newer computer. Now 2 min before start of session. I got it - copy presentation to her Mac and use it to project. It works!
Okay session goes well, I introduce speakers, ask questions, moderate other's questions. All going well. Then it's my turn to present (had not done any dry runs - no time. final adjustments to slides was that morning, not sure what I'm going to say). I start talking. Feeling confident. Good material. Audience engaged. Phone rings in my pocket. Fumble to turn it off while keep talking. Stops. Continue talk. Phone rings again. This time while fumbling in my pocket I not only answer it but turn it on speaker phone. Continue making my ad lib presentation with a voice "hello? are you there?" coming out of my pocket. It was the Pres. of the Italian telecom calling to say he was waiting for me at registration.
I end my talk, hand off the session to my co-chair and run downstairs. Bring Roberto up to the ADC meeting, make some introductions, run back to my session. On last paper. Final questions. I thank the speakers and audience. Dash back to ADC meeting. Engage in the discussion. While discussion is going on, I try to be unobtrusive and set up my computer at the speaker's table and try to connect with the person making the next presentation. Skype shows he's not online. Sandwiches brought in for working lunch. Grab a bite, dash down to STC meeting, listen to introduction of topic, make a presentation. Sit back down (I thought it impolite to dash right out). Jay (ADC co-chair) calmly comes it. I figure it's time to go back to ADC. I get there and they're on break, waiting for me to get skype going for the next speaker. He finally logs in. We connect. No sound. His microphone is not working. Chair is asking what's up. I punt, and call his office line with skype. That works. We get started. All goes well.
That evening at the social hour following the meetings I speak with the director of USGEO - a feisty woman who carries around a cane which you are certain she uses to whack people when she is really unhappy with them. I needed to talk to her about some meetings in D.C. in November. When I approach her, before I can say anything she says "converted to Sikh, right? treat women as equals. that's good". A director of the Australian science and industry body (CSIRO) says he liked my presentation to the STC and saw that I could appreciate work he had done on digital elevation models and tells me all about it. People at random come up and compliment me both on the session I chaired and my brief presentation to the ADC. So, in all I'd say the day was successful
When I loaded my presentation into the central computer system of the conference (Windows based) some of my figures did not show, because I had prepared it on a Mac. This was discovered 20 min before the beginning of the session. I desperately tried to convert the images, but no go. Ok, I'll use my laptop to project. But I didn't have the video converter cable with me. Desperately looked for a mac owner who might have one. My co-chair shows up. She has the mac connector. whew! Wait, wrong version, doesn't fit my newer computer. Now 2 min before start of session. I got it - copy presentation to her Mac and use it to project. It works!
Okay session goes well, I introduce speakers, ask questions, moderate other's questions. All going well. Then it's my turn to present (had not done any dry runs - no time. final adjustments to slides was that morning, not sure what I'm going to say). I start talking. Feeling confident. Good material. Audience engaged. Phone rings in my pocket. Fumble to turn it off while keep talking. Stops. Continue talk. Phone rings again. This time while fumbling in my pocket I not only answer it but turn it on speaker phone. Continue making my ad lib presentation with a voice "hello? are you there?" coming out of my pocket. It was the Pres. of the Italian telecom calling to say he was waiting for me at registration.
I end my talk, hand off the session to my co-chair and run downstairs. Bring Roberto up to the ADC meeting, make some introductions, run back to my session. On last paper. Final questions. I thank the speakers and audience. Dash back to ADC meeting. Engage in the discussion. While discussion is going on, I try to be unobtrusive and set up my computer at the speaker's table and try to connect with the person making the next presentation. Skype shows he's not online. Sandwiches brought in for working lunch. Grab a bite, dash down to STC meeting, listen to introduction of topic, make a presentation. Sit back down (I thought it impolite to dash right out). Jay (ADC co-chair) calmly comes it. I figure it's time to go back to ADC. I get there and they're on break, waiting for me to get skype going for the next speaker. He finally logs in. We connect. No sound. His microphone is not working. Chair is asking what's up. I punt, and call his office line with skype. That works. We get started. All goes well.
That evening at the social hour following the meetings I speak with the director of USGEO - a feisty woman who carries around a cane which you are certain she uses to whack people when she is really unhappy with them. I needed to talk to her about some meetings in D.C. in November. When I approach her, before I can say anything she says "converted to Sikh, right? treat women as equals. that's good". A director of the Australian science and industry body (CSIRO) says he liked my presentation to the STC and saw that I could appreciate work he had done on digital elevation models and tells me all about it. People at random come up and compliment me both on the session I chaired and my brief presentation to the ADC. So, in all I'd say the day was successful
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Discover who you are as a Man of Spirit
Over the past three years, the Men's ceremonial program at The StarHouse has been growing and deepening. We invite you to come (men only!) and to encourage men you know to attend the Introductory Evening to see and feel what it's all about! Thursday, April 16 from 6-8:30 pm.
http://www.pathoftheceremonialarts.org/mensPCA.html
http://www.pathoftheceremonialarts.org/mensPCA.html
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Fushimi Inari Shrine
Stepping from the train platform into the silent streets I wondered what I'd do for the hour and a half before sunrise. The Inari Fushimi Shrine never closes but from the imagery in Google Earth it appeared to be all forest uphill of the temples at the entrance. I had only 2 hrs before my meeting back in Kyoto would start. Might there be a warm building where I could meditate before climbing into the hills?
As I stood admiring the large shrine near the entrance a solitary man walked quickly past. I decided to follow. He wound his way along paths behind the temple and stopped in front of a small shrine where he began to chant. In a few hours this spot would be filled with pilgrims and noisy tourists but right now it was purely what it had been since the 8th century, a sacred, mystical place.
Fortunately, the pathways were lit with small electric lamps, so I began my trek immediately. The Inari Shrine is distinctive for its thousands of Torii (gates) that cover the trails winding through the forested and stream-filled hills. I was walking quickly, both to stay warm and in an attempt to cover as much of the area as possible in the time I had.
Walking the trails in the dark was decidedly spooky. Inari is the god of rice, sake, and prosperity, but foxes are the messengers of Inari and fierce-looking statues of foxes were everywhere. In what seemed to be a particularly dark portion of the forest invisible crows high in the canopy created an ominous cacophony. I kept moving, past innumerable shrines and, occasionally, unopened tea stands.
I soon gave up hope of retracing my steps, the intersections were too many, the trails too circuitous. Eventually, I'd find my way back. I realized that in my haste to leave the hotel and catch the first train of the morning I'd forgotten both water and the small pack of trail mix that I had prepared for my breakfast. I was feeling a bit light headed, having burned a lot of calories climbing the trails, and started to eye the vending machines outside the unopened souvenir stands. But I moved on, having set my sights on completing the 4 km loop of the trail system.
The sky began to lighten and it seemed that I had hit the apex of the trail. There was a major shrine there, with many, many inscribed stones, lanterns and small torii. Here I again encountered the worshiper, chanting with what seemed to be addition fervency.
Soon after I began my descent I encountered a tea stand/souvenir shop where a woman was just beginning to open up. She beckoned to me, indicating she wanted me to sit down by her small kerosene heater and warm up with a cup of tea. I gratefully obliged. I removed my shoes and sat cross-legged on a platform surrounded by statues and calligraphy. She brought a cup of tea and also a plate with something wrapped in paper and tied with a string. She said, "here, some good Japanese food". It was a delicious and satisfying treat which nourished me body and spirit. She refused payment. I asked her the way down and she pointed to an uphill path. Trusting that she understood where I wanted to go, I followed her directions which did indeed take me on the most direct route down.
Further down the trail I spotted a path leading steeply down through a bamboo forest. Wishing to experience it I descended on narrow, slippery stones into a clearing where there was a large shrine unlike all the others I had seen so far, with a more ancient, Stonehenge like feeling. It was clearly a place that was not frequented by tourists. A cluttered, disused path leading away from the shrine called me into the dark, tall bamboo forest (too dark to take pictures). Again trusting that it would lead me out, I proceeded and eventually emerged by what appeared to be a children's camp. Just a bit further and I was into a residential neighborhood. My GPS told me that the entrance was to my left, so I took a turn down a street and re-entered the central shrine area and was at the train platform just in time to catch a train back. Somehow, the transition from the eerie, mystical forest to the train filled with commuters did not seem abrupt or unnatural. All life is unfathomably mysterious.
photos
As I stood admiring the large shrine near the entrance a solitary man walked quickly past. I decided to follow. He wound his way along paths behind the temple and stopped in front of a small shrine where he began to chant. In a few hours this spot would be filled with pilgrims and noisy tourists but right now it was purely what it had been since the 8th century, a sacred, mystical place.
Fortunately, the pathways were lit with small electric lamps, so I began my trek immediately. The Inari Shrine is distinctive for its thousands of Torii (gates) that cover the trails winding through the forested and stream-filled hills. I was walking quickly, both to stay warm and in an attempt to cover as much of the area as possible in the time I had.
Walking the trails in the dark was decidedly spooky. Inari is the god of rice, sake, and prosperity, but foxes are the messengers of Inari and fierce-looking statues of foxes were everywhere. In what seemed to be a particularly dark portion of the forest invisible crows high in the canopy created an ominous cacophony. I kept moving, past innumerable shrines and, occasionally, unopened tea stands.
I soon gave up hope of retracing my steps, the intersections were too many, the trails too circuitous. Eventually, I'd find my way back. I realized that in my haste to leave the hotel and catch the first train of the morning I'd forgotten both water and the small pack of trail mix that I had prepared for my breakfast. I was feeling a bit light headed, having burned a lot of calories climbing the trails, and started to eye the vending machines outside the unopened souvenir stands. But I moved on, having set my sights on completing the 4 km loop of the trail system.
The sky began to lighten and it seemed that I had hit the apex of the trail. There was a major shrine there, with many, many inscribed stones, lanterns and small torii. Here I again encountered the worshiper, chanting with what seemed to be addition fervency.
Soon after I began my descent I encountered a tea stand/souvenir shop where a woman was just beginning to open up. She beckoned to me, indicating she wanted me to sit down by her small kerosene heater and warm up with a cup of tea. I gratefully obliged. I removed my shoes and sat cross-legged on a platform surrounded by statues and calligraphy. She brought a cup of tea and also a plate with something wrapped in paper and tied with a string. She said, "here, some good Japanese food". It was a delicious and satisfying treat which nourished me body and spirit. She refused payment. I asked her the way down and she pointed to an uphill path. Trusting that she understood where I wanted to go, I followed her directions which did indeed take me on the most direct route down.
Further down the trail I spotted a path leading steeply down through a bamboo forest. Wishing to experience it I descended on narrow, slippery stones into a clearing where there was a large shrine unlike all the others I had seen so far, with a more ancient, Stonehenge like feeling. It was clearly a place that was not frequented by tourists. A cluttered, disused path leading away from the shrine called me into the dark, tall bamboo forest (too dark to take pictures). Again trusting that it would lead me out, I proceeded and eventually emerged by what appeared to be a children's camp. Just a bit further and I was into a residential neighborhood. My GPS told me that the entrance was to my left, so I took a turn down a street and re-entered the central shrine area and was at the train platform just in time to catch a train back. Somehow, the transition from the eerie, mystical forest to the train filled with commuters did not seem abrupt or unnatural. All life is unfathomably mysterious.
photos
Monday, January 12, 2009
Yes we can!
This is a submission to Kosmos Journal, in response to the following call:
Many of us have been living with the knowledge that our world and its institutions are nearing collapse. We long for that time – that rare opening – when evolution takes a momentous leap forward. The election of Barack Obama aroused an explosion of spirit in the world. It seemed to be an outer symbol of an inner knowing that the tipping point from collapse to creation may well have arrived. The slogan heard around the world is “Yes we can.” What does this mean to you?
I was among the many whose eyes filled with tears the evening of Nov. 4th, when it became apparent that this country had left behind its racist past and responded to the call for change. Difficult times bring forth great leaders, and while no one person can pull this civilization back from the brink of collapse, a man like Barack Obama, in the position of President of the United States, will not only directly bring about change through his actions but will also inspire governments, institutions and individuals around the world to work for needed change.
But we must recognize that, as with all things on this earth, change is inevitable. Change may be slow or fast, gradual or abrupt. It may be part of the cycle of birth, growth, decay, destruction and rebirth. Underlying every cycle, behind all change, there is a flow of Spirit. Spirit is easy to identify in the smile of a baby, a majestic mountain landscape or the magic of a full moon. But the flow of Spirit is no less in the death of friend or in the decay of institutions than in the falling of autumn leaves.
The ascendancy of Barack Obama couldn’t have happened without the tireless work of the many people who were inspired by the man and his message. The utterly amazing way in which this happened, and the feeling of hope and elevation experienced by everyone involved, carries the mark of Spirit. Indeed, there is new hope in the land and the affirmation “Yes we can!” – overcome fear and hatred, and unite to manifest a powerful force for change – rings very true.
As we individually and collectively work for change we should feel that we are partners with Spirit. If we can truly put aside our egos we can become pure channels for Spirit. The test of just how egoless we are, and how firm our ability to recognize Spirit in all things is, will come when the cycles shift, our work is stymied, our projects fail, or when the human failings of our idolized leaders become manifest.
The movement of Spirit is always towards awakening. If we trust in this, even more than we trust in ideals, individuals or institutions, our disappointments will be mild, our capacity for giving will be boundless and our work always joyous.
(389 words)
Many of us have been living with the knowledge that our world and its institutions are nearing collapse. We long for that time – that rare opening – when evolution takes a momentous leap forward. The election of Barack Obama aroused an explosion of spirit in the world. It seemed to be an outer symbol of an inner knowing that the tipping point from collapse to creation may well have arrived. The slogan heard around the world is “Yes we can.” What does this mean to you?
I was among the many whose eyes filled with tears the evening of Nov. 4th, when it became apparent that this country had left behind its racist past and responded to the call for change. Difficult times bring forth great leaders, and while no one person can pull this civilization back from the brink of collapse, a man like Barack Obama, in the position of President of the United States, will not only directly bring about change through his actions but will also inspire governments, institutions and individuals around the world to work for needed change.
But we must recognize that, as with all things on this earth, change is inevitable. Change may be slow or fast, gradual or abrupt. It may be part of the cycle of birth, growth, decay, destruction and rebirth. Underlying every cycle, behind all change, there is a flow of Spirit. Spirit is easy to identify in the smile of a baby, a majestic mountain landscape or the magic of a full moon. But the flow of Spirit is no less in the death of friend or in the decay of institutions than in the falling of autumn leaves.
The ascendancy of Barack Obama couldn’t have happened without the tireless work of the many people who were inspired by the man and his message. The utterly amazing way in which this happened, and the feeling of hope and elevation experienced by everyone involved, carries the mark of Spirit. Indeed, there is new hope in the land and the affirmation “Yes we can!” – overcome fear and hatred, and unite to manifest a powerful force for change – rings very true.
As we individually and collectively work for change we should feel that we are partners with Spirit. If we can truly put aside our egos we can become pure channels for Spirit. The test of just how egoless we are, and how firm our ability to recognize Spirit in all things is, will come when the cycles shift, our work is stymied, our projects fail, or when the human failings of our idolized leaders become manifest.
The movement of Spirit is always towards awakening. If we trust in this, even more than we trust in ideals, individuals or institutions, our disappointments will be mild, our capacity for giving will be boundless and our work always joyous.
(389 words)
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Welcome, 2009
We're 3 days into 2009. So far, so good. It is cold, with a light snow falling. Feels very much like the middle of winter. Jitka and I just got back from an "out the door" hike up Fern Canyon and then to the summit of Bear Peak (8,461 ft.). A bit challenging, with a lot of ice on the rather steep trail. Back home we warmed up with some miso soup followed by Grandma's apple strudel.
New Year's eve brought some excitement. A big gust around 9pm brought a power line down in the yard behind ours. Started a fire in the brush which consumed the power pole. So we celebrated the arrival of 2009 in candlelight. Power was out about 5 hrs. Our woodstove kept the house reasonably warm.
Life is indeed a grand adventure, and I expect the end of 2009 will be very different than the beginning. It's only an illusion that things don't change. Everything is continually evolving, transforming or decaying. And even if it seems like our physical surroundings or life circumstances aren't changing (at least as quickly as we might want them to), we are changing inside. It's only because we choose to carry along our stale perceptions and habitual thought patterns from one moment to the next, from one day to the next, that the external world seems not to change. When we greet each new day, new month, new year as something that is indeed new, with fresh eyes and an open mind and heart, then the true beauty and magic of life will be apparent, and will always amaze and delight
New Year's eve brought some excitement. A big gust around 9pm brought a power line down in the yard behind ours. Started a fire in the brush which consumed the power pole. So we celebrated the arrival of 2009 in candlelight. Power was out about 5 hrs. Our woodstove kept the house reasonably warm.
Life is indeed a grand adventure, and I expect the end of 2009 will be very different than the beginning. It's only an illusion that things don't change. Everything is continually evolving, transforming or decaying. And even if it seems like our physical surroundings or life circumstances aren't changing (at least as quickly as we might want them to), we are changing inside. It's only because we choose to carry along our stale perceptions and habitual thought patterns from one moment to the next, from one day to the next, that the external world seems not to change. When we greet each new day, new month, new year as something that is indeed new, with fresh eyes and an open mind and heart, then the true beauty and magic of life will be apparent, and will always amaze and delight
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