Just the same

It is pouring rain this morning.  Despite this, I walk a few miles before sitting down to write.   Work at the concertina shop beckons as well – buttons to be polished, a case to be outfitted.  These quiet rhythms of walking and working, in one form or other, keep me grounded in the here and now, skirting the edges of anxiety – though thankfully not drifting too far into that country.  Worse yet in times of past perils, is the propensity to escape my body altogether.  This too, isn’t an ideal state.  So I keep to the rhythms of my days, best I can.

Yesterday, a day gray and heavy with weather to come, I stock up on a few basic groceries to set us up for the weeks ahead.  My favorite place is a market downtown, Findlay Market.  There is a lovely man visiting with a friend there and selling the Streetvibes paper.  I am glad to have a bit of cash in my pocket to buy his paper and support his efforts.  We stand  and chat about the weather and upcoming election, that there is a hurricane coming once more to the folk in Louisiana.  “Where is all this water coming from, anyway?” one of the men asks.   I answer, only slightly in jest, “Tears of our collective grief.”  This gets a laugh.

“There’s rain in the river and the river’s running through.”

~Nick Mulvey

I’ll be quite honest when I say that while my physically anxious tendencies are indeed mitigated with recent self-care and the slowing down only a pandemic can bring us, I am deeply concerned for what will happen in this country in the coming days.  The level of vitriol between opposing world views  is so palpable.  So much at stake.  And each side of the political coin thinks the ruination of our country will come with the election of the other side’s candidate.  It is no hidden thing that I am not a fan of this so-called president or his rabid followers, so you know on which side of the coin I rest.  To me, the direction of the world, not just our country, is really what’s at stake here.  No side of any coin will be able to exist amidst the climate changes already happening.  The election of Donald Trump would defy any efforts to save our poor crumbling planet.  His direction is simply the wrong way.  Greta Thunberg says “We are running out of time.”  and I believe her.

To anyone I know who still supports this mad man, all I can say is,

“I know you are so different to me but I love you just the same.”

Nick Mulvey

The song above has been rolling around in my head since I heard it on a podcast I’ve been listening to about the issues surrounding climate change.  It is a strangely hopeful show called Outrage and Optimism and I highly recommend it.  Instead of worsening my anxieties about the state of the world, it has merely deepened my ideas about changes that need to be made and how we can make them.   As I listen to this song, the words remind me of an old bible verse from Psalms:

“Be still, and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10

 

Begin Again, Nick Mulvey

Mary was my mother’s mother and my sister too
There’s rain in the river, there’s a river running through
To the sea around these islands, crying tears of sorrow, pain
There’s rain in the river there’s a river in my veins
Mary, young as we may be you know, the blood in you and me
Is as old as blood can be
Is as old as blood can be
As old as blood can be
Living lines of memory through the markings on my hand
Ancient lines of living love, awaken in this land
Saying, I am in the forest, in the city and the field
I am in the bounty, come on, know me as I yield
I am in the falcon, in the otter, and the stoat
I am in the turtle dove with nowhere left to go
And in the moment of blind madness when he’s pushing her away
I am in the lover and in the ear who hears her say
Can we begin again? Oh, baby, it’s me again
I know you are so different to me, but I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
Love you just the same
Love you just the same
Love you just the same
Nigh-e
Nigh-e (Love you just the same)
Nigh-e (Love you just the same)
Nigh-e (Love you just the same)
Mary, if the world had 1912 to ’72 (Love you just the same)
Though we never met in flesh, here, I remember you
(Love you just the same)
Were woman you were gentle, you were modest, you were kind
(I love you just the same)
A mother, wife and gran you were a woman of your time
(Love you just the same)
Mary, young as we may be, you know, the blood in you and me
Is as old as blood can be
Is as old as blood can be (Love you just the same)
As old as blood can be (I love you just the same)
She says, I am in the living I am in the dying too (Love you just the same)
I am in the stillness, can you see me as I move? (Love you just the same)
I am in the hawthorn, in the apple and the beach (Love you just the same)
I am in the mayhem, in the medicine of speech (Love you just the same)
In the moment of blind madness when he’s pushing her away
I am in the lover, and in the ear who hears her say
Can we begin again? Oh, baby, it’s me again
I know you are so different to me, but I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
This may seem like a leap for some, but to me the idea of “I am” is inherent to the notion of the divinity in all of us, including those in the natural world.  Those whom Joanna Macy calls ‘the more than human world.  One time in a yoga class, one of my instructors laid out the following further break down of the Psalms verse:

“Be still, and know that I am.”

“Be still and know that I”

“Be still and know that.”

“Be still and know”

“Be still”

“Be”

Will, Cincinnati Yoga School

We sat with each statement for a few moments to let it sink in.  To ponder what the essence of the words might mean for us.  It was a lovely meditation of sorts.  Perhaps thoughtful meditation is what is lacking in our country.  The ability to sit in silence with one another.  The opportunity to think and breathe deeply and just BE – which is as close as we can come to divinity most days.

We are not a culture prone to stillness, quietude and self-reflection.  In the 2016 election, I was the only one amongst my circle of friends not to be surprised by the outcome.  I’d had a spidey sense all along that Trump would be the result of that grizzly contest, though I couldn’t have imagined how badly things might go, and how quickly too.  This election, I don’t even have a spidey sense about what’s to come –  a likely result of 4 years’ gaslighting from our Abuser In Chief.  I have spent a lot of time these last four years angry and anxious about the state of things.  With the pandemic came the time to slow it all down and think deeply.  To sit quietly with radical uncertainty.  As awful as this year has been, I am grateful for the slowing down it has wrought.  I seek to find the bright spots in this era of darkness.  That is one.

As we careen into the days (likely weeks) of uncertainty ahead, may we find ways to center amidst the madness of it all.  Our own fears for the future of our country and for the world at large.  May we continue to find divinity in our fellow human beings, (no matter our differences) and in the not so human beings as well.  Make some soup, drink some tea.  Be well, stay safe, stay kind.

I love you just the same.

And one other lovely nugget from the Faroe Islands……

I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
I love you just the same
Can we begin again?

Comfort and Joy

“There is another world, but it is in this one.” ~W.B. Yeats

Recently, we spent a week away in another world.  Down to the low-country coastal barrier-island of Tybee we traveled, as  I was feeling a bit sorry for myself for my lost (or at least post-poned) month’s work in Ireland, among other things.  Both of us pining for the sea, we watered the plants here at home, packed the dog and a kayak and some food into the car and slipped away into the pre-dawn darkness.

It was worth the day’s journeying.

We made friends with sand and surf and a few others – crow and cat being among my favorites.

There was much beach combing and waterside wandering.

Even Charlie found her way to the edges of things, though dogs aren’t permitted onto beaches in the proper sense.  I think she was content regardless of the limitations.

We should all be more like Charlie in this way, contented amidst the limitations we find upon us in these times.

There was much marshiness and moss which, mosquitos notwithstanding, I found to be quite captivating.

It was all so much to take in.  I found it exceptionally healing.

There were weddings to witness….

Sunrises to greet….

Sketches to make….

And paintings to begin…

so much more to do on this one. and more paintings to make from our magical time there on Tybee… more soon!

The space and pace of an off season beach town is something I highly recommend.  We were excited to plan a small getaway, but also a bit leery about whether there would be too many other people around whom we’d have to avoid, these being anxiety-ridden Covid times.

In the end, there was space to spare.  And we were grateful for it.

Soon it was time to come home to the harvest.  We still have a few tomatoes on the vine which may or may not ripen. (I am researching pickling options for green tomatoes….).

I gratefully gathered a few hawthorn berries to make into a tea, though mostly because I merely adore their color.

Eventually we readied the back garden for a small gathering of our family which would serve as a celebration of the season at hand, and possibly seasons still to come.

We sense difficult times in the weeks ahead.  Covid numbers are climbing and we will not  be able to gather indoors for Thanksgiving, and likely not Christmas either.  So I hatched a plan to host a “well-filling, out-of-doors, socially distanced, fully masked, early Thanksgiving” dinner for my family.  I decided I’d set a date and let the weather gods determine if it might happen or not.  In the end we were granted a most glorious day.  We went ahead with our plans.

Thankfully everyone was respectful of our strict protocol for mask wearing when not at the tables eating.

It was just good to have everyone ‘sort of’ together in one place before we head into winter.  A winter which may feel a bit like a revisitation to the quiet time of early lock-down and quarantine.

Time will tell.  But for this one day, we safely took what we could get.

I like to think Dr. Fauci would approve of our handling of the gathering, he having said, more or less, ‘if you can’t have Thanksgiving outside, and socially distanced, then don’t have it’.

Each separate family household came inside to fill their plates independently.  Even the kids were on board.  I appreciate the respect and care everyone brought to our day together.  I wouldn’t have chanced it all if I thought they might behave otherwise.

There was the typical fare – a turkey, smashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, chips and dips and casseroles galore.  All of the standard comfort foods related to our traditional Thanksgiving meal.  While thankful I don’t eat like this most of the time, there is something about all of the carb-laden goodies that is truly good for the soul.  They don’t call it ‘comfort food’ for nothing.  We dove in with abandon and it was delicious.

Given one perfect day of weather for our early Thanksgiving, we then weathered rain on the following day to cast our ballots into the box at the local Board of Elections.  We were glad to do so.  Even today, people stand in line in the rain to vote in person.  At least we are all voting, one way or another.

Later, the rain abated and it was time for a hike in the woods…..

…..where nature is always full of surprising things.

A wander in the woods always has the capacity to reset things in our hearts, allowing for a recalibration of sorts.  I have a deep sense that things in general will be slowing now as we head into late autumn and whatever the rest of the season may bring with it.

This is the time to be slow,
Lie low to the wall
Until the bitter weather passes.
Try, as best you can, not to let
The wire brush of doubt
Scrape from your heart
All sense of yourself
And your hesitant light.
If you remain generous,
Time will come good;
And you will find your feet
Again on fresh pastures of promise,
Where the air will be kind
And blushed with beginning.
~JOHN O’DONOHUE
Excerpt from his books, To Bless the Space Between Us (US) / Benedictus (Europe)

I also have a deep sense that things may get even crazier here in this country in the weeks ahead.  Having cast my ballot early, along with so many fellow citizens, I find myself drifting away from the daily news, merely awaiting results of the eventual electoral outcome.  I have cautious optimism some days.  Other days, a drive into the countryside to the edges of our city gives me pause for all the republican paraphernalia and propaganda to be found there.  As usual, time will tell.   If this pandemic has taught me anything, it is to hold no expectation too tightly.  Everything can change on a dime.

This has always been the case, it’s just now more obvious.

I welcome the slow days ahead, as much as I miss holiday frivolity with loved ones.  Somehow a hibernation feels more natural for the season.  I often crave a bit of quiet this time of year, and this year perhaps I shall have it.  Sure there are still zooms and classes and the like, but my intent is to capture a spirit of spaciousness, thoughtfulness and mindfulness in the weeks and months ahead.  I think this space might give us some time to reconcile with all that has happened this year.  To perhaps shift our way of thinking and being in adjustment to the State of Things.

This month I have reinvigorated a daily drawing practice by participating in the annual “inktober” drawing challenge.  This has given me not only practice drawing in general, but making little time-lapse films as well.  Here are a few….

I hope the season is being kind to you in one way or another.  We are all grappling with so much of late.  And it’s all happening quite fast really.  My wish is that in the midst of the madness we might find a tune we love to play and play it.  That we might see something worth painting and paint it.  That we might begin or perhaps continue the planting and plotting of a garden bed.

I’ll share some paintings soon.  Keep the faith in the meantime.