Just as I was reading what kind of beer Pres. Obama likes to drink, a Budweiser truck drove past my house at the same time.
"It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards".
(White Queen says to Alice)
Lewis Carroll
Friday, July 31, 2009
Steady Souls Feel Alive
"You have to love dancing to stick to it. It gives you nothing back, no manuscripts to store away, no paintings to show on walls and maybe hang in museums, no poems to be printed and sold, nothing but that single fleeting moment when you feel alive. It is not for unsteady souls."
Merce Cunningham
I saved a large Carolina Wolf Spider from drowning today.
Hogna carolinensis
http://www.petbugs.com/caresheets/H-carolinensis.html
It was as big as a silver dollar...What the heck was it doing so near the pool? It looked like a drowning person to me...I'd like to say I heard it crying for help...it may have just entered the water...it was doing the help me dance...flailing as it sank slowly. How would I save it...would it bite me under water, I scooped it up, my hands buffered by water and dropped it on the concrete. It laid there motionless. I waited a minute to see what it would do. I reached to poke at it and it made a micro move, contracting its body, as my hand got closer. They are known to move very fast. It was at least responsive. It was gone where I left it after swimming a lap.
The Gold Finches were not at the ladder today. The clouds were moving very fast, it looked like it would rain...but it didn't. I concentrated on listening to the water and my micro body movements while doing my laps in honor of Merce. Swimming was effortless. Breathing came easy. Nothing hurt. I felt really alive while swimming today.
Merce Cunningham
I saved a large Carolina Wolf Spider from drowning today.
Hogna carolinensis
http://www.petbugs.com/caresheets/H-carolinensis.html
It was as big as a silver dollar...What the heck was it doing so near the pool? It looked like a drowning person to me...I'd like to say I heard it crying for help...it may have just entered the water...it was doing the help me dance...flailing as it sank slowly. How would I save it...would it bite me under water, I scooped it up, my hands buffered by water and dropped it on the concrete. It laid there motionless. I waited a minute to see what it would do. I reached to poke at it and it made a micro move, contracting its body, as my hand got closer. They are known to move very fast. It was at least responsive. It was gone where I left it after swimming a lap.
The Gold Finches were not at the ladder today. The clouds were moving very fast, it looked like it would rain...but it didn't. I concentrated on listening to the water and my micro body movements while doing my laps in honor of Merce. Swimming was effortless. Breathing came easy. Nothing hurt. I felt really alive while swimming today.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Pilgrim's Dream
The following written impression is of
the quality of stillness I feel during
the silence of meeting.
we fall together pieces of a prayer
collected fragments of blessed hearing
melt away carnivorous doubts
wrapped in ribbons of a pilgrim's dream
signal the fortune of being emphatically
present
the quality of stillness I feel during
the silence of meeting.
we fall together pieces of a prayer
collected fragments of blessed hearing
melt away carnivorous doubts
wrapped in ribbons of a pilgrim's dream
signal the fortune of being emphatically
present
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Dried Leaves
Shirley, my neighbor died last Thursday. I attended her funeral yesterday. I only met her once, a month ago. Very frail, old. She died of cancer. I'm friends with her husband, Red.
Red and I talk gardening. He cuts Bernice's grass every week and he stops and talks to me when he sees me walking over to the garden. I think he is in his 80's and you wouldn't know it. He still has buckets of energy. So it seems.
This is what I wanted when I moved here. I wanted a neighborhood. A garden. Funerals. Weddings. Neighbors that really talk to each other about what was going on in the neighborhood. Red is an original owner. He has lived on Lanier for over 40 plus years.
Shirley is buried a block from Red's house on Lanier, Sharon Memorial Park/Cemetery. Under a huge oak tree. Her grave is a few markers down from John Golightly's grave. I really like that name.
Red and I talk gardening. He cuts Bernice's grass every week and he stops and talks to me when he sees me walking over to the garden. I think he is in his 80's and you wouldn't know it. He still has buckets of energy. So it seems.
This is what I wanted when I moved here. I wanted a neighborhood. A garden. Funerals. Weddings. Neighbors that really talk to each other about what was going on in the neighborhood. Red is an original owner. He has lived on Lanier for over 40 plus years.
Shirley is buried a block from Red's house on Lanier, Sharon Memorial Park/Cemetery. Under a huge oak tree. Her grave is a few markers down from John Golightly's grave. I really like that name.
Green Leaves
Ted Olik, a good friend and teacher gave me his copy of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman when I was having a hard time in college...he suggested I read Song of Myself...the poem is exasperating...it felt like I was reading one long sentence, no breaks...buckets of energy in each line...I didn't read it in one sitting...it was too powerful...I remember finishing it on my way to New Hope, PA. It was almost dark, and it was raining. It was fall and the trees were losing their leaves...I remember the glistening rain on the road and the smell of the leaves were very strong. The poem opened me up to a new way to look at nature. I realized intellectually then I was part of nature...part of its rich cycle of life...
(52)
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
(52)
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
Monday, July 27, 2009
"Emphatically Present"
Yesterday I was officially named a member of CFM, formally part of the monthly business meeting...a Quaker.
Participants were invited to make comments about me, and there were about a dozen or so members there, most commented...the comments were part of the process...unexpected but the comments were positive, complimentary, I almost was embarrassed by them. But one comment did make me wonder...I was compared to a squash flower. I love metaphors...I liked that metaphor...but the participant also added that I'm "emphatically present". I was taken aback by that...I laughed...
BUT...the comment may be interpreted as even when I'm sitting quietly...my thoughts, my aura...my signature vibration ripples emphatically, forcefully out into the universe...my aura's spiraling vibration field can be felt and interpreted as "emphatic" in all its glorious detail and vibrancy...
Are we not all as vibrant as squash flowers when seated/waiting in silence...then we are all an abounding garden of squash plants with vibrant flowers lifting towards the light....
Participants were invited to make comments about me, and there were about a dozen or so members there, most commented...the comments were part of the process...unexpected but the comments were positive, complimentary, I almost was embarrassed by them. But one comment did make me wonder...I was compared to a squash flower. I love metaphors...I liked that metaphor...but the participant also added that I'm "emphatically present". I was taken aback by that...I laughed...
BUT...the comment may be interpreted as even when I'm sitting quietly...my thoughts, my aura...my signature vibration ripples emphatically, forcefully out into the universe...my aura's spiraling vibration field can be felt and interpreted as "emphatic" in all its glorious detail and vibrancy...
Are we not all as vibrant as squash flowers when seated/waiting in silence...then we are all an abounding garden of squash plants with vibrant flowers lifting towards the light....
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Definition of Sadhana
Sādhana is a discipline undertaken in the pursuit of a goal. Abhyāsa is repeated practice performed with observation and reflection. Kriyā, or action, also implies perfect execution with study and investigation. Therefore, sādhana, abhyāsa, and kriyā all mean one and the same thing. A sādhaka, or practitioner, is one who skillfully applies...mind and intelligence in practice towards a spiritual goal.
From Wikipedia
conjecture of an Innocent...milestone remembered
Spent all day in a classroom today, a Saturday with only 2 small windows. Got to thinking about my first holy communion as insurance terms bounced around the classroom. I suppose you can call it my first spiritual milestone. I grew up in Maysville, NC, but the closest Catholic Church was in Morehead City, St Egbert's, about 3 blocks from the beach/water. It was the first Catholic Church in the area, built in 1929. I remember I could smell the marsh. (I'm betting my Dad dropped the family off and he went fishing!)
We were all dressed in white. White shoes, socks, tie, jacket...white everything...with white rosary beads wrapped around our little hands...carrying little white bibles....I've seen pictures. My brother and I looked so angelic, so innocent.
But the pictures now vaguely resemble eery wedding pictures...the little girls wore white veils...and when they knelt at the altar to receive first communion, their veils were lifted by the altar boy so the priest could lay the communion wafer on their little tongues.
That day was all very overwhelming. But I remember loving all the attention. It was probably a big deal b/c there weren't that many Catholics in 1958 living in Eastern NC. I remember a picture of the first holy communion procession line in the Morehead City paper.
We were all dressed in white. White shoes, socks, tie, jacket...white everything...with white rosary beads wrapped around our little hands...carrying little white bibles....I've seen pictures. My brother and I looked so angelic, so innocent.
But the pictures now vaguely resemble eery wedding pictures...the little girls wore white veils...and when they knelt at the altar to receive first communion, their veils were lifted by the altar boy so the priest could lay the communion wafer on their little tongues.
That day was all very overwhelming. But I remember loving all the attention. It was probably a big deal b/c there weren't that many Catholics in 1958 living in Eastern NC. I remember a picture of the first holy communion procession line in the Morehead City paper.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Buridan's Ass
Buridan's Ass is a figurative description of a man of indecision. It refers to a paradoxical situation wherein an ass, placed in between two stacks of hay of equal size and quality, will starve to death since it cannot make any rational decision to start eating one rather than the other. (Wikipedia)
I was the first and only one in the pool at 11am. I assumed the life guards were in the snack bar room. I didn't want to start swimming until they knew I was in the water. I whistled and Graham came out immediately to say hey. Soon all came out and sat down in chairs facing the pool with their backs to the entrance, 4 abreast. Watching me. I said to them with a smile that I felt really special having 4 guards watching me. Then I began my laps. It was physically harder today.
My heart was racing just after one lap. I was using a snorkel so I could do freestyle. I never got use to bringing my head up the right way to breathe. So the snorkel compensated for bad form. But unlike the side stroke, freestyle is more physically demanding for me. I started with freestyle. I was out of breathe and my heart was racing. Unusually fast. So I did another lap freestyle and then went back to side stroke.
At first, the choice of whether I do one or the other of these 2 strokes was about breathing. Now I have the snorkel, so it is about my swimming speed. I can go faster with freestyle. There is no stopping or glide built in the stroke like the side stroke. So in the first set of 10 laps it became an irrational decision based upon fear which stroke to use. I was worried that I would have a heart attack if I kept doing the freestyle. My heart rate did go down after waiting a few minutes.
In the last set, I was warmed up, less jittery, not fully catching my breath, so I paused longer than usual to decide what stroke to use in this next set. That's when I started thinking about the donkey and the hay bale dilemma...were the strokes equal after all? With the breathing issue handled, still no. Freestyle pushes me, it wants speed. Side Stroke wants to move forward with leisure. They use different muscles too. Which offers the greater good to my body? Freestyle. And overall peace of mind? Side Stroke. Well I guess that is a matter of what research I want to believe. See this article for more clarity.
http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/06/24/can-you-get-fit-in-six-minutes-a-week/?scp=1&sq=6%20minute%20workout&st=cse
I was the first and only one in the pool at 11am. I assumed the life guards were in the snack bar room. I didn't want to start swimming until they knew I was in the water. I whistled and Graham came out immediately to say hey. Soon all came out and sat down in chairs facing the pool with their backs to the entrance, 4 abreast. Watching me. I said to them with a smile that I felt really special having 4 guards watching me. Then I began my laps. It was physically harder today.
My heart was racing just after one lap. I was using a snorkel so I could do freestyle. I never got use to bringing my head up the right way to breathe. So the snorkel compensated for bad form. But unlike the side stroke, freestyle is more physically demanding for me. I started with freestyle. I was out of breathe and my heart was racing. Unusually fast. So I did another lap freestyle and then went back to side stroke.
At first, the choice of whether I do one or the other of these 2 strokes was about breathing. Now I have the snorkel, so it is about my swimming speed. I can go faster with freestyle. There is no stopping or glide built in the stroke like the side stroke. So in the first set of 10 laps it became an irrational decision based upon fear which stroke to use. I was worried that I would have a heart attack if I kept doing the freestyle. My heart rate did go down after waiting a few minutes.
In the last set, I was warmed up, less jittery, not fully catching my breath, so I paused longer than usual to decide what stroke to use in this next set. That's when I started thinking about the donkey and the hay bale dilemma...were the strokes equal after all? With the breathing issue handled, still no. Freestyle pushes me, it wants speed. Side Stroke wants to move forward with leisure. They use different muscles too. Which offers the greater good to my body? Freestyle. And overall peace of mind? Side Stroke. Well I guess that is a matter of what research I want to believe. See this article for more clarity.
http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/06/24/can-you-get-fit-in-six-minutes-a-week/?scp=1&sq=6%20minute%20workout&st=cse
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
CFM is my Hobson's Choice
During my clearness committee meeting for membership last week, I was asked, why now? My story told...I tried a few other churches recently. Two Presbyterian. In the first one, everyone was very pleasant and friendly, it was an easy walking distance from my new house too. But the emphasis every Sunday was mostly on the historical Jesus, with the same old churchy yadda yadda...I never ever really liked smug preaching...I didn't find a reason to really care about a place or man 2,000+ years in the past... The second church, I lasted all of 7 minutes. Too noisy.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Walking the precipice with a new born baby or is it transformation jitters?
This is my 4th week of swimming and I finally have my lungs/body back in better shape, the task may be under control. I can swim 32 laps under 30 minutes now...even if I'm pulled off course by a few outlanders that wander into the swimming lane. But yesterday something really distracted me for almost my entire 32 laps.
Some background first:
The Foxcroft pool is shaped like a truncated "T". The swimming lane is marked on one side by a prominent lane marker running the full length of the main part of the pool and on the other side is a thin rope with 5 blue and white buoys, that mark off the deep end from the swimming lane. 5 feet under this rope is a precipice that quickly slopes down to 12 feet. The swimming lane is about 4 feet wide.
Hopefully you can see the pool in your mind's eye. Now imagine that I'm in the swimming lane, swimming. Now, the part that freaked me out, imagine a man holding a new born baby in his arms, walking slowly along this precipice and the thin rope and buoys. As the waves created by my swimming lap against him, the man cradles the baby in his arms as he walks, his shoulders noticeably raised to bring his arms up so the baby's head is out of the water. Their eyes are locked in a loving gaze. The baby is loving every minute and the man, I assume the father seems like he has everything under control, not a worry in the world. And the life guard glances down every so often, but she 's not at all concerned either.
I did say that my lungs/body are fine...But my mind is a mess.
I'm swimming. Watching them. Worrying and swimming...15 laps, 20 laps...25 laps. Then an epiphany...an insight. A connection to last week's CFM forum on transformation.
The man and new born represented my new adventure/journey into Quakerism. Am I walking on the ledge like the man and baby? Am I holding precious cargo too? My soul? Will I survive this journey? Yes. Yes. Yes and yes.
The fear fell away on the 30th lap.
The essence of metaphor is understanding and experiencing one kind of thing or experience in terms of another.
Some background first:
The Foxcroft pool is shaped like a truncated "T". The swimming lane is marked on one side by a prominent lane marker running the full length of the main part of the pool and on the other side is a thin rope with 5 blue and white buoys, that mark off the deep end from the swimming lane. 5 feet under this rope is a precipice that quickly slopes down to 12 feet. The swimming lane is about 4 feet wide.
Hopefully you can see the pool in your mind's eye. Now imagine that I'm in the swimming lane, swimming. Now, the part that freaked me out, imagine a man holding a new born baby in his arms, walking slowly along this precipice and the thin rope and buoys. As the waves created by my swimming lap against him, the man cradles the baby in his arms as he walks, his shoulders noticeably raised to bring his arms up so the baby's head is out of the water. Their eyes are locked in a loving gaze. The baby is loving every minute and the man, I assume the father seems like he has everything under control, not a worry in the world. And the life guard glances down every so often, but she 's not at all concerned either.
I did say that my lungs/body are fine...But my mind is a mess.
I'm swimming. Watching them. Worrying and swimming...15 laps, 20 laps...25 laps. Then an epiphany...an insight. A connection to last week's CFM forum on transformation.
The man and new born represented my new adventure/journey into Quakerism. Am I walking on the ledge like the man and baby? Am I holding precious cargo too? My soul? Will I survive this journey? Yes. Yes. Yes and yes.
The fear fell away on the 30th lap.
The essence of metaphor is understanding and experiencing one kind of thing or experience in terms of another.
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