Monday, June 15, 2009
Tired today
Tonight I go to bed early. I'll get up at five a.m., drive to work for 7 a.m., leave at 2 p.m., go to visit my old mum and have dinner, then go back to work at 5 p.m. and stay until midnight. Then I drive home for an hour, sleep a few hours and then go back to work for 6:30 a.m. through 3:30 p.m. It's inventory time.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
March Comes in
I an engaged in a war with squirrels. They've decided that knocking down the bird feeders is the best way to get at the sunflower seeds they crave. Today the weather was warm for February, above freezing. The patches of ground beneath the feeders where the black seed hulls were carelessly dropped by the bird and squirrels caught the sun's warmth and melted the snow. There the earth shows through, but not for long. It's still winter and snow is coming tonight and through tomorrow.
I can see the damage on the branches of the apple trees where the feeders hang. The squirrels are trying to chew through them. This means I'll have to buy feeder posts.
I think of the squirrels as pests and would rather not feed them, but my mother-in-law thinks they have as much a right to the seed as the birds do. She is amused by them and thinks they are clever. I don't agree, but I might find some sort of cheap corn to keep them busy while doing what I can to discourage them from too much of my seed.
I admit they are amusing to watch. One little bugger responded to my throwing bread crumbs over the snow by burrowing across the surface with his front paws, propelling himself with his back legs. When he'd find a tasty crouton, he stopped to eat it.
I'm feeding the birds because my mother feeds them, and in doing so I feel closer to her. My Dad passed away last year, and his passing makes it clearer that she may only be here for several more years. Women in my family live into their 90s and I hope she will too. There's is so much more I want to say, things I hope I told my Dad.
In his failing years He lived back in World War II in the surgical hospital where he did his work in 1943. When I saw him I just let him talk. Now I wear a 1943 steel penny around my neck in remembrance of him. Time is passing. The birds are hungry again. I think I'll pop around the old homestead to see my Mum.
I can see the damage on the branches of the apple trees where the feeders hang. The squirrels are trying to chew through them. This means I'll have to buy feeder posts.
I think of the squirrels as pests and would rather not feed them, but my mother-in-law thinks they have as much a right to the seed as the birds do. She is amused by them and thinks they are clever. I don't agree, but I might find some sort of cheap corn to keep them busy while doing what I can to discourage them from too much of my seed.
I admit they are amusing to watch. One little bugger responded to my throwing bread crumbs over the snow by burrowing across the surface with his front paws, propelling himself with his back legs. When he'd find a tasty crouton, he stopped to eat it.
I'm feeding the birds because my mother feeds them, and in doing so I feel closer to her. My Dad passed away last year, and his passing makes it clearer that she may only be here for several more years. Women in my family live into their 90s and I hope she will too. There's is so much more I want to say, things I hope I told my Dad.
In his failing years He lived back in World War II in the surgical hospital where he did his work in 1943. When I saw him I just let him talk. Now I wear a 1943 steel penny around my neck in remembrance of him. Time is passing. The birds are hungry again. I think I'll pop around the old homestead to see my Mum.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Moments of Awareness
Satori, the Buddhists say, is a state of permanent enlightenment, a complete understanding of the connectedness of all things, that the individual is a part of everything, and indeed, everything is part of the individual. Separateness is a myth, and suddenly one understands there is no individual, it's just impossible. But because I'm attempting to describe this with words those enlightened souls would also agree I'm not there.
And yet we can have glimpses of this ultimate reality, through what the Japanese call Kensho. It's a moment of sudden realization given to ordinary people like you and me, an expanded awareness that comes on unannounced, unbidden, and which leaves us astonished and grasping for words to describe it.
It is the flick of a switch that lights our world, sometimes in the midst of the most mundane tasks. For me it was washing dishes. There I was one day many years ago, performing this necessary daily task, thinking of nothing in particular, when the world lit up. For just a moment, I could see myself alive in the here and now. Within this moment was the rightness of the moment, of my place in things and the knowledge that everything is as it should be. There was an awareness of the universe, of past and present and future, and that these concepts we use to describe time were inadequate and not quite correct, but necessary for my life here in a physical world. Then, just as quickly the switch turns off.
To describe such an experience to another person is impossible, unless it has happened to them. I hadn't thought much about this until one day a co-worker was trying to describe a similar experience. She had previously attempted to tell another co-worker who met her story with a great deal of doubt and teased her a little about it, though good-naturedly. When she told me, I understood.
We aren't on-fire seekers of the essential nature of reality, constant students of enlightenment, obedient children of the gods. She and I are working folk. We each have our beliefs, of course, that guide us in our encounters with others. But you'll most likely find us to be deeply involved in the day to day matters of life, survival, family and friends. We are grandmothers, mothers, daughters, friends, consumers, savers, socialites and sometimes hermits. Until that moment when I heard her anecdote, though, I had seen little else in common with my co-worker. Now I see her as a fellow traveller who, for an instant was on the same journey, although she may have reached that crossroad from a different path. I am grateful that she told me of her experience, because now I hear the Universe whispering patiently once again.
And yet we can have glimpses of this ultimate reality, through what the Japanese call Kensho. It's a moment of sudden realization given to ordinary people like you and me, an expanded awareness that comes on unannounced, unbidden, and which leaves us astonished and grasping for words to describe it.
It is the flick of a switch that lights our world, sometimes in the midst of the most mundane tasks. For me it was washing dishes. There I was one day many years ago, performing this necessary daily task, thinking of nothing in particular, when the world lit up. For just a moment, I could see myself alive in the here and now. Within this moment was the rightness of the moment, of my place in things and the knowledge that everything is as it should be. There was an awareness of the universe, of past and present and future, and that these concepts we use to describe time were inadequate and not quite correct, but necessary for my life here in a physical world. Then, just as quickly the switch turns off.
To describe such an experience to another person is impossible, unless it has happened to them. I hadn't thought much about this until one day a co-worker was trying to describe a similar experience. She had previously attempted to tell another co-worker who met her story with a great deal of doubt and teased her a little about it, though good-naturedly. When she told me, I understood.
We aren't on-fire seekers of the essential nature of reality, constant students of enlightenment, obedient children of the gods. She and I are working folk. We each have our beliefs, of course, that guide us in our encounters with others. But you'll most likely find us to be deeply involved in the day to day matters of life, survival, family and friends. We are grandmothers, mothers, daughters, friends, consumers, savers, socialites and sometimes hermits. Until that moment when I heard her anecdote, though, I had seen little else in common with my co-worker. Now I see her as a fellow traveller who, for an instant was on the same journey, although she may have reached that crossroad from a different path. I am grateful that she told me of her experience, because now I hear the Universe whispering patiently once again.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Oyy! You out there?
I've done it. It's the dawn of a new era. I've put meself on the blogs, and hopefully every day I'll find something to gripe about, or, maybe to talk intelligently about, or poke at.
I am a pagan. The way I see it I agree with Thomas Jefferson, who said, "It does me no harm for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods, or no god." It's a comment on religious tolerance and a mighty one.
Actually I always wanted to be a Viking, but I'm the wrong sex, and I'm less than five feet tall, far too little to wield a broadsword. Maybe I'd succeed better as a Valkyrie, but I've no wings. That's a joke.
I'm an old, burned out journalist, who is still addicted to politics, but hungry for a new expression. I've started this thing to stretch my mental fingers again. I hope to hear from other pagans, some of whom already know me on other websites. Here's a hint: I like pie.
Trolls will be expelled, especially if they eat succulent babies. I'm new to blogging, so it's simple right now, but I'll try to make it interesting.
I am a pagan. The way I see it I agree with Thomas Jefferson, who said, "It does me no harm for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods, or no god." It's a comment on religious tolerance and a mighty one.
Actually I always wanted to be a Viking, but I'm the wrong sex, and I'm less than five feet tall, far too little to wield a broadsword. Maybe I'd succeed better as a Valkyrie, but I've no wings. That's a joke.
I'm an old, burned out journalist, who is still addicted to politics, but hungry for a new expression. I've started this thing to stretch my mental fingers again. I hope to hear from other pagans, some of whom already know me on other websites. Here's a hint: I like pie.
Trolls will be expelled, especially if they eat succulent babies. I'm new to blogging, so it's simple right now, but I'll try to make it interesting.
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