I visited the park again today, alas a lone chestnut seeker wading through the leftovers. Seems the trees are almost bare now, save one tree, a late bloomer amongst the others. So my fellow treasure hunters have moved on until next year.
I hold the camera still
The Word of God means the power of the spirit to declare Itself into manifestation, into form.
I was listening to OPB in my car yesterday. I am a public radio addict. Right now they’re fundraising, so there are always interruptions in the programming to ask for money. I hadn’t given yet. I used to give regularly, and then just got out of the habit. Anyhow, during one of their breaks, Ira Glass came on (in case you didn’t know, I love Ira Glass…LOVE him!!) He had asked listeners, particularly children, to call in if they knew someone who was a regular listener but who didn’t ever donate. A young woman called in to rat out her mom. Ira then spoke with said mom, asked her why she didn’t give. Of course the woman immediately offered to donate, said she had always meant to, but just hadn’t gotten around to it. I felt both pity for this woman, and envy…she was TALKING to Ira!! As much as I want to speak with Ira, I would hate to have him call me because my son turned me in. Not a very good first impression.
We are always in relationship
Last weekend I took a two day class in Shambhala Arts. It was a sabiki luring me out of my self imposed seclusion. I longed for discovery, just a single draw from some deep creative source buried within my cells. Instead, I was bathed in a wellspring; scrubbed clean of the film that has coated my perception of the world. I came away beautifully heartbroken, raw with emotion. Nothing is random or simple anymore, nothing taken for granted. The gift of sight and sound, touch and even context, all new. Every moment is the first time. Every moment. No expectation or desire, no disappointment, no place for judgement. What is something if we do not call it by name? It is. Simply that. Beautiful.
The chestnuts are dropping from the trees. I visit the park daily, often twice, to search for them. Not a day goes by that I do not see the same three people doing as I am, making slow rounds, eyes moving carefully, slowly. I have seen people hit the branches as if to hurry the Mother Nature. The truth is, you must wait. The chestnut falls when ready and not a moment sooner. So we walk, feet shuffling, searching among the fallen leaves and spiky pods for the warm brown jewel. And then we’ll hear it…the deep thud as the chestnut hits the ground. Every time it is a golden surprise. I fill the pockets of my apron as Luka runs and chases squirrels. I have lived for 42 years and yet it is as if I have just woken up and discovered a new season, a new ritual. There is sacredness here and I am living it.