We live, we die, it’s driving me crazy. Then I take a deep breath, realize I live on the pale blue dot.
As long as the flow of change within us is fresh, we will be perfectly healthy. (unknown author)
The perfect day for a walk to my self-dubbed bird sanctuary–the dike, the abandoned railroad tracks. Yes I found a few birds. I heard some, too. I cannot find the bird in my field guide. Similar to the red wing blackbird, but the wing color shape all wrong. No picture, they aren’t still enough for me (yet). But, walking along the river I made some beautiful discoveries.
Walking on the overgrown tracks, I spied homespun bird houses
Somehow, I felt closer to the spirit of Henry David Thoreau.
Nature can bring peace to the soul, if we give it a chance.
I decided to rise from my slumbering mode this morning to enjoy the morning air! My morning writing, consisting of a handwritten letter to my daughter, needed posting, and I decided to walk it over. I could have waited, yes, but I’m glad I didn’t.
I don’t know what I like more, the beauty of nature or her sounds. I’m grateful I can take advantage of both!
I sit this morning on my porch, the Robin sings (he’s the only one I really can remember, and the only one brave enough to hop across my lawn)–oh wait! I just heard the cardinal (but he eludes my vision).
It’s like eating breakfast with Ralph Waldo!
The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right.
15 Albany Street.
Back in the 70’s, I went with a college group to Israel. We stayed in a youth hostel. I was surprised by the breakfast, vegetables and eggs, I think maybe some cheese, I cannot remember, but I remember the freedom I felt, eating perhaps what is a Mediterranean breakfast.
That longing prompted this action:
HARPERS. I love it! My girlfriend subscribes. I happened to pick up her April issue and found an article by Fenton Johnson called, “Going It Alone,” with the subtitle, “The dignity and challenge of solitude.” I’m living my life alone, and I grabbed the title and absorbed the story. What a fascinating story! It spoke of the many people who had chosen (or chosen for them) solitude, celibacy, and to roam with the stars of the sky, climbing deep inside of their own caves and spelunking, with results. We have Eudora Welty (oh my favorite of favorites!), Thomas Merton, William James and Henry David Thoreau, to only name a few. A few quotes, if I but dare, “Only in solitude could these solitaries fulfil their destinies–become not partial but whole…Like Jesus, bachelor for the ages, they keep ever before us the ideal toward which we may strive. They raise the bar of what it means to be alive.”
So, now I am going to research and read more of Fenton Johnson!
Early each morning, about 4:50 a.m., actually, the birds start their morning song. For me, this is a song of faith for today. We have enough strength to deal with today and today only, that is why (in my mind) the bird sings each morning, to remind me that a new day is at hand. I get to take advantage of this day, the only day that I have left. I defend my territory, claim it as mine, I do my best to attract others by being only who I am, not what someone else wants. It’s called self love.
I’ve done a lot of reading and thinking about self love. This needs to be promoted. Releasing the burdens of our life on a daily basis, until the recording stops inside, and we have forgiven ourselves for experiences that perhaps were not the wisest, but with our primitive tools was all we had to use at that time. Like magic, a new tool has appeared. Why didn’t I have that tool before? Because you didn’t. You did the best you could. It’s okay.
Soul acceptance is important. My soul knows exactly what it is doing, I need to acknowledge that and love me. And continue to seek the best. On a daily basis. Reflecting yesterday, I wrote these words: “Smile when I think of me. I smile when I think of someone who gives me pleasure. I need to smile at the thought of me.”
i cannot write fiction well. I am a person of experience. The books that flow through my mind go past my fingers and float back around my head, due to my own inopportunity to finding the facts, and the stories I need. So, I have to stick to that which I know. And the books continue to spin over my head like bees over honey.
Every now and then, I get suggestions of topics to address, from those with passions over particular issues or experiences. I cannot comment (much) on another’s experience, I am on the outside looking in, only an observer.
A writer needs inspiration, and the stories will flow, and flow nicely, rapidly, like the stream glancing over the rocks and moss, seeking its way to the larger water.
So, while I have a glass jar of topics to write, until I have the information that I need, or the inspiration to flow through my fingers, the topic remains inside the jar.
While I don’t need my dear friend, Emerson, to back me up, his Spiritual Laws has its place here.
Each man has his own vocation. The talent is the call. There is one direction in which all space is open to him. He has faculties silently inviting him thither to endless exertion. He is like a ship in a river; he runs against obstructions on every side but one; on that side all obstruction is taken away, and he sweeps serenely over a deepening channel into an infinite sea. This talent and this call depend on his organization, or the mode in which the general soul incarnates itself in him. He inclines to do something which is easy to him, and good when it is done, but which no other man can do. He has no rival. For the more truly he consults his own powers, the more difference will his work exhibit from the work of any other. His ambition is exactly proportioned to his powers. The height of the pinnacle is determined by the breadth of the base. Every man has this call of the power to do somewhat unique, and no man has any other call. The pretence that he has another call, a summons by name and personal election and outward “signs that mark him extraordinary, and not in the roll of common men,” is fanaticism, and betrays obtuseness to perceive that there is one mind in all the individuals, and no respect of persons therein.