appreciation

Every Single Day – ND #2

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Waxing Crescent Moon – Photo: L. Weikel

Every Single Day

Every single day in the two weeks since publishing my final post in the 1111 Devotion, I’ve thought about all of you. What a surprise. And I don’t mean that in a cavalier sense of not appreciating your participation in my commitment. I simply never expected to discover just how much my perspective on the world has become connected to contemplating what I might end up sharing with you at the end of the day.

While it’s true I feel like I talk to each of you when I sit here and write each night, I’ve discovered that I look at the world differently because of you.

I guess that’s what doing something every single day for just over three years will do. It becomes a part of you, a part of how you think and who you are. And while it made me sad the first few days to realize, “No; that’s over. I’m not doing that anymore,” I thought the melancholy would dissipate. I assumed my inclination to view the world from the perspective of what might be cool or interesting or magical – or infuriating or troubling – to share with you would abate.

But it didn’t. It hasn’t.

The Gift of the Process

I initiated my 1111 Devotion as a means of holding Karl close, of honoring him. In the process, I experienced the magic of connection. I discovered an unexpected bounty of heart through the challenge of sharing my life with you. Because it was only my commitment to fulfilling my devotion that resulted in the intimacy of sharing that took place. For what else, aside from my own life experiences, could I possibly find to write about for 1111 consecutive days?

Had I not publicly declared my intention to engage in my 1111 Devotion, I assure you I never would have written 1100 of those posts. OK, at the most, I might have written 111. But it never would have occurred to me to write the vast, vast majority of them.

It’s taken me some time to realize that experiencing the most mundane circumstances and experiences with an eye toward sharing them with you elevated them (for me).

I take a photo of the nascent crescent of the moon and now ache to write about the promise of the new monthly cycle it represents. By indulging the urge to share a simple photo of the moon, I remind us all, myself included, to pay attention to the rhythms in our lives. I’m reminded to pause and consider what new thoughts, ideas, or projects are seeking my attention.

What I’ve realized is that, for me at least, it’s the sharing that brings meaning. And that means you, my friends, are an essential part of this equation.

Thank you for being here.

(T+2)

Stupendous – Day 1085

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Walk-Around – Photo: L. Weikel

Stupendous

I don’t think it’s hyperbolic for me to say that the fall foliage this year is utterly stupendous. With our rolling hills and twisty-turny back roads here in Pennsylvania, it’s not only possible but likely you’ll encounter one breathtaking scene after another.

It’s funny how our perceptions are relative. We have one field in particular that we pass on our walk-arounds (the two mile trek) that we often used to gauge the overall quality of the foliage any given year.  There used to be a magical tree in the midst of this field, and it was always more colorful, ethereal, and perfectly proportioned than any of the other trees. Sadly, I think it was about ten years ago now that that tree died.

But we still delight in the bank of trees lining the far edge of this field close to High Rocks.

With the abundance of spectacular color this year almost everywhere you look, I was a tad disappointed with the trees in ‘our spot.’ Nevertheless, while perhaps slightly muted in comparison, I still felt compelled to document their beauty. I’m glad I did – and I’m also glad I zoomed in on a few of the trees. It wasn’t until I actually paid attention to the details of the particular trees that I actually took in and appreciated the exquisite beauty right underneath my nose.

Stupendous – Photo: L. Weikel

Too Much of a Good Thing

Which makes me wonder if it really is possible to have too much of a good thing. When we lose perspective and think that every day is going to be blue skies, or when we start to take for granted the voice of the wind or the songs of crickets, the wild artistry of sunsets, or the protection of owls, we become dull. It starts to get harder for the magic to penetrate our preconceptions.

Is it possible that this might be true of our relationships, too? If we’re lucky enough to have one or two – or maybe even five or six – people in our lives with whom we can share our deepest, truest, most intimate selves and still be loved and cherished, is it possible to lose perspective? Because of our good fortune, is it possible to become dismissive? Is iwe may come to feel that that level of friendship and intimacy is far more easily obtainable than it really is?

And what if we look at those deepest friendships with more attention to the sweet and endearing details? Do they regain the vibrancy and life force that the closeup of the trees did, when I zoomed in on them?

Appreciating What We Have

I guess I’m feeling a pull to appreciate the loveliness (and love) that surrounds me. Perhaps I’ve lost sight of the utter charm of the details because I’m so profoundly fortunate in so many ways. There’s just sooooo  much goodness in the people around me I hold dear.

(T-26)

Flourishing – Day 890

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Lamprocapnos spectabilis; aka Bleeding Hearts – Photo: L. Weikel

Flourishing

22 Days Ago – Photo: L. Weikel

On March 28th of this year I wrote a post about the spiky looking sprouts emerging from the earth that I knew would eventually yield blooms that resemble bleeding hearts. I included a photo of the plant and mentioned that it would be fun to pay attention to how much it would change and how long it would take those changes to manifest. I posted an update on the growth status twelve days later. And now, 22 days along, I present you with a flourishing Lamprocapnos spectabilis.

It’s amazing to me just how quickly this plant has burst onto the scene of my garden. I’m glad I documented the scraggly initial emergence, and then its gawky adolescence. Watching this transformation over the past three weeks renews my awe over the utter magic that Mother Earth surrounds us with day after day.

Twelve Days Later – Photo: L. Weikel

Appreciating the Details

It’s so easy to get caught up in our day to day lives and forget to pay attention to what’s unfolding before our very eyes. I realize I do it all time, in spite of my intention to savor the present moments that comprise our lives. Ah, the road to hell.

But hey. Every once in a while I manage to bring my awareness right down to the nitty gritty and witness something amazing – like the explosion of growth shown here. Or the dozen or so goldfinches descending upon our feeders. Or the sun salutations a tulip did today in our garden.

I’ll share the tulip photos tomorrow, perhaps. Unless there’s something more pressing to discuss. I have such feelings over the potential for a new beginning to take root in our country if there’s a verdict in the Chauvin trial that brings accountability. But maybe that’s a topic for another day. Perhaps, if we’re lucky, we’ll discover deep-rooted change is finally flourishing and a whole new wave of awareness and equality will take root throughout our country.

Nine Days Later – Flourishing – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-221)

Used to Be – Day 874

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Easter Eve Sunset – Photo: L. Weikel

Used to Be

I’m sure it’s the pandemic talking, but I realized something today that sort of took me aback. I actually heard myself saying, “Easter used to be one of my favorite holidays.”

“Used to be.” Hmm.

It’s not just Easter, either. Karl and I didn’t even put up a tree this past Christmas. If you’d have asked me ten years ago if I could imagine ever spending Christmas without a tree, I wouldn’t have hesitated a single moment. Of course we’d always have a tree.

Guess not.

Don’t get me wrong. I still love Easter. And Christmas. And of course New Year’s – bringing us the opportunity to start fresh. Then starting the cycle all over again is Thanksgiving  – always a joy given the sentiment of appreciating all the blessings in one’s life. There’s also something to be said for gratitude being the primary focus of that holiday.

It just seems like sometimes we forget to really and truly look around at the people in our lives and feel in our bones how much their presence means to us. Which I guess is why things have been feeling a lot different lately.

Maybe it’s that I took a stroll down memory lane today and sort of sustained a gut punch when I realized just how profoundly our holidays have changed over the years – in ways I don’t think I could’ve expected.

The Rest of the Year

The holidays we celebrate May through October just seem to pass by. What I enjoy most are the astronomical observances – the ‘pagan’ holidays, if you will: summer solstice, fall equinox. I think I probably enjoy Christmas and Easter because of their connection to winter solstice and spring equinox.

Nah. Along with New Year’s, Easter is a time of rebirth and in many ways issues a clarion call for a bursting forth of new energy and growth. It’s also almost always near my birthday. So of course I like Easter. Or I used to.

Tonight’s sunset was classic early April. Stunning and simple. The chill in the air providing just the right nip to keep the peepers sleepy and the buds on the flowers holding back their burst of energy until unleashing it tomorrow in a cascade of brilliance and color – because it’s going to warm up again. Not into the 70s, perhaps, but enough to coax some breakthroughs.

Wishes

Here’s hoping this Easter season (or Passover or whatever tradition you celebrate) brings you hope and a sense of promise at the prospect of new beginnings.

It seems that for many people there’s a lot more reason for hope and optimism this year than there was last year at this time. I’ll take that.

And who knows? Maybe next year The Rabbit will visit again. It’s a possibility.

(T-237)

Window of Orange – Day 751

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Weighted Blanket – Photo: L. Weikel

Window of Orange

Karl and I took a walk today in what I would consider late afternoon. It was early for us, but we sensed the shift in temperature from yesterday and didn’t want to get even colder walking in the dark. From the look of the clouds, the potential for precipitation was significant – at least a possible snow squall – although my Weather Channel app said otherwise. (We both felt some flakes sweep our cheeks, but they never attained the momentum of even a decent flurry.) Covering the sky with billowing shades of dark slate gray tinged with the slightest edges of purplish black and ashy white, the cloudbank felt like a weighted blanket. But there – far across the miles of fields and farms and forests – a window of orange light appeared.

It almost looked contrived, as if we were in some sort of huge space ship and a rectangular door on the far horizon whisked aside, opening with a swish just like in Star Trek.

While I took a photo of the rectangular doorway of light that appeared, I was definitely more interested in trying to capture the magnificence and personality of the dark, swirling threat of pent up weather-rage manifesting before us. The darkness felt familiar. The light of the sunset peeking through that doorway felt like a false promise. It’s hard to explain.

“Window” closer up – Photo: L. Weikel

Evolution of the Sunset

We watched the cloud cover and setting sun dance with each other and sort themselves out as we walked. By the time we got home, a significant portion of cloud cover had either dissipated or moved on.

The moon rose, powerful and so clear, like the beam of a klieg light. Noticing this full-on brilliance gave me pause when I again contemplated the moon that had awakened us at the very moment of its fullest expression. Perhaps her brilliance was so great that she’d appeared brighter than expected even though she was being eclipsed by the Earth and traveling through her shadow.

Where to place my attention? – Photo: L. Weikel

Starry Night

I came inside from doing my Perelandra Biodiversity Project process right before starting this post. It’s the 1st day of December and, as I’ve written about many other times, the first of every month is the day people from all over the world take about five minutes out of their lives to consciously join in the effort to shift the energy of the land or property over which they have control (own, rent, have authority over) in order to combat the effects of climate change.

It’s a simple process, a means of having a brief chit-chat with the Spirits of the land on which you live during which you show them you are aware of climate change and how the stress of it may be resulting in loss or extinction of biodiversity. It’s a tiny opportunity to communicate appreciation of Nature and express a willingness to co-create a healed environment.

I was moved almost to tears as I engaged in this conversation. (I tend to talk a bit more after reciting the ten or so words the actual process calls for. I enjoy expressing gratitude and asking if there’s anything else I can do to show it.) The stars were blinking in the cold clear air and it seemed almost too great a leap from the weighted blanket of dark and ominous clouds that had hung over our heads only hours earlier.

I’m not even sure what it is I was marveling at as I stood on the edge of the porch and chatted with the Spirits of our land. Perhaps it was the astonishing rapidity with which everything can change.

That’s where the door cracks open to invite miracles into our lives. Realizing that everything can change – <<snap>> – just that fast.

Photo: L. Weikel

(T-360)

Mushroom Family – Day 706

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Mushroom Family – Photo: L. Weikel

Mushroom Family

Standing on the flagstones leading to our home the other day, I looked up. Lo and behold, a mushroom family beautifully revealed itself, cradled in the arms of one of our beloved, aging maple trees.

I’m pretty certain mushrooms have made an appearance in the crook of that tree before, but I swear they weren’t golden caps with brown highlights. At least they weren’t as juicy looking.

Mushrooms from October 28-29, 2019 – Photo: L.Weikel

Ah! I found a photo – and sure enough, it was almost exactly a year ago: October 29, 2019, when I first discovered a pack of mushrooms living in our tree and wrote about it. (What? You didn’t realize mushrooms run in packs? How could you possibly not know that?)

Anyway, based on what the mushrooms looked like last year, I have a feeling these recent specimens simply need some time to mature. By October 29th, their appearance will shift and mellow and they will look as griseled as their ancestors did last year. Only now it looks like the family has grown!

The Maple Tree

I actually got a kick out of the opportunity to explore the beauty of our maple tree, the one that serves as host to these fantastic fungi. By taking a variety of photos that show off its craggy personality and late stage ability to still show a bit of color, it felt good to shower some love and attention on this tree. Like Sheila, it feels like we only have a short time left to revel in and appreciate its contribution to the overall personality of our home.

Simply Lovely – Photo: L. Weikel

It’s interesting to me that the appearance of the mushrooms was the precipitating force that led me to take these intriguing portraits of this grand maple.

Looks Like a Protective Ent to Me – Photo: L. Weikel

Unintended Consequence

Funny how that works. We think we’re doing something for a particular, specific reason. Something catches our eye or we love the way something sounds. We take photos, we record audio; and then – unexpectedly – we realize that what we’ve captured was something completely different than what we expected.

I’ve already spoken of how that phenomenon seems to be an undercurrent to all my cloud photos. I just never know what’s going to show up when I chase clouds and try to capture their souls.

The anima of this tree is obvious, as I’m sure you perceive as well. I’m just grateful for the appearance of that attention-seeking mushroom family, for it’s through documenting them that I paid some much-deserved attention on our maple.

It makes me wonder where else in my life this principle operates.

(T-405)

New Tool – Day 612

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Exotic laying tool – Photo: theneedlepointer.com

New Tool

I admit it. I still haven’t seen Comet Neowise yet. But I did follow through on my promise last night to figure out how to post a video to YouTube – and I met with success! Thus have I added a new tool to my communication arsenal.

Not to say there aren’t still a few hitches to my giddyap. For instance, the video that accompanies the sounds (which are really what I wanted to share) is sideways. I tried a bunch of times to edit it this afternoon, but I got frustrated and decided to call it a win – albeit partial.

I’m thinking I may need to edit the video on my phone before uploading it. I thought I’d be able to edit it once it ‘up,’ but that seems not to be the case. I may or may not monkey with it a little more. For now, I’m just psyched you can hear the wild ones from last night.

But the upshot here is: try this link! See if I succeeded in uploading the video and whether you can hear the coyotes serenading the comet.

One Other Thing

It’s July 15, 2020. I’m finding it difficult to wrap my head around that fact, which is why I’m mentioning it here. I have a feeling I’m not alone in this surreal limbo we’re calling life.

I just want to tell all of you taking the time to read my posts, whether you do every day or just randomly, how much I appreciate you.

While I know I read far too much on my phone and laptop (meaning the incessant cascade of articles, etc., that bombard us every day), I find myself having little patience with those items. It’s easy to click on and even easier to click off.

So if you stick with me and read my posts, thank you. That simple act helps me feel like I’m not alone in this craziness. It really is true: we’re all in this together, and supporting each other matters.

(T-499)

Perfection – Day 583

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Perfection

Nope. This blog post is not about my desire for perfection. In fact, while I pretty relentlessly strive to do the best I can at whatever I’m doing, I would not call myself a perfectionist.

In fact, I think I have just enough, “Who gives a sh&*” of an attitude, to keep me honest (if not humble).

No, the title for tonight’s blog is ‘Perfection’ because of the remarkable beauty of the tree I photographed the other day.

Looking a Different Direction

Usually when Karl and I are walking along the particular stretch of road that this tree stands beside, our attention is almost always directed away from this tree. We’re almost always looking in the opposite direction.

When we look to our right as we walk along this road, our view is of vast open fields and a panoramic sky, usually occupied by at least a handful of clouds and almost always a breathtaking sunset.We are often distracted by the ever changing vista. The colors of each sunset are captivating in the variety of their unique palettes. Sometimes it’s hard not to see at least three different figures at a time in the clouds.

It’s not uncommon for us to see herds of deer grazing, flocks of geese or ducks stomping around in puddled water, and even occasionally a fox or two darting into the underbrush.

Appreciation

But the other day, I happened to look to my left. I should be clear: I happened to make a point of looking to my left and really seeing what was there. And wow.

Here it is:

An example of perfection – Photo: L. Weikel

I exclaimed to this tree how absolutely perfect it is. I gushed over its beauty and apologized for not noticing it sooner. Actually, I have given it a glance a handful of times over the years, but I don’t know that I ever had as extended a conversation with it as I did the other day.

Then I took its photo.

I do believe this tree is an example of perfection – and I told it so. But it was only when I got home and really had a chance to look at the photo that I realized it had swelled with pride and delight itself. I’m telling you: this tree responded to my compliments and appreciation, and its joy was captured in this photo.

This is a photograph of one happy, loved, and appreciated representative of the ‘standing tall people.’

Find a tree in your neighborhood. Maybe look in a different direction than you normally do. Or see with fresh eyes. You might be surprised by what you discover.

Give it some love – and see what happens. Watch it flourish. Notice how giving that appreciation to another Being makes you feel.

(T-528)

In the Blink of an Eye – Day 476

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Cloud sunset – Photo: L. Weikel

In the Blink of an Eye

A couple things came to my attention today that drive home the adage that ‘everything can change in the blink of an eye.’

Not that I’m unfamiliar with the floor of my world dropping out from under me. But the feeling that accompanies drastic change in our lives (usually on the ‘awful’ end of the spectrum), is rarely something we want to repeat or actively seek.

One occurrence that shook me was seeing a friend of the family post on FB that their home was lost in a fire this morning. A home in which two girls spent their entire lives growing up – charred beyond measure. Treasured and irreplaceable family heirlooms – up in smoke. Worse yet? Family pets. All but one (a cat receiving medical treatment tonight) presumed or confirmed dead.

Loss

This family has been on my mind all day. I sit in my home of 35 years, surrounded by my beloved pups and kits, and my heart can only flirt with the sorrow and horror I’d feel to lose so much in such a ravaging manner.

And while I absolutely value the preciousness of all life and am grateful human lives were spared, I imagine the loss of photos and journals, and a myriad of other utterly unique, tangible items that were artifacts of lives lived by their ancestors leave a terribly raw and open wound in their hearts. It’s precisely the irreplaceable nature of these items that make their loss tragic.

The loss is stark. Only memories remain. And these realizations of impermanence are harsh.

The Little Things

I imagine that shock has probably overcome the family by now. A certain numbness to the magnitude of loss takes over so we don’t implode on ourselves.

The big stuff, in many ways, is probably most easily replaceable. It may not be Grandma’s four poster bed, but a beautiful bedroom set can be acquired. Same with many other ‘things’ we surround ourselves with in our homes.

No, the excruciating pain will probably come in the form of a daily drip of realizing all the little things that have been lost. Stuff we all take for granted. Little things that are so ingrained as a part of our daily lives that it’s not until we reflexively look for them or think, “That must be in the attic…” that we realize yet again what’s gone.

And the worst part may be that intangible loss: that feeling of being swept out of that home and off that land – no matter how large or small the plot of earth that stood beneath their house. That sense of possibly never sleeping there again, the impact of realizing they may never look out windows onto the familiar trees or grass or skyline they’ve lived with and gazed upon for decades, will only gradually dawn on them.

When others experience horrific tragedies, it’s only human to empathize and reflect upon how we would feel if thrust into the same circumstances.

In the blink of an eye, everything can change for any of us. It is cliché, perhaps, to suggest that we look around and appreciate our lives and circumstances. But nevertheless, it behooves us to do it. Take a moment. Look around you. Appreciate your many blessings.

And send compassion and courage to those who, in the blink of an eye, have lost so much.

Photo: L. Weikel

(T-635)

Hawk’s Message (cont) – Day 436

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Sitting Hawk – Photo: L.Weikel

Hawk’s Message (Part 2)

Yesterday I chose Hawk reversed with Dog underneath, and as I wrote in my post, my usual ease in interpretation just wasn’t cutting it. And I grant you: there are definitely days that I remain in the dark on why I chose the Medicine Card I did for that day. But after decades of practice, I’m fairly decent at discerning the messages conveyed by the wide variety of creatures represented in the Medicine Cards®*.

Which makes my difficult yesterday all the more amusing – since Hawk is traditionally the ‘message carrier.’

And as I stated toward the end of last night’s post, with Dog underneath my Hawk reversed yesterday, I felt I could not escape the fact that somehow, in some way, loyalty – either in delivering a message for others or in being loyal to myself enough to receive a message I need to hear – was underlying this message from Hawk.

As the Day Unfolds

As I’ve mentioned before, sometimes we’re quite sure what our ‘pick’ on the day means – we know exactly the issue it relates to and how we should best address it. Other times we have an inkling, but have found it best to keep an open mind. And then there are the days when we have no clue. Those are the days when we reflect on our pick throughout the day, to see what is revealed as the day unfolds.

Yesterday was such a day.

Before I’d even picked yesterday morning, I’d remarked to Karl that my post on Silence seemed to erupt from deep within. The words came to me sort of like slow moving magma – they may not have erupted from me in an explosive torrent of hastily scribbled words, but they did feel as though they were originating from a very pensive place deep within – and their flow was not easily stanched.

The post had a different feel to it, and I wondered how – or if – it landed with anyone.

Unexpected Appreciation

Imagine my surprise, then, when a neighbor (who I didn’t even realize reads my posts) approached me from across her yard to specifically thank me for writing my Silence Abounds post. She said it was “just what she needed to read this morning.”

I was delighted. But I have to admit: if Karl hadn’t pointed it out, I probably wouldn’t have recognized my neighbor as the messenger she was, and in particular, one bearing a message to be loyal to the posts (and not second guess their value).

Yet Another Messenger

Finally, later last night, I received an email from a person I worked beside nearly twenty years ago. (Is it possible it’s really been that long?! I kept trying to make it only ten years ago, but alas…). Receiving this email was a wonderful surprise, for as relationships are wont to come and go when people’s paths no longer cross, we rarely correspond anymore.

But the best part about receiving this email was my friend’s relaying of two brief stories that interconnect in their shared power to provide inspiration and hope to others – and his specific and pointed message to me that these stories matter. Our stories matter.

The light went on.

In spite of all the exhortations I make to others about the value of our thoughts, feelings, and experiences, and especially the value of writing them down, I’m not always loyal to the value of my own writing, my own stories.

It just might behoove me to bring loyalty to both the messages and the act (and privilege) of being a messenger.

I’m listening.

You listening? I’m lookin’ at you. – Photo: L. Weikel

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(T-675)