awe

Unsettled – ND #67

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Panorama of Rainbow Dog Over Cemetery – Photo: L. Weikel

Unsettled

I’m feeling kind of quiet this evening. Karl and I watched one of the movies that received a ton of Academy Award nominations the other day, “The Power of the Dog,” on Netflix. Perhaps it was the movie that left me feeling unsettled and reticent to write much of anything. Or maybe I was headed in that direction even before we watched it.

It’s movies like this that make me feel decidedly pedestrian in my discernment of artistry in film. I guess I have to be satisfied with liking what I like. While I was kept in suspense over where the characters were headed, in the end, I craved more character exposition. There just seemed to be so much more I yearned to know about these people. And perhaps – is that it? Is that what I don’t ‘get’ about some critically acclaimed films? Is engendering the feeling of wanting to know more – or just being free to allow our imaginations to build out the backstories –  the mark of a profoundly Oscar-worthy film?

Perhaps.

And maybe that’s why, if I had to pit this against Dune, I’d choose Dune. Then again, there are a number of other films I’ve seen (so far) in the Best Picture category that also captivated me.

Words Unnecessary – Photo: L. Weikel

Look to the Sky

Instead of leaving you guys with a cranky personal grouse over The Power of the Dog, I’d like to offer some photos of a rainbow dog we saw this afternoon as we crested a hill near our home. We were passing by a cemetery that holds special significance to our family. Not because of who’s buried in it, but because of those who tended to its maintenance for several years.

Sadly, it is not maintained the way it used to be. The grass seems to almost be hacked instead of mowed and nothing is trimmed neatly around the gravestones. Many headstones have in fact toppled over. This makes me sad.

Yikes. Yes, I’m noticing the pattern.

There was actually a glimpse of profound beauty as we came upon the cemetery today, though.

Perhaps, as my mother used to say, “Discretion is the better part of valor.” Instead of writing anything else, I’ll just share the rainbow dog and the beauty we witnessed – and call it a day.

Ha – perhaps I just stumbled upon the true power of the dog – the rainbow dog: to transform ‘unsettled’ to ‘awe-filled.’

Rainbow Dog – Photo: L. Weikel

(T+67)

Magical Day – ND #63

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Barred Owl – Photo: Lehigh Valley Zoo (lvzoo.org)

Magical Day

Between us, Karl and I experienced quite the magical day today. We’re both feeling a bit ‘blissed out’ by it all, to be honest. It’s not that there was any heavy lifting involved. I think sometimes it’s just a matter of expanding our awareness enough to drink it in that can leave us needing to just power down and be still.

Karl began his day with a gorgeous Red Fox crossing in front of his car and then trotting confidently across a field. I wasn’t with him, but it was almost the first thing out of his mouth when he arrived home. He kept marveling at the creature’s robust health and the stunning color and condition of its coat.

Fox can signify a variety of messages, from family matters to creativity to using camouflage to keep oneself and one’s family safe and out of harm’s way. Karl’s trip happened to be all about family and the beauty of the Fox felt like a wonderful omen. His trip ended up being especially loving and sweet.

On his way home, he spotted an enormous Bald Eagle perched in a tree overhanging a road near our house. While we both know they’ve made a powerful resurgence in the area over the years, we never seem to lose our sense of excitement and awe when visited by Eagle.

Recently, most of my sightings have been along the Tohickon or the Lenape Sipu, and almost always when I’ve been alone. (Although I did see two just last Sunday when taking a walk with my friend along the Delaware!) I can’t tell you how often I’ve seen a crestfallen look sweep across Karl’s face when I recount seeing an Eagle.

So it was especially meaningful to have Bald Eagle visit Karl today. He finally felt like he was part of the club. And best of all, the raptor was scoping out potential quarry on a branch close enough to Karl that its markings were unmistakable. A powerful gift from Spirit.

Eagle – Photo: L. Weikel

My Magic

I’d already experienced an afternoon that reinforced for me how unbelievably lucky I am to do what I do. Maybe it’s more accurate to say ‘to witness what I do.’ Because really – I just create the space and watch things unfold. Anyway, it’s hard to describe, which is why I tend to dance around it most of the time, or not even bring it up at all.

Anyway, I knew I needed to walk after the session I had. I needed to ground myself; I needed to make sure I was back in my body. By the time we set out darkness had fallen. The constellations were stunning in spite of the brilliance of the half moon above.

Just short of a mile into our walk, I turned around to untangle myself from Brutus’s leash when a meteor suddenly streaked through the sky, right to left. It was surprisingly low on the horizon and large – burning a brilliant yellow with an outline of crimson. And it crossed the sky slowly (for a meteor) – it wasn’t some little blip. While I yelped out to Karl when I saw it, my gasp and garbled, “Look! Oh! WOW!” didn’t sink in quickly enough for him to see it.

There was something special going on in the cosmos tonight. Like I said, the constellations seemed especially vibrant and obvious. And by that I mean, the patterns seemed emphasized somehow. The sky was filled with stars, as usual, and often I just drink them all in with my eyes wide as possible. But tonight felt different.

Our Shared Magic

Finally, another mile into our walk the call of a Barred Owl echoed through the woods to our left. I could hardly contain my excitement. I don’t remember ever hearing a Barred Owl up here in our environs. The first time I’d ever heard one (and then heard several) was a few years ago in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina.

I stopped dead in my tracks. “Did you hear that?” I whispered.

Of course he had. It was the only sound in this silent February night. The “Who cooks for youoooooooo” call of the owl was coming from the same vicinity the coyotes had been howling a few nights ago. There must be a lot of action down there along that part of the creek.

The Barred Owl hooted another several times (one of which you can hear, above) giving me a chance to record it on my phone. It’s almost as if it knew when I had because as soon as I was satisfied, it went silent. I can’t explain why, but this encounter, too, felt…different. Magical, if you will.

(T+63)

In For a Landing – Day 1020

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Snowy Owl Coming In For a Landing – Photo: L. Weikel

In For a Landing

A line of thunderstorms came through our area just as the sun was contemplating setting. Besides billowing harbingers of potential mayhem and torrential downpours, one scenario depicted in the sky was a snowy owl coming in for a landing.

I’d actually just completed closing Sacred Space following a session with a client when a deep and prolonged rumble of thunder rippled out across the sky. Stepping outside, I got goosebumps when I took in the scenario unfolding above my head.

Sometimes it doesn’t matter whether anyone else can see what you see. Not if the magic of a moment infuses with you awe. Or hope. Or maybe even the tiniest sliver of a sense of being part of something much greater than the superficial illusions that we normally chase and often cherish.

Besides these clouds, there were a few rainbow moments that, oddly, appeared to be less a rainbow and more a multicolored bar. I couldn’t manage to get a photo of it fast enough, but the traditional colors of a rainbow made a brief appearance in the sky sporting the sharp, clean, rectangular edges of…a flag. Or a banner. It seemed more a statement than a wish.

I was so frustrated that I missed the shot.

Speaking the Truth – Photo: L. Weikel

An Evening Chorus

The last several nights have been deathly silent as I wrote my posts. Those moments when the rain wasn’t falling and tink, tink, tinking on the metal casing of our window air conditioner, the air was still and close. The atmosphere was super-saturated (my skin’s assessment, not a meteorologically defined status statement) and no self-respecting insect, plant, or animal wanted to exert an ounce of unnecessary energy in pursuit of movement or song.

But tonight is different. Perhaps this shift will last and the weight of fearing to embrace change will lift from our psyches. It’s up to us to give our true selves permission to sing, just as the voices of the katydids, crickets, and annual cicadas are nearly deafening this evening.

We’re being pushed to question the way we’ve been doing a lot in our lives. What beliefs do we hold onto until our fingers bleed? Where do we place our faith? How do we know what’s true? What approaches to life are we so sure about that we’re willing to build our reputations on them?

What principles do we believe in so passionately that we’re finally going to risk finding our voice and speaking out?

Conversations – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-91)

Astral Magnificence – Day 806

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Photo: L. Weikel

Astral Magnificence

If you read my post from last night, you know I was hoping to write about photos I’d taken during the walk Karl and I took last night. Sometimes circumstances all dovetail perfectly to create a moment of such astral magnificence that your breath catches in your throat and you wonder if your heart can hold it all. That’s kind of what we felt last night.

And it’s also why I talked about the Wagons of fellow journeyers (Travelers) I’m setting up each week as part of my Shamanic Caravan. One of the participants last night tried to describe the ‘space’ she’d experienced and it was obvious to all of us that the experience bordered on indescribable loveliness.

Over the years I’ve had a few journeys in which I’ve traveled to places that reminded me of being in the middle of a photograph from the Hubble Spacecraft. They sort of gave me an exquisite sense of being immersed in infinity.

Trust me, the vast majority of journeys that I’ve experienced have been far more mundane. Just writing that sentence sort of makes me laugh, though. What’s mundane – ever – about a first-hand experience of another reality?

Winter Night Sky – Photo: L.Weikel

Last Night’s Sky

The first set of photos I sent to myself last night never arrived. By the time it got to be 4:30 this afternoon and they still hadn’t appeared, I re-sent them to myself. Voila! But a short hour later (eye roll), they arrived in my inbox.

The sky this evening was overcast and the moon, which is waxing to reach fullness by this Thursday, was barely visible behind a thick layer of wooly clouds full of winter wetness. The look and feel of the two nights, while back to back, could barely have been more disparate.

No.

Tonight we were closed in. Colors all around us were muted and bleak. The murky sky admitted a moon existed but gave it no respect.

Last night? We witnessed majesty. Shadows, although sharply defined, weren’t at all scary. They simply offered refreshing clarity. But the greatest gift was when we looked up. Up and out and drank in the stars and the light catching wispy forms of…something.

One of the photos gives me the unmistakable sense of the presence of Great Beings. And perhaps we were. Or are. Maybe last night we were peeking behind the curtain of the Wizard of Oz and seeing the truth of what’s actually the foundation of the journeys we’re taking.

All I know is, I want to share this magnificence with all of you.

Astral Magnificence – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-305)

Closer and closer – Day 768

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Saturn & Jupiter 12/18/2020 – Photo: L. Weikel

Closer and Closer

If you haven’t taken a walk at sunset lately, I implore you to do so soon. Like tomorrow. And Sunday. Better yet, walk at sunset on Monday to celebrate the Winter Solstice and behold the conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter in the western sky. As I’ve been documenting with photos and the occasional post, these two planets are inching closer and closer to each other, culminating on the same day as winter officially begins here in the Northern Hemisphere.

One thing I’ve come to realize from writing this 1111 Devotion is that I’m an astronomy nerd. I never realized just how much I cherish my ability to look up. I’ve also discovered how much joy it gives me to share the awe I feel whenever we have the chance to witness the many mysteries that surround and visit us here on Earth.

I also realize that when I want to deliberately refrain from writing about the comings and goings and doings and undoings of our fellow human beings, it helps for me to focus on the stars and the planets and the luminaries.

Tomorrow Night

Perhaps tomorrow night I’ll write a little more about the significance of the practically simultaneous occurrence of the Winter Solstice and the so-called Grand Conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn. I suspect you’ve noticed that occurrences here on Earth have rather reliably been tracking the influences the movement of the largest (and furthest away from us) planets in our solar system, specifically Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto.

These planets are much more slow moving and have a distinctively different ‘flavor’ of impact upon us humans than the more rapidly moving planets. The movements of those outer planets is definitely more profound.

In the meantime, look up, my friends. Appreciate the wonder that surrounds us and unfolds in amazing ways, right above our heads, every single day.

 

Jupiter and Saturn getting very cozy – 12/18/2020; Photo: L. Weikel

(T-343)

Magnificent Mycelium – Day 454

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Photo: L. Weikel

Magnificent Mycelium

Of course, with a post title like that, you can probably guess that Karl and I went to see the wonderful documentary Fantastic Fungi tonight.

I have to admit, if you’d suggested that I would have an emotional reaction to a film on mushrooms, I’m pretty sure I would’ve been…skeptical, to say the least.

And yet it was just the thing I needed to watch, especially after the week we’ve all had. Besides being fascinating, perhaps even better was that it left me, and I dare say the entire audience, with feelings of hope, inspiration, and awe.

We’re ‘All Bad’

We humans think we’re so great. We stomp around on this planet acting as if we own it, know it, are better than it, and oftentimes, could give a crap about it.

And yet, we are still only scratching the surface of realizing the existence, and understanding the amazingly vast network, of interdependent life that works in concert within and without, keeping everything in balance.

In so many ways, we know so little. And the irony is that perhaps we only need look down in order to discover the solutions we think are impossible. Cooperation and collaboration with other species. What a concept.

Held Over

Some great news: the management of Acme Screening Room in Lambertville, NJ, where we saw Fantastic Fungi, announced tonight that they have arranged for the movie to be shown three more weekends! So if you want to see it, you’re in luck! I would suggest that you purchase your tickets ahead of time, though. Tonight’s show was sold out last month.

Photo: L. Weikel

(T-657)

Looking Up At Night – Day 368

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Looking Up At Night

If you’ve been reading my posts even sporadically and happened to catch a few I wrote when a celestial event was taking place, you know I relish looking up into the night sky.

I’ve written about a variety of meteor showers, eclipses, and comets, among other phenomena. And a crucial aspect of witnessing these events comes down to the ability to look up into the night sky and see.

Living in the Country

Most people would look at where we live and assume that we have spectacular views of the night sky because we live ‘in the country.’ Sadly, however, ‘living in the country,’ at least when it comes to the corridor between Washington D.C. and Boston, Massachusetts, does not translate to darkness at night.

In fact, and here’s a confession: I’m incredibly frustrated with a couple of neighbors who’ve moved into our area over the past couple of years. Both sets of new owners purchased homes that were at least 150 years old and sat on a nice amount of acreage.

One property is on our road, quite close to our home. We live in what used to be referred to on historical maps as a hamlet – essentially consisting of a half dozen or so houses. We do not have street lights. We live in the country. That is an essential part of the beauty of where we live.

Lack of Awareness

Thus, it is unbelievably irritating that people have moved in a few houses away from us and decided it was a great idea to hang several strings of bright light bulbs extending from their house to their barn, lighting up the entire ‘neighborhood.’ Even more irritating is the fact that they keep them on all night.

At first we thought this was just some decorative activity because it was approaching Thanksgiving. We chalked it up to a little ‘being afraid of the novelty of living in the country’ pre-holiday lighting. But it never ended. They never took those lights down. The lights never get turned off (at night).

When I went outside to look at the Leonids or Orionids, I had to either drive a mile or so in order to escape the glare of the neighbors’ lights or find a place that was shielded by structures from the glare. When we took a walk after a heavy snowfall and wanted to look up into the pristine sky and witness the moon glistening off the icy crust, we were treated to lights instead.

Lighting Up the Countryside

The other example of neighborly infliction of light pollution is a farm that was purchased by people who only live at the premises part time, but have installed an brilliant, glaring spotlight on their barn that blasts light in all directions. The light is literally blinding, and is made worse by the fact that the house and barn sit atop a wonderfully prominent hill that used to be a choice spot to witness the constellations.

Now we literally have to shield our eyes if we take a walk once the sun has set. It is incredibly upsetting every single time we walk up that hill (on our usual 2.2 mile walkabout – although it’s also on the longer 4 mile trek as well). It’s brighter than having a car bearing down on us. And the road upon which we’re walking is probably 150 yards from the barn – that’s how huge a blast of light is being emitted from this light.

Light Pollution

I’m reminded of this pollution and how upsetting it is that people move into the country, where we’ve kept lights at a minimum on purpose because of this article that just appeared the other day. Light pollution hurts all of us.

We need to be able to see the stars at night. As mentioned in the article, we used to be able to see over 2500 stars at night. Now, many people in Europe and the United States are lucky to be able to see a few hundred with the naked eye. And that’s because of light pollution.

As I contemplated this situation yet again this evening and read this most recent article again, I checked out one of the organizations mentioned: the International Dark Sky Association. I’m seriously contemplating becoming involved with this organization to see if I might craft a strategy to appeal to our neighbors and ask them to not only reconsider the impact of their ‘lighting up the night,’ but also contemplate the gifts and benefits to all of us of embracing the dark.

It’s Not Just Hurting Us Humans

As the article points out, it’s not just humans who are affected by the inundation of our world by light (and LED lights making things even worse). All nocturnal creatures are suffering from our insensitivity to the impact of too much light at night.

Just one fascinating fact is the incredible number of birds that suffer unintended and unexpected consequences as a result of urban and suburban lighting. Many migrating birds are thrown off course or run into buildings and windows as a result being blinded by lights. You can read more about this issue here.

Mountain Awe

I guess I’m particularly sensitive to this topic because of the stunning beauty I witnessed just the other night.  I walked outside at 4:30 a.m. and looked up. I’m about 4,000 feet above sea level, high in the Appalachians. When I looked up into the unpolluted night sky, I felt my entire being open up to the enormity of the Universe. To the core of my being, I felt utterly expansive and at the same time utterly humble in my insignificance.

I cannot help but feel that everyone would benefit from experiencing such a profound sense of awe on a more frequent basis. We all deserve to see the Milky Way. Especially since so many have never experienced it ever.

(T-743)

Total Lunar Eclipse – Day Seventy

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Photos by L. Weikel

Total Lunar Eclipse

I don’t have anything to say about tonight’s astronomical event that hasn’t been said a million times over.

Standing outside in the single digit air, wind whipping through the bare boughs of the ash, black walnut, and maple trees, I’m startled by the cracking emanating from some of them. I’m grateful that we only had to endure tons of rain the past few days, otherwise the weight of what would have been snow would almost certainly be snapping those boughs instead of stressing them to their crackling brink.

The wind is whipping, though. My wind chimes clatter and clang themselves into a frenzy. My fingers numb up within moments.

Being a fan of Mother Nature and always game to either stay up really late or get up at the crack of dawn (preferring the staying up late than the getting up early, if I’m honest) to snag a first-hand experience, I never fail to feel a connection back millennia, to ancestors who were equally (if not vastly more) fascinated by the machinations of our celestial neighbors. Honestly, I almost literally feel those generations rippling back through the soles of my feet, all of us standing rooted to the Earth, staring wide-eyed into the vastness above.

I doubt it took them very long to figure out that their world was not coming to an end when the moon turned blood red, for it’s not all that rare of an occurrence. Especially when there was no tv and the entertainment was the stars, planets, and constellations.

Total eclipses are rare enough to be remarkable, though. For instance, I’m pretty sure tonight’s is the only such eclipse in 2019, at least visible to North America. But what did they think when they occurred? More interesting to me, what did they feel? A connection backward in time? Forward? Could they feel me reaching back to them from now?

It’s undeniable that there is something profoundly primal and humbling about witnessing tonight’s lunar hide-n-seek in Earth’s shadow. We are but specks in the grand scheme our galaxy, the Milky Way.

And when you realize that we know there are billions of galaxies in our universe…

**Poof**

Mind. Blown.

(T-1041) Photo by L. Weikel