Time

Twisting Turning and Folding In – ND #18

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All that wrapping paper was exhausting – Photo: L. Weikel

What’s going on? Am I simply noticing the effects of growing older? Or is time actually twisting, turning, and folding in on itself?

While this may sound facetious, I’m asking this question in all seriousness.

I literally just sat here on the couch for a good hour, basking in the multi-colored glow of our Christmas tree, staring off into space. I can barely articulate what I was thinking about. Past, present, future perhaps? Possibly.

Mostly past and present, I suppose.

Lately, when I think back on Christmases past, they feel more like snippets from different lives. And to be honest, I never thought they’d feel so foreign.

Pacha’s First Christmas – Photo: L. Weikel

More to Come

I’ve caught myself thinking about this a lot lately. I’m starting to conclude that it’s a natural progression that happens to almost everyone – like aging – even though we think it will never happen to our family. In some ways, I suppose, it’s probably essential to our survival as a species. Siblings head off in different directions, each spinning their own webs of stories, memories, and interconnections.

Photos viewed decades later conjure feelings that could easily have been felt yesterday, or as freshly generated as at this very moment. Others jar our concept of ourselves and screech us to a halt in our tracks. “How could I have thought what I remember so vividly ‘knowing’ back then?” and the perennial favorite, “What was I thinking?”

It’s possible I’ll be sharing more of these musings. Santa brought a VCR converter cassette that will allow us to watch the ‘family movies’ we created over the past 30 years. How the first converter managed to get lost is a mystery. But it’s barely been missed, as the reality is that we’re not a family known to gather ’round and watch home movies – a curious fact, when you look at all the tapes we’ve amassed.

30 Years and Counting

Karl and I sprung for one of the newest video cameras available back in the day. It was ‘the’ family gift for Christmas 1991, to be precise. The sad thing about that, for me, is that my mother died that previous August – so we never got the chance to record her voice and image on video. As a result, Sage has never heard my mother’s voice or her laugh. That grieves me.

I imagine it’ll be fun and poignant watching some of these videos. Painful, too – since so many of the videos will feature Karl, of course, being our eldest.

Our memories of holidays and the people we were so long ago morph over the years. So I imagine it’s going to be a bit weird now, especially since we haven’t been priming ourselves for these memories by watching the videos year after year.

They’ll probably feel a bit like blasts out of left field, even though we’re anticipating them.

We’ll see. I’ll keep you posted.

In the meantime, we’ll keep on creating new memories. That’s what we do, right? Most of these, though, will be recorded on our phones. I wonder: will we (or our kids? or our kids’ kids?) be inclined to look back on them even less frequently?

(T+18)

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)

All’s Quiet – Day 407

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Rainbow – Photo: L. Weikel

All’s Quiet    

I’m sitting here in the silence of my living room (if you don’t count the snoring of Sheila and Precious) – and it is exquisitely delicious.

Karl and I took a walk tonight, once I finally got home from doing some errands. The sky had a smattering of clouds, but we could still see a vast array of stars splashed from one horizon to the other. What we really noticed the most, though, was how quiet everything was.

It almost felt as though we were walking during a snowstorm. You know, that muffled silence that always accompanies falling or freshly fallen snow? In fact, I just read something about that the other day. The muffling of ambient noise is attributed to the fluffiness of the snow, I think – the air trapped between the flakes.

I don’t know; I can’t really remember. It doesn’t actually matter, since snow was not the cause of the quiet tonight. Perhaps it was the sound of people starting to slow down, to take a breather from the inevitable frantic pace that precedes this time of year in particular.

What We Really Want

It’s easy to pick on the materialism of our society and criticize the obligation so many people feel to give gifts to ‘everyone on their list.’ We’re a consumptive society. It’s been ingrained in us all our lives that the way to show someone you care about or love them is to buy them something. And even worse is when people equate the depth of the love to the cost of the gifts.

We’re bombarded from every direction with messages barking at us that this widget or that doodad will make the difference. We’ll know we’re loved or, perhaps even more importantly, we’ll know we’ve made it (or at least tell ourselves we have) if we can give that impressive doodad. And if we can’t? Well. Many feel an overwhelming desire to fake it – and there are lots of ways to fake it.

But I think the real burden is the desire to express heartfelt caring and not knowing, really, how to give that feeling. How do we go about bringing light into someone’s life?

Maybe it’s by sitting quietly and figuring out what would bring light into our own life. Maybe it’s by listening to what our heart is saying over and over and over again – hoping that one day we’ll actually stop and listen.

Time

As we were walking in the starlight this evening, Karl and I talked yet again about having – or, rather, not having – gifts to give each other this year. Neither one of us wants for anything. We are surrounded by an abundance of comfort; indeed, we have too many ‘things,’ if we’re honest. And we have zero desire to buy stuff just because – whether it’s because we don’t want to or because it’s expected.

We don’t need new clothes. In truth, we don’t need anything that can be bought in a store (besides groceries; we do love to eat). Even the most exotic boutique of hand-crafted amazingness would fail to provide the gift that is most precious to both of us. And that is time. Time together. Time to create. Time to read. Time to listen to music. Time to feed our souls. Time to allow ourselves to stop thinking about selling or buying or going to meetings or paying the bills, but instead to stop thinking altogether.

Our greatest gift to each other is making – and taking – time to walk under the stars and listen to the silence. Time to notice and appreciate the quiet, together.

(T-704)

Time That Got Away – Day 227

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Lone Daisy in a Field of Green – Photo: L. Weikel

Time That Got Away           

Playing on the title of yesterday’s post, the Photo That Got Away, I’m backhandedly admitting that I got caught up tonight in watching the post-debate opinion-fest in ‘real time,’ which means I just looked at the time and realize I only have 29 minutes to the witching hour!

Which reminds me: I’ve been slacking off on the walking. I’ve managed at least two miles every day in the last week or so, but I’ve yearned to do more. The thing is, it takes time.

And it’s funny. I do not begrudge the time it takes me to walk four – six – eight miles. But I sometimes find myself wishing I could write or read while I walk. Those are two of my other favorite activities of mine.

Yes, I know, I could listen to an audio book while I walk. I could listen to an audio book while I mow lawn, too. But I don’t. I do not want to block out the noises of my walk with headphones or earbuds. And I truly love birdsong. I love silence as well. And yeah, I even like (I don’t love, but neither do I loathe) the drone of a 3 hp lawnmower.

I Need to Reconfigure My Time

When I’m walking by myself, the most I will do is occasionally field a phone call while I walk. But even when I do that, I find myself surprised and a little disappointed that I’ve walked a certain distance and I’m not entirely sure what I may have passed.

So I guess what I’m saying is that I wish there were more hours in the day. (I realize that’s rich coming from a person who needs eight hours of sleep.) But especially when it starts getting hot out, like today, I find myself wishing I’d gone on my walk-about in the very early hours of the morning.

I’m getting the feeling that the onset of truly sustained, summer heat is going to require me to reconfigure my timing of certain activities.

Yes, some part of my current routine needs to shift.

(T-884)

More Time, Less to Say – Day 183

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Amadell Carp – Photo: L. Weikel

More Time, Less to Say      

I realize my past few posts have been pretty short, but apparently this one is going to be even shorter, even though I’m technically getting an earlier start than I have in several days. Sometimes it seems like it doesn’t matter how much time I have to write; if the words don’t come, there’s not a whole lot I can do about it.

I’ll admit it: I just finished watching last night’s penultimate episode of Game of Thrones and, well, “Sheesh,” is the best reaction I can muster. (H/t to SW.)

To be honest, it’s hard to think about much of anything after watching that. It’s not even the action that I’m referring to – it’s the fact that I can’t get the stupid theme song out of my head. And yeah, OK, I’ll admit it: I find myself thinking about death.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, since GoT is GoT (and what would I have expected anyway?) there’s a bigger, more personal reason than just GoT that’s causing me to mull that subject over, but that’s another discussion for another day.

So for now I’ll leave you with a photo of these brilliant carp at the Peace Pond at Amadell.

(T-928)

Whale Comes Calling – Day 134

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Photo: www.pacificwhale.org

Whale Comes Calling

Man, I have just been having a time of it lately.

I think I’ve mentioned at least a couple of times lately that over the past two weeks or so, I’ve received some truly astonishing messages. And I’ve wanted to share them with you – but not until I’ve given myself an opportunity to reflect on them on my own.

I even vowed to devote some alone time over this past weekend to my desire to take a deep dive into the specifics of some of the more blatant pantomimes by the Universe, as well as some of the startling actual verbal messages I received. They all fit together more perfectly than anything I could have arranged or orchestrated for myself on my own.

Well, so much for that. As happens now and again, I’ve neglected my self and – worse – neglected my creative inspiration and joy. I’ve also perpetrated the greatest of sins: I’ve failed to walk my talk.

Alas, I’ve Been Talking the Talk

Yes, I’ve written about this before, the occasional lapse in journal entries.

I am relentless with my clients and loved ones, reminding them often to keep a journal, extolling the virtues of capturing the details of our daily lives on paper (or yes, I’ll settle for electronic writing at this point). So I get particularly irritated with myself when I allow days to go by without writing down my most exquisite experiences.

It’s one thing to miss a few days when we occasionally hit a patch of life that feels like we’re on the set of Groundhog Day. You know: those days that feel like they’re just repeats of every other day and don’t deserve any attention.

But I have to tell you: Spirit has been working overtime with me lately, so that cannot be my excuse! And I am beyond grateful for, well, all of it, especially when the messages or connections have come completely unexpectedly. Which makes it all the more important for me to honor what I’ve received by writing it down.

So, yeah. Sometimes it takes time to write this stuff down. Not in the sense of (looking at my non-existent wristwatch) giving myself half an hour in the middle of the day to write down the facts. No. That simply does not work.

Finding My Groove Takes Time

Hard as it is to describe, I need to settle into the groove of writing, especially when I want to touch the numinous. And that requires allowing myself to reconnect with the moments deeply enough to tap into the details as if I am writing the experience in the moment of living it.

It’s the same as when I’m writing chapters in my books. In order to get myself back to those places and the felt experience of living those moments, I need to afford myself time.

And time is what I’ve been giving everyone else lately. Not that I begrudge it; I don’t. But yikes…the very fact that I’m in this position writing about this (yet again) is because I’ve not heeded the messages. Ugh. Busted. Again.

Whale/Elk

So along comes Monday (today). I actually became distracted by needing to speak to someone on the phone and never got around to picking my Medicine Card for the day. Karl picked and I read his; but my pick got lost in the shuffle, so to speak.

When we both realized my lapse this evening as we tried to recall what I’d picked as we walked, I headed straight to the deck when we got home. I picked Whale with Elk underneath.

Suffice it to say, it didn’t take a sledgehammer to make me realize that Spirit was growing impatient with my dalliance. Whale in the Medicine Cards®is the Record Keeper. And Elk, of course, is Stamina, the one who continues onward, “having no other defense except his ability to go the distance, setting a pace that allow(s) him to utilize his stamina and energy to the fullest.”

“Elk medicine teaches that pacing yourself will increase your stamina.”

I’m getting a strong feeling that tomorrow circumstances will coalesce that will allow me to do just exactly what I need: Be the Record Keeper and pace myself. These connections and messages from Spirit and my son have been too precious not to accord them honor and appreciation.

I can only hope that by exposing my own lapses, each of you will forgive your own – and just pick up your pens or your keyboards tomorrow and join me tomorrow. Let’s excavate the magic together!

Elk in Oregon; Photo: L.Weikel

(T-977)

So Little Time – Day 125

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Buddha-Gandalf – Photo: L. Weikel

So Little Time

This isn’t a post about time. It’s a post about priorities.

As you no doubt figured out already, I actually had in my mind the phrase, “So many books,” when I wrote the title to this post. But I decided to go with the second half of that familiar phrase instead. Because as much as you might think this is about books, it isn’t.

Yet it is true. I am a bibliophile. I have enough books ‘sharing space’ with me at the moment that I could probably go without having the television on for at least five years – and I wouldn’t repeat a single volume. That’s a lot of books.

Which makes me wonder. Will I ever read all the stories and references and other materials I’ve stashed here in my home?

Will I Ever Read Them All?

I’ve started to doubt it. And that’s a strange realization.

It’s the same with the various gifts I’ve brought home from my travels, especially my forays to foreign countries.

I’ve always made it a point to buy things for the people I care about while I travel. Little mementos. Pieces or items that reminded me of the person at home, yet had specific relevance to the country of origin. And then, once I’ve been home, I’ve held on to many of those gifts. Not because I’ve kept them for myself. (Indeed, if that were the case, that might be selfish, but at least I’d be using them!)

No, for whatever strange reason I talked myself into thinking by the time gift-giving time rolled around, that what I’d purchased wasn’t ‘enough’ or it wasn’t appropriate. So I didn’t give it. And then I felt like too much time had elapsed and they would think I was really strange for giving them a gift from a country I’d visited a year or two (and now more, sometimes many more years) later. So many loving, caring, and generous-of-spirit thoughts gone to waste.

I’m not exactly sure what I want to do with that vector of contemplation, either.

But they are tied together.

How We ‘Spend’ Our Time Matters

Every time one of these horrific acts of violence takes place, I ponder the lives of the people gunned down and imagine that none of them anticipated their life would end when they went to the mosque, the church, or the synagogue that day. (Or to elementary school, middle school, high school, or college that day. Or to the gym. Or to the news office. Or to court.)

And yet, here we are.

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter whether we pass away from too many six packs and chocolate chip cookies or the unlucky aim of a madman with gun. We’re here one day and not the next. (That is, of course, if we’re fortunate enough to have avoided the destiny of lingering and drawing out our passage to our next assignment.)

My point here is simply to observe that I have a lot of stuff in my home that I’ve been unintentionally collecting. Books I’ve been saving to read “when I have time.” Presents I know I will give “when I have time” to figure out how to explain the delay in giving them.

I barely “have time” to write a post each night. I’ve certainly not been “making time” to write anything beyond these posts. (Let me be clear though: I’m sincerely delighted that I’ve managed to write as many posts as I have so far.)

Yet all of a sudden, I’m finding myself face to face with TIME.

Do We Treasure It? Or Squander It?

How I use it; how I squander it. How I blithely seem to skip along each day, whistling in the face of the absolute guarantee that one of these days I won’t be here any more. And all the books and gifts and well-intentioned thoughts of how I intend to spend my time will be left hanging.

And while this fact of life (the inevitability of death) has always been with us – throughout time and space as we know it – I have this really itchy feeling at the edge of my consciousness that we’ve never squandered quite so much “time” as we are right now. As I am. (I can only speak for myself. I hope you’ll forgive me for that sweeping generalization.)

I want to read at least some of those books. (Not all of them. I must must must have a stash set aside in case our infrastructure is hacked and we are forced to live for a time – perhaps a very long time – without electricity.) (Funny, isn’t it? My idea of being a “prepper” is not to stockpile water or guns or food. It’s books, baby. Books.)

And I want to give away those gifts I’ve set aside from my travels. My intentions were loving and generous at the time I bought them. So I’m not going to care anymore if I look like a whack job for not having given them away as soon as I returned to the states.

I yearn to savor the experience of living. I want to immerse myself in the joy and struggle of creating and healing, teaching and reading, giving and reaching.

I want to savor my time. However much or little of it I have left.

(T-986)