The two things that resonated deeply with me while reading this beautiful piece:
The winter journey can be a time of residing within the familiar in an unfamiliar way. So often in the winter we cozy in and shift to autopilot, but what if we cozy in and allow for an unfurling? We can use the winter journey as a cocoon to create anew. An intentional drawing inward.
"Everything same seems suddenly strange", this is how we embark on a journey without leaving home. We embrace the wonder you talk about, create space for it in our daily lives, and allow ourselves to be changed by it.
Like Mariah and Mary, I am particularly struck by your invitation to allow for an unfurling, a cocoon to create anew, intentional drawing inward. You usher us into the murmuring deep.
Of "this is how we embark on a journey without leaving home": Yes! The familiar and ordinary ask us to be more intentional. Impressions make their way inside when we can turn down the volume on life. Winter gives us that quiet spaciousness if we permit ourselves to enter "hibernation" state of rest and "allow ourselves to be changed."
Thank you for this, Donna.
With love,
Renée
PS. For anyone reading comments later in the week, Donna is offering a series on preparing for change. You can find her here on Substack: The Bright Life
I love the visual of a cat stretching. When I wrote it I had a vision of a caterpillar in my mind, that cocoons (winter) and unfurls into a butterfly. And then the kitty has fun chasing the butterfly💕, but not catching it because we want it to be ok!
Before I share what is prompted by this particular reflection, let me once again welcome my beloved friend Renee home, (at least to one of them, for I imagine she has stretched her sense of home in this past year to embrace much of the North American Continent)! AND.... Renee, you are welcome to our table anytime I am making chicken soup! I may start making it more often if that will entice you to come "wonder" in person with us!!
In reading today, I'm remembering something I've known about myself since I was a teenager, but haven't really noticed recently. When something becomes so familiar, we tend to stop seeing it with the conscious mind... which can only hold so much at one time. As a person with what they now refer to as a "neurodiverse" brain, when I am reading my attention gets caught on something of interest and I am temporarily unable to fully receive what is shared beyond that sentence or sentence fragment as I somewhat involuntarily mull over what has been sparked in body, mind, and heart. With the multidimensional richness I encounter in reading these reflections, it can take me several readings before I can identify and digest all that grabs my attention and inspires my own reflection. Thank you, Renee, for inviting us to learn about ourselves here, with each other. I'm not sure I fully understand where Krishnamurti is coming from when he says, ".... because if we learn about ourselves according to someone else, we learn about them, not ourselves... ". For I have experienced great learning about myself in relationship encounters. In fact, I need others and community to really fully unfold into, "...what we actually are". To paraphrase Valerie Kaur, founder of REVOLUTIONARY LOVE, and author of See No Stranger, if we are truly one in our deepest reality, then the "other" is a part of ourself "we haven't met yet".
As to the whole of this reflection, it is so rich with insight it would take me many more readings and much more time to digest than I am giving to this mornings comment. But there was one stream of thought that opened up for me that I hope to give time to in my own meditations. I have been working with Thomas Keatings "bullseye" model of levels of awareness, the outer ring being ordinary awareness (ego related... and necessary in the physical realm), the inner ring being spiritual awareness, and the bullseye being divine awareness. At this point in my life I have hope to experience my spiritual awareness more often as my physical faculties fade, and perhaps even joined with my ordinary awareness to enrich the beauty I experience in this world of substance. And though I would wish to have more influence over moments of "divine" awareness, I must surrender to what Keating suggests; that there are practices that can cultivate an open receptive presence, but it is grace that "finds us" in those fleeting moments of divine awareness that many of us experience in life and long to repeat, and ... "It can only do so when we let go—completely"!
When I read how you read, it strikes me that you are reading integrally, allowing something to live in you fully. This is how we are being asked to come to the moments of our lives and unfold anew as human beings--body, heart, mind in harmony, presencing what quickens in us. The intellect can take us only so far.
You wonder about Krishnamurti, apropos: "we learn about them, not ourselves," and you very astutely and importantly bring us to the recognition that in fact we need one another to learn about ourselves. Through the Other, we meet ourselves more completely. I did not give the entire K passage, which will help here. He is talking about authority of a guru or teacher or analyst or [fill in the blank].
Here is more, and it's potent:
"If I were foolish enough to give you a system and if you were foolish enough to follow it, you would merely be copying, imitating, conforming, accepting, and when you do that you have set up in yourself the authority of another and hence, there is a conflict between you and that authority. You feel you must do such and such a thing because you have been told to do it and yet you are incapable of doing it. You have your own particular inclinations, tendencies and pressures which conflict with the system you think you ought to follow and therefore there is a contradiction. So you will lead a double life between the ideology of the system and the actuality of your daily existence. In trying to conform to the ideology, you suppress yourself--whereas what is actually true is not the ideology but what you are. If you try to study yourself according to another you will always remain a secondhand human being" (17).
He goes on: "We have always functioned within the pattern of a formula, the formula becomes the ideology and the authority; but the moment you really see that the question, 'How can I change', sets up a new authority, you have finished with authority for ever.
"Let us state it again clearly: I see that I must change completely from the roots of my being. . . ." (17–18).
Krishnamurti never sugar-coated what he offered, and he is often referred to as the "nonguru guru." He insisted that the way to liberation is through rigorous self-observation and self-inquiry, not following the way prescribed by another or a system or ideology because each of us is a creative impulse of the universe--cells in the organismic whole, each of us with a certain task of becoming that "cell's" expression.
What you share about Thomas Keating and your revelations is profound and beauty itself. May the grace of divine awareness find you in those surrendered moments of open receptive presence, Mary.
I woke this morning to a touch more about your question, re: learning from, indeed, because of Other.
When we encounter one another fully present, which is to say, outside of ideology or systems of thought, but meeting one another *as is* from our own *as is*, we "see one another into being" in that moment, and in this way, we participate in and are necessary for the becoming of one another.
If, on the other hand, we meet one another and our meeting is permeated with dogma of one system of thought or judgment or another--what Krishnamurti is pointing to as external authority, not our own inner authority--then we constrain one another's being in that moment and therefore, one another's becoming. It takes unknowing to meet one another anew and allow one another into being.
I hope the additions here are clarifying and helpful.
I had also intended to circle back and comment on the comfort of chicken soup and how I look forward to many more bowls of wonder with you!
Mary, I appreciate your reflections here. When you were talking about your 'reading style' as a neurodiverse person I immediately thought about the richness of getting caught on a sentence and fully absorbing every sense of what is being said. Then I promptly thought of my husband, who reads the same way, and I know there is the light and shadow side to the brain reading that way because sometimes it's such a struggle for him. I love your description of it.
I was very interested in your point about the Krisnamurti reflection and it got me thinking...then Renee answered everything I had questions about. Thank you both for this beautiful depth of thinking that nurtures me at the level of my soul.
I love this, Renee! I love imagining you by the French Broad and knowing that you are experiencing loved ones in the flesh. As I'm sure I've told you, I have dedicated 2023 to invoking comfort. It has been a commitment and philosophical deep dive into the whole concept of comfort. I think it means something different for each of us. After having spent a year with it, I think, for me, comfort means faith. And faith lives in our relationship with unknown.
I recall that you have dedicated 2023 to invoking comfort. I note that you write "invoke" not "seek." An invocation is prayerful, and in prayerfulness we come to presence. Seeking is an endeavor to see what we set out to find. Invocation is open receptivity. Seeking is a directed search.
And here, in this invocation, what has come to you is faith . . . in the unknown, a communion with with mystery itself. Such beauty is this.
Jenna... this reminds me of a quote from M. Scott Peck in The Road Less Traveled, that "faith has a necessary element of uncertainty". Having emerged out of a religious "belief" system I held to more than 25 years ago, I've been continually practicing being with the unknown, that "uncertainty", and when I am most "comfortable" with it I see no absolute except the mystery. I love "faith lives in our relationship with the unknown". I think I'll let that be my mantra today!
“We shall not cease from exploration / And the end of all our exploring / Will be to arrive where we started / And know the place for the first time.” T.S. Elliot
You and Ed have given us the same passage. I love that you both come to this place. Thank you for sharing. It is a beautiful passage. Please have a look at my comment to Ed. It touches on some things that I sense will ring true for you per your comment below about what you are coming to. . . .
Renée; I knew that you would find something rich to write about despite not being on the road. What you are saying about the familiar and the desire to know it freshly as if seeing all of it anew reminds me of this quote from T.S. Elliot; "We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time." That quote gives me chills really. I'm not sure why, but perhaps it's because I get what he is saying. And it is what you are saying too. We must go out and explore; that is part of our nature, and we must also return; and hopefully upon the return we have been transformed so that the familiar is now seen with new eyes. I love you talking about how young children see and feel the world. "Watch a child squeal with glee. There is not one cell of the body untouched by this feeling. Glee rises up out of the cells themselves." How true that is as I observe my little granddaughter exploring and experiencing the world. Yes, we all tend to lose that innocence and awe as we become socialized and sadly jaded to the familiar. And wonder is what can remind us how to reconnect to that way of being in the world. Like you, nature is one of the best ways for me to reconnect with awe. I can walk the same trail over and over and never grow tired of seeing the same trees, the same rock formations, the same horizons. Rather than be bored by the familiar, when I'm out on that trail, I welcome it; for I feel connected and held by all that is present there. It's like visiting old friends. Mary Oliver says it best for me; "When I am among the trees, especially the willows and the honey locusts, equally the beech, the oaks, and the pines; they give off such hints of gladness; I would almost say that they save me and daily. I am so distant from the hope of myself, in which I have goodness and discernment, and never hurry through the world, but walk slowly and bow often. Around me, the trees stir with their leaves and call out, "Stay awhile". The light flows from their branches. And they call again, "It's simple" they say, "and you too have come here to do this; to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine." Once again, welcome home Renée.
You and Peggy both shared this T.S. Elliot passage, which I find so enchanting. It is a beautiful passage, and it brings us to the arc of life, really. Is it not so that one of the gifts of age is the return to childlike wonder? Why is this so? What has been set aside that allows us to open to the world again with awe, touch again unbroken innocence having been broken and broken again . . . and restored? Not everyone will come to this with age. Why?
This happens for you in nature (Me too):
"Rather than be bored by the familiar, when I'm out on that trail, I welcome it; for I feel connected and held by all that is present there. It's like visiting old friends."
What in you is 'different' in nature for this to be so? What does nature call up in you? What does it quiet? I am asking these questions to sense into the heart and inner impulse of wonder. And I ask to wonder what is it that connects. Something is set aside for this inner 'hint of gladness' to come to meet the 'hints of gladness' in your old friends.
I can hear you reciting this beautiful poem. Thank you for sharing, as always.
I love everything about this. Truly, for once in my life, I'm slowly allowing myself shed layers of what you call the known to allow silence and awe to the unknown.
What an evocative way to turn the page to the next chapter.
Thank for for letting us join you Renée in your physical and awe-driven journeys.
Awe. You are coming to awe. Awe to the unknown. And there is something that you slipped in here which is key: allowing silence. here's a spaciousness intrinsic to awe. It comes sweeping in from a sea of inner silence meeting the silence of the world, and there, a great mystery we suddenly behold. It may be but a flash. Even so, there it is.
It's also captivating that you refer to 'layers' of the known. It's as if we become cloaked in what we believe we know. How liberating to shed clothing that keeps us from discovering the world anew.
Peggy, thank you for journeying together and for sharing.
"the way of being so close to the elements that when the wind blows, I feel the shake, and when the rain falls, I am just metalskin shy of being soaked": Your life has been a poem throughout this year of wandering and wondering, but in these first paragraphs from the "char," the apotheosis from human to poem seems especially complete. And back to human again. With your bold example, you show that it is extraordinary and worthwhile Beyond the Comfort Zone!
Thank you for this. If this journey has shown anything, it is that life Beyond the Comfort Zone is indeed extraordinary and worthwhile. We need not be afraid. What we believe to be necessary for comfort is a gateway to self-inquiry . . . and liberation.
I have read your words several times, coming to them, stepping back into contemplation, and returning again.
We could take each phrase alone, and that would be enough. But you put them side by side with a sneaky little 'and' in there. Now comfort is a way. It is dynamic. It hinges on home, not as a place but as 'you' along this 'way'. One is not without the other. There is no comfort without being at home where you are, and there is not home without this journey, this way, this dynamic of comfort. Home is yin. Comfort is yang.
Renée; In answer to your questions about the effect nature has on me and how it allows me to be "different": When I'm walking on this trail I mentioned, I am always struck by the familiarity of the scenery, especially the rock formations that don't change. I find myself thinking how ancient those rocks are and how much longer than me they will be here as they are. It slips me into the awareness of geologic time, and how fleeting our stay is here. But rather than feel insignificant, I appreciate the brevity of our lives as compared to those rocks, and there's a certain kind of comfort I get that they will (and of course the Earth will) live on for billions of years. And as I write this, it also reminds me to truly be here while I'm here for it is such a brief moment in time. Like Mary Oliver, I have grown to deeply love trees; their incredible beauty and endurance; how they can grow so very tall and straight; how ingeniously they send nutrients all the way to their tops from their root systems; and of course how we are symbiotically connected through the exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide. In a sense, I feel welcomed by them; that they too appreciate how interconnected we are. There is no danger here; nothing to fear or worry about, as compared to being in the world. And being at ease allows me to truly be present, which then allows me to be more in wonder and awe, which is where I desire to be. I guess I feel more at home in the woods than anywhere else.
Thank you for circling back to this and responding to my questions. I sense that the magnitude of time evinced in the rocks, the earth itself, lends a precious sense of purpose to your own life: "it also reminds me to truly be here while I'm here for it is such a brief moment of time." Nature slips you free of taken-for-grantedness and "shocks" (Gurdjieffian usage here) you into presence and fullness of being. It's quite marvelous this communion.
And on trees. I was struck by this: "how ingeniously they send nutrients all the way to their tops from their roots." And yet, they seem to be standing so still; invisible to us is this inner dynamism! And of breath we co-mingle with them: "I feel welcomed by then; that they too appreciate how interconnected we are."
Thank you for sharing. This is especially reflective for me to read given that the journey has come to a stillness geographically, and so, we're in new territory!
Eating pheasant with your fingers- what a visceral and lovely description! I’m so glad you are experiencing the comfort of home while looking beyond the familiar. As someone who is very nostalgic, I definitely struggle with disillusionment and un-knowing which leads us back to the present moment and acceptance, doesn’t it? Thank you for this gentle reminder.
Let us eat with our fingers! Let all the senses get a taste of the experience!
Nostalgia. Thank you for bringing this to the conversation.
In nostalgia is longing.
In longing is the always possibility of longing unfulfilled. And there, disillusionment, as you say.
If we can stay with the longing itself, and the disillusionment, we come to something. Acceptance, as you say, which brings comfort, brings ease.
And then if there is longing still and we stay with it still, the longing takes us to . . . (?) There's treasure here, and it's liberating, and it's unique to each of us.
Renee, I feel you settle into the familiar, but with a fresh pair of eyes. A beautiful invitation to see things differently, not to settle with the known, but find a new route through it. As if we begin again and we see everything through the eyes of that child. With wonder, with joy, with no judgement or expectation other than to learn and soak up everything that is on offer. To be cherished and loved, held and supported, because we cannot do things on our own yet or we may fall if we are not. We begin again from a place of knowing that stirs within and allows us to breathe new life into it all. Louise x
Thank you for your always loving words. I read your words and feel your unfailing presence. Yes, settling into the familiar wiht a fresh pair of eyes . . . with wonder! Which touches on this upcoming Sunday's post and things to come. . . .
On another note: I have not seen your own post this week. Did I miss it? I look for yours every week.
That’s so very kind Renee, I’ve struggled to finish my post this week, there have been things to work through and I’ve needed to take a pause. It’s a great comfort to know you are there. Louise x
The two things that resonated deeply with me while reading this beautiful piece:
The winter journey can be a time of residing within the familiar in an unfamiliar way. So often in the winter we cozy in and shift to autopilot, but what if we cozy in and allow for an unfurling? We can use the winter journey as a cocoon to create anew. An intentional drawing inward.
"Everything same seems suddenly strange", this is how we embark on a journey without leaving home. We embrace the wonder you talk about, create space for it in our daily lives, and allow ourselves to be changed by it.
I love seeing the pictures of your home river!
Donna,
Like Mariah and Mary, I am particularly struck by your invitation to allow for an unfurling, a cocoon to create anew, intentional drawing inward. You usher us into the murmuring deep.
Of "this is how we embark on a journey without leaving home": Yes! The familiar and ordinary ask us to be more intentional. Impressions make their way inside when we can turn down the volume on life. Winter gives us that quiet spaciousness if we permit ourselves to enter "hibernation" state of rest and "allow ourselves to be changed."
Thank you for this, Donna.
With love,
Renée
PS. For anyone reading comments later in the week, Donna is offering a series on preparing for change. You can find her here on Substack: The Bright Life
Thank you Renee❤️
I love the idea of unfurling in winter...it makes me think of a cat stretching lazily, full bodied after taking a nap in the sun.
I love this image, Mariah!
I love the visual of a cat stretching. When I wrote it I had a vision of a caterpillar in my mind, that cocoons (winter) and unfurls into a butterfly. And then the kitty has fun chasing the butterfly💕, but not catching it because we want it to be ok!
Fantastic!!
Yes, we want it to be ok! 🥰
A wonderful invitation to take into my winter hibernation! Thank you Donna!
I’m so glad Mary!
I agree, Mary.
Cozy in and allow for unfurling. ♥️♥️♥️ This is true magic, Donna! Thank you!
Cozy in and allowing for unfurling. A recipe for a magical winter hibernation to let the changes unfold! Nothing need be done but get cozy and allow.
Before I share what is prompted by this particular reflection, let me once again welcome my beloved friend Renee home, (at least to one of them, for I imagine she has stretched her sense of home in this past year to embrace much of the North American Continent)! AND.... Renee, you are welcome to our table anytime I am making chicken soup! I may start making it more often if that will entice you to come "wonder" in person with us!!
In reading today, I'm remembering something I've known about myself since I was a teenager, but haven't really noticed recently. When something becomes so familiar, we tend to stop seeing it with the conscious mind... which can only hold so much at one time. As a person with what they now refer to as a "neurodiverse" brain, when I am reading my attention gets caught on something of interest and I am temporarily unable to fully receive what is shared beyond that sentence or sentence fragment as I somewhat involuntarily mull over what has been sparked in body, mind, and heart. With the multidimensional richness I encounter in reading these reflections, it can take me several readings before I can identify and digest all that grabs my attention and inspires my own reflection. Thank you, Renee, for inviting us to learn about ourselves here, with each other. I'm not sure I fully understand where Krishnamurti is coming from when he says, ".... because if we learn about ourselves according to someone else, we learn about them, not ourselves... ". For I have experienced great learning about myself in relationship encounters. In fact, I need others and community to really fully unfold into, "...what we actually are". To paraphrase Valerie Kaur, founder of REVOLUTIONARY LOVE, and author of See No Stranger, if we are truly one in our deepest reality, then the "other" is a part of ourself "we haven't met yet".
As to the whole of this reflection, it is so rich with insight it would take me many more readings and much more time to digest than I am giving to this mornings comment. But there was one stream of thought that opened up for me that I hope to give time to in my own meditations. I have been working with Thomas Keatings "bullseye" model of levels of awareness, the outer ring being ordinary awareness (ego related... and necessary in the physical realm), the inner ring being spiritual awareness, and the bullseye being divine awareness. At this point in my life I have hope to experience my spiritual awareness more often as my physical faculties fade, and perhaps even joined with my ordinary awareness to enrich the beauty I experience in this world of substance. And though I would wish to have more influence over moments of "divine" awareness, I must surrender to what Keating suggests; that there are practices that can cultivate an open receptive presence, but it is grace that "finds us" in those fleeting moments of divine awareness that many of us experience in life and long to repeat, and ... "It can only do so when we let go—completely"!
Mary,
Thank you for welcoming me home so sweetly.
When I read how you read, it strikes me that you are reading integrally, allowing something to live in you fully. This is how we are being asked to come to the moments of our lives and unfold anew as human beings--body, heart, mind in harmony, presencing what quickens in us. The intellect can take us only so far.
You wonder about Krishnamurti, apropos: "we learn about them, not ourselves," and you very astutely and importantly bring us to the recognition that in fact we need one another to learn about ourselves. Through the Other, we meet ourselves more completely. I did not give the entire K passage, which will help here. He is talking about authority of a guru or teacher or analyst or [fill in the blank].
Here is more, and it's potent:
"If I were foolish enough to give you a system and if you were foolish enough to follow it, you would merely be copying, imitating, conforming, accepting, and when you do that you have set up in yourself the authority of another and hence, there is a conflict between you and that authority. You feel you must do such and such a thing because you have been told to do it and yet you are incapable of doing it. You have your own particular inclinations, tendencies and pressures which conflict with the system you think you ought to follow and therefore there is a contradiction. So you will lead a double life between the ideology of the system and the actuality of your daily existence. In trying to conform to the ideology, you suppress yourself--whereas what is actually true is not the ideology but what you are. If you try to study yourself according to another you will always remain a secondhand human being" (17).
He goes on: "We have always functioned within the pattern of a formula, the formula becomes the ideology and the authority; but the moment you really see that the question, 'How can I change', sets up a new authority, you have finished with authority for ever.
"Let us state it again clearly: I see that I must change completely from the roots of my being. . . ." (17–18).
Krishnamurti never sugar-coated what he offered, and he is often referred to as the "nonguru guru." He insisted that the way to liberation is through rigorous self-observation and self-inquiry, not following the way prescribed by another or a system or ideology because each of us is a creative impulse of the universe--cells in the organismic whole, each of us with a certain task of becoming that "cell's" expression.
What you share about Thomas Keating and your revelations is profound and beauty itself. May the grace of divine awareness find you in those surrendered moments of open receptive presence, Mary.
With love,
Renée
Mary,
I woke this morning to a touch more about your question, re: learning from, indeed, because of Other.
When we encounter one another fully present, which is to say, outside of ideology or systems of thought, but meeting one another *as is* from our own *as is*, we "see one another into being" in that moment, and in this way, we participate in and are necessary for the becoming of one another.
If, on the other hand, we meet one another and our meeting is permeated with dogma of one system of thought or judgment or another--what Krishnamurti is pointing to as external authority, not our own inner authority--then we constrain one another's being in that moment and therefore, one another's becoming. It takes unknowing to meet one another anew and allow one another into being.
I hope the additions here are clarifying and helpful.
I had also intended to circle back and comment on the comfort of chicken soup and how I look forward to many more bowls of wonder with you!
Mary, I appreciate your reflections here. When you were talking about your 'reading style' as a neurodiverse person I immediately thought about the richness of getting caught on a sentence and fully absorbing every sense of what is being said. Then I promptly thought of my husband, who reads the same way, and I know there is the light and shadow side to the brain reading that way because sometimes it's such a struggle for him. I love your description of it.
I was very interested in your point about the Krisnamurti reflection and it got me thinking...then Renee answered everything I had questions about. Thank you both for this beautiful depth of thinking that nurtures me at the level of my soul.
I love this, Renee! I love imagining you by the French Broad and knowing that you are experiencing loved ones in the flesh. As I'm sure I've told you, I have dedicated 2023 to invoking comfort. It has been a commitment and philosophical deep dive into the whole concept of comfort. I think it means something different for each of us. After having spent a year with it, I think, for me, comfort means faith. And faith lives in our relationship with unknown.
Jenna,
I recall that you have dedicated 2023 to invoking comfort. I note that you write "invoke" not "seek." An invocation is prayerful, and in prayerfulness we come to presence. Seeking is an endeavor to see what we set out to find. Invocation is open receptivity. Seeking is a directed search.
And here, in this invocation, what has come to you is faith . . . in the unknown, a communion with with mystery itself. Such beauty is this.
Thank you for sharing, Jenna.
With love,
Renée
Jenna... this reminds me of a quote from M. Scott Peck in The Road Less Traveled, that "faith has a necessary element of uncertainty". Having emerged out of a religious "belief" system I held to more than 25 years ago, I've been continually practicing being with the unknown, that "uncertainty", and when I am most "comfortable" with it I see no absolute except the mystery. I love "faith lives in our relationship with the unknown". I think I'll let that be my mantra today!
I know that Jenna has made this her mantra for today, and I'm here to echo:
" I see no absolute except the mystery."
I love that you two are exchanging mantras!
Thank you, Mary! 💕🤗 And I think I will make my mantra today be "I see no absolute except the mystery." I LOVE that!
Me too, Jenna, and that you two have exchanged mantras!
"faith lives in our relationship with the unknown."
“We shall not cease from exploration / And the end of all our exploring / Will be to arrive where we started / And know the place for the first time.” T.S. Elliot
Peggy,
You and Ed have given us the same passage. I love that you both come to this place. Thank you for sharing. It is a beautiful passage. Please have a look at my comment to Ed. It touches on some things that I sense will ring true for you per your comment below about what you are coming to. . . .
Renée; I knew that you would find something rich to write about despite not being on the road. What you are saying about the familiar and the desire to know it freshly as if seeing all of it anew reminds me of this quote from T.S. Elliot; "We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time." That quote gives me chills really. I'm not sure why, but perhaps it's because I get what he is saying. And it is what you are saying too. We must go out and explore; that is part of our nature, and we must also return; and hopefully upon the return we have been transformed so that the familiar is now seen with new eyes. I love you talking about how young children see and feel the world. "Watch a child squeal with glee. There is not one cell of the body untouched by this feeling. Glee rises up out of the cells themselves." How true that is as I observe my little granddaughter exploring and experiencing the world. Yes, we all tend to lose that innocence and awe as we become socialized and sadly jaded to the familiar. And wonder is what can remind us how to reconnect to that way of being in the world. Like you, nature is one of the best ways for me to reconnect with awe. I can walk the same trail over and over and never grow tired of seeing the same trees, the same rock formations, the same horizons. Rather than be bored by the familiar, when I'm out on that trail, I welcome it; for I feel connected and held by all that is present there. It's like visiting old friends. Mary Oliver says it best for me; "When I am among the trees, especially the willows and the honey locusts, equally the beech, the oaks, and the pines; they give off such hints of gladness; I would almost say that they save me and daily. I am so distant from the hope of myself, in which I have goodness and discernment, and never hurry through the world, but walk slowly and bow often. Around me, the trees stir with their leaves and call out, "Stay awhile". The light flows from their branches. And they call again, "It's simple" they say, "and you too have come here to do this; to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine." Once again, welcome home Renée.
Ed,
You and Peggy both shared this T.S. Elliot passage, which I find so enchanting. It is a beautiful passage, and it brings us to the arc of life, really. Is it not so that one of the gifts of age is the return to childlike wonder? Why is this so? What has been set aside that allows us to open to the world again with awe, touch again unbroken innocence having been broken and broken again . . . and restored? Not everyone will come to this with age. Why?
This happens for you in nature (Me too):
"Rather than be bored by the familiar, when I'm out on that trail, I welcome it; for I feel connected and held by all that is present there. It's like visiting old friends."
What in you is 'different' in nature for this to be so? What does nature call up in you? What does it quiet? I am asking these questions to sense into the heart and inner impulse of wonder. And I ask to wonder what is it that connects. Something is set aside for this inner 'hint of gladness' to come to meet the 'hints of gladness' in your old friends.
I can hear you reciting this beautiful poem. Thank you for sharing, as always.
With love,
Renée
I love everything about this. Truly, for once in my life, I'm slowly allowing myself shed layers of what you call the known to allow silence and awe to the unknown.
What an evocative way to turn the page to the next chapter.
Thank for for letting us join you Renée in your physical and awe-driven journeys.
Peggy,
Awe. You are coming to awe. Awe to the unknown. And there is something that you slipped in here which is key: allowing silence. here's a spaciousness intrinsic to awe. It comes sweeping in from a sea of inner silence meeting the silence of the world, and there, a great mystery we suddenly behold. It may be but a flash. Even so, there it is.
It's also captivating that you refer to 'layers' of the known. It's as if we become cloaked in what we believe we know. How liberating to shed clothing that keeps us from discovering the world anew.
Peggy, thank you for journeying together and for sharing.
With love,
Renée
"the way of being so close to the elements that when the wind blows, I feel the shake, and when the rain falls, I am just metalskin shy of being soaked": Your life has been a poem throughout this year of wandering and wondering, but in these first paragraphs from the "char," the apotheosis from human to poem seems especially complete. And back to human again. With your bold example, you show that it is extraordinary and worthwhile Beyond the Comfort Zone!
Tara,
Thank you for this. If this journey has shown anything, it is that life Beyond the Comfort Zone is indeed extraordinary and worthwhile. We need not be afraid. What we believe to be necessary for comfort is a gateway to self-inquiry . . . and liberation.
With love,
Renée
Beautiful and articulate Tara! I concur...
Home is where you are, and comfort is the journey.
Michael,
I have read your words several times, coming to them, stepping back into contemplation, and returning again.
We could take each phrase alone, and that would be enough. But you put them side by side with a sneaky little 'and' in there. Now comfort is a way. It is dynamic. It hinges on home, not as a place but as 'you' along this 'way'. One is not without the other. There is no comfort without being at home where you are, and there is not home without this journey, this way, this dynamic of comfort. Home is yin. Comfort is yang.
Thank you for this.
With love,
Renée
Renée; In answer to your questions about the effect nature has on me and how it allows me to be "different": When I'm walking on this trail I mentioned, I am always struck by the familiarity of the scenery, especially the rock formations that don't change. I find myself thinking how ancient those rocks are and how much longer than me they will be here as they are. It slips me into the awareness of geologic time, and how fleeting our stay is here. But rather than feel insignificant, I appreciate the brevity of our lives as compared to those rocks, and there's a certain kind of comfort I get that they will (and of course the Earth will) live on for billions of years. And as I write this, it also reminds me to truly be here while I'm here for it is such a brief moment in time. Like Mary Oliver, I have grown to deeply love trees; their incredible beauty and endurance; how they can grow so very tall and straight; how ingeniously they send nutrients all the way to their tops from their root systems; and of course how we are symbiotically connected through the exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide. In a sense, I feel welcomed by them; that they too appreciate how interconnected we are. There is no danger here; nothing to fear or worry about, as compared to being in the world. And being at ease allows me to truly be present, which then allows me to be more in wonder and awe, which is where I desire to be. I guess I feel more at home in the woods than anywhere else.
Ed,
Thank you for circling back to this and responding to my questions. I sense that the magnitude of time evinced in the rocks, the earth itself, lends a precious sense of purpose to your own life: "it also reminds me to truly be here while I'm here for it is such a brief moment of time." Nature slips you free of taken-for-grantedness and "shocks" (Gurdjieffian usage here) you into presence and fullness of being. It's quite marvelous this communion.
And on trees. I was struck by this: "how ingeniously they send nutrients all the way to their tops from their roots." And yet, they seem to be standing so still; invisible to us is this inner dynamism! And of breath we co-mingle with them: "I feel welcomed by then; that they too appreciate how interconnected we are."
Nature lending ease, ease lending presence, presence lending wonder and awe.
I can only imagine the living Earth in your presence, wonder, and awe feels at home, too. Your walks are a healing balm for all. Truly.
Your words always take me on such a journey. 🤍✨
Kaitlyn,
Thank you for sharing. This is especially reflective for me to read given that the journey has come to a stillness geographically, and so, we're in new territory!
With love,
Renée
Eating pheasant with your fingers- what a visceral and lovely description! I’m so glad you are experiencing the comfort of home while looking beyond the familiar. As someone who is very nostalgic, I definitely struggle with disillusionment and un-knowing which leads us back to the present moment and acceptance, doesn’t it? Thank you for this gentle reminder.
Mariah,
Let us eat with our fingers! Let all the senses get a taste of the experience!
Nostalgia. Thank you for bringing this to the conversation.
In nostalgia is longing.
In longing is the always possibility of longing unfulfilled. And there, disillusionment, as you say.
If we can stay with the longing itself, and the disillusionment, we come to something. Acceptance, as you say, which brings comfort, brings ease.
And then if there is longing still and we stay with it still, the longing takes us to . . . (?) There's treasure here, and it's liberating, and it's unique to each of us.
Thank you for this.
With love,
Renée
Renee, I feel you settle into the familiar, but with a fresh pair of eyes. A beautiful invitation to see things differently, not to settle with the known, but find a new route through it. As if we begin again and we see everything through the eyes of that child. With wonder, with joy, with no judgement or expectation other than to learn and soak up everything that is on offer. To be cherished and loved, held and supported, because we cannot do things on our own yet or we may fall if we are not. We begin again from a place of knowing that stirs within and allows us to breathe new life into it all. Louise x
Louise,
Thank you for your always loving words. I read your words and feel your unfailing presence. Yes, settling into the familiar wiht a fresh pair of eyes . . . with wonder! Which touches on this upcoming Sunday's post and things to come. . . .
On another note: I have not seen your own post this week. Did I miss it? I look for yours every week.
With love,
Renée
That’s so very kind Renee, I’ve struggled to finish my post this week, there have been things to work through and I’ve needed to take a pause. It’s a great comfort to know you are there. Louise x
Louise,
I celebrate you in taking the pause that calls you. May you rest in the ease of your inner wisdom. We are here with embrace when you return. . . .
With love,
Renée