As I sit to pen this letter, a swell of feeling surfaces. I have been combing through a few thousand images over these holidays to compile a collection for you as a year-end gift.
Life ushers us at every turn beyond the comfort zone, doesn't it--a place we may come to question "the value of living." You show us this in a few short words, and I thank you, because I suspect there are many today who, if they were honest, would echo what you share. Life on Earth this very moment is calling up the shared depths of human soul.
An experience comes to mind: Last year, Christmas Eve, I took a long walk on a desert prairie in New Mexico. The trail promised to circle back to the beginning, but as the afternoon wore on and daylight began to dim and the air began quickly to get colder and colder still, I began to wonder if the trail was, in fact, going to circle back or keep going to the beyond! I became afraid. If I turned back, I would not make it to the beginning before nightfall. The way was too long. The only way was through the tunnel of my own fear and loneliness. I marched on, the sunlight promising to disappear on the horizon soon. Just as it hovered on the fine line between day and night, it cast its final rays across desert grasses two and three feet tall, a plumage of flower at every tip. In a flash--there is no other way to say it--the entire expanse of Earth between horizon and me was illuminated through those tiny flower tips, creating across the prairie the sense of fairly lights everywhere as far as the eye could see. The light show came as a gift, not because it promised to illuminate the way but because in that moment of utter loneliness, it shone--that's all--and captured me in awe. I began to sing, and birds I had not seen suddenly became aflutter--whether by the fact that I could not carry a tune (!) or, I suspected then, to say, "Here we are. You are not alone."
An "intimate communion of thought". That is a lovely phrase and concept. I guess I would add of beauty and of heart as well. For that is what you have created Renée and it is attracting more and more people who long for that communion. Whenever one endeavors to put something important out there, it's always a risk that it won't land and bear fruit the way one intends. But I think the risk is always worth it because the intention is what really matters; the intention to share and deeply connect with the other. We all tend to be rather risk averse; often stemming from feeling unworthy or inadequate, telling ourselves no one will care what we do, or it won't be good enough. Our lifetime "friend", the critical voice, always ready to pounce and deprive us of our birthright. So, taking the risk anyway is the key, and remembering that it really is the intention that matters, not the result of our desired actions. Thank you for initiating this communion and continuing to offer your deeper thoughts, wisdom and beauty. The photos are stunning; worthy of a gallery for sure. A great gift. "There is a community of the spirit; join it..." from Rumi.
Thank you for these beautiful reflections on communion, on intention and risk. As I read as we all do about New Year's resolutions, I come to your words with appreciation for the wisdom in "taking the risk anyway . . . remembering that it really is the intention that matters, not the result of our desired actions."
These words point us to deep inner work that has something to show, which may not be what we go in search of but what we are guided to know and live by the fact that we are vulnerable.
I join you in community of the spirit and with thanksgiving.
Thank you for your always heartfelt treasures and gifts in words and images Renée. I will wish you gentle new days as the new year begins its cycle - that joy and wonder can be found in each and every one.
Your words and wishes are a treasure, and I receive them with gratitude: "that joy and wonder can be found in each and every [day]." May you be so blessed, too, dear friend.
Thank you for sharing. I'm so glad you walked through the doorway into the gallery and found beauty. I recall that you were in Alaska this past summer. . . .
Thank you for strolling through the gallery and sharing here. I am glad these images touched you. There has lived in me a sense of responsibility to reveal what I encountered in places that most of us will never see. It is almost as if the wildness itself has urged, "Please share. It is our only way." My sense since the Arctic trek especially has been that Nature is begging to be known as a voiceless voice pleading for our care. And so, thank YOU for sharing.
This helped me see the value of living again. Thank you :)
Dear Star,
I am glad you are here.
Life ushers us at every turn beyond the comfort zone, doesn't it--a place we may come to question "the value of living." You show us this in a few short words, and I thank you, because I suspect there are many today who, if they were honest, would echo what you share. Life on Earth this very moment is calling up the shared depths of human soul.
An experience comes to mind: Last year, Christmas Eve, I took a long walk on a desert prairie in New Mexico. The trail promised to circle back to the beginning, but as the afternoon wore on and daylight began to dim and the air began quickly to get colder and colder still, I began to wonder if the trail was, in fact, going to circle back or keep going to the beyond! I became afraid. If I turned back, I would not make it to the beginning before nightfall. The way was too long. The only way was through the tunnel of my own fear and loneliness. I marched on, the sunlight promising to disappear on the horizon soon. Just as it hovered on the fine line between day and night, it cast its final rays across desert grasses two and three feet tall, a plumage of flower at every tip. In a flash--there is no other way to say it--the entire expanse of Earth between horizon and me was illuminated through those tiny flower tips, creating across the prairie the sense of fairly lights everywhere as far as the eye could see. The light show came as a gift, not because it promised to illuminate the way but because in that moment of utter loneliness, it shone--that's all--and captured me in awe. I began to sing, and birds I had not seen suddenly became aflutter--whether by the fact that I could not carry a tune (!) or, I suspected then, to say, "Here we are. You are not alone."
With love,
Renée
An "intimate communion of thought". That is a lovely phrase and concept. I guess I would add of beauty and of heart as well. For that is what you have created Renée and it is attracting more and more people who long for that communion. Whenever one endeavors to put something important out there, it's always a risk that it won't land and bear fruit the way one intends. But I think the risk is always worth it because the intention is what really matters; the intention to share and deeply connect with the other. We all tend to be rather risk averse; often stemming from feeling unworthy or inadequate, telling ourselves no one will care what we do, or it won't be good enough. Our lifetime "friend", the critical voice, always ready to pounce and deprive us of our birthright. So, taking the risk anyway is the key, and remembering that it really is the intention that matters, not the result of our desired actions. Thank you for initiating this communion and continuing to offer your deeper thoughts, wisdom and beauty. The photos are stunning; worthy of a gallery for sure. A great gift. "There is a community of the spirit; join it..." from Rumi.
Dear Ed,
Thank you for these beautiful reflections on communion, on intention and risk. As I read as we all do about New Year's resolutions, I come to your words with appreciation for the wisdom in "taking the risk anyway . . . remembering that it really is the intention that matters, not the result of our desired actions."
These words point us to deep inner work that has something to show, which may not be what we go in search of but what we are guided to know and live by the fact that we are vulnerable.
I join you in community of the spirit and with thanksgiving.
With love,
Renée
Thank you for your always heartfelt treasures and gifts in words and images Renée. I will wish you gentle new days as the new year begins its cycle - that joy and wonder can be found in each and every one.
I send you love and peace 🕊️xx
Susie,
Your words and wishes are a treasure, and I receive them with gratitude: "that joy and wonder can be found in each and every [day]." May you be so blessed, too, dear friend.
With love to you and yours,
Renée
What a gorgeous gift and I love how it's accessed through the door handle above. So creative and inventive, Renée. Just beautiful!❤️🙏🕊
Dear Camilla,
Thank you for sharing. I'm so glad you walked through the doorway into the gallery and found beauty. I recall that you were in Alaska this past summer. . . .
With love,
Renée
Behind the virtual door awaits an exquisite treasure of photographs. Thank you for curating this virtual gallery for your readers!
Laura,
Thank you for strolling through the gallery and sharing here. I am glad these images touched you. There has lived in me a sense of responsibility to reveal what I encountered in places that most of us will never see. It is almost as if the wildness itself has urged, "Please share. It is our only way." My sense since the Arctic trek especially has been that Nature is begging to be known as a voiceless voice pleading for our care. And so, thank YOU for sharing.
With love,
Renée