Morning fog hangs thick and soupy over Bodega Bay where I have landed for a few days. Every ten seconds or so, a foghorn sounds in the distance, a melodic heartbeat, punctuated now and again by the throaty croak of an elephant seal pup. Seagulls salt the dark gray sky. And goldfinches––males bright yellow of breast this time of year––bounce from thistle to vine, then dive into dense, marshy brush.
Renee; As I said, you are increasingly becoming more poetic as you explore life around you, and I love reading your entries even more. You could say that poetry is the only true way to view and describe this magical planet we live on. I love this question you posed: "Might living as if all is holy make of the things and places and lives we touch more worthy of our care?" All is truly holy depending on how you view it and are moved by it. Even the desecration I might add, though that is a hard one to wrap my head around. It's all part of the whole; all of life and all the behaviors of humans, even the misguided ones that lead to desecration and harm to others and the planet. If I can reside in that belief, then nothing is not holy, for all is from the Source, even our ignorance. It's that sense that joy and suffering are inseparable here in our existence, and surrendering to that truth leads to acceptance of all of it, even the desecration which stems from our inescapable wounding as these vulnerable human creatures. From there compassion can flow for everyone, and I'd say, even more so for those deeply wounded beings who out of their wounds desecrate life around them. As always, here's a poem for this day; about turning to the natural world when one is lost in fear, to remember that all is holy: "When despair for the world grows in me, and I wake in the night at the least sound, in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be; I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things, who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water, and feel above me the day blind stars waiting with their light. For a time, I rest in the grace of the world, and I'm free."
You venture where I was only brave enough to tiptoe. Thank you. You write: "All is truly holy depending on how you view it and are moved by it. Even the desecration I might add, though that is a hard one to wrap my head around. It's all part of the whole; all of life and all the behaviors of humans, even the misguided ones that lead to desecration and harm to others and the planet. If I can reside in that belief, then nothing is not holy, for all is from the Source, even our ignorance."
Nothing that I say could add more poignantly to what you have shared.
And then, Wendell Berry.
A wonderful touch on this week's Morning Note.
"For a time, I rest in the grace of the world, and I'm free."
Thank you for sharing, @Martino Dibeltulo Concu !
Renee; As I said, you are increasingly becoming more poetic as you explore life around you, and I love reading your entries even more. You could say that poetry is the only true way to view and describe this magical planet we live on. I love this question you posed: "Might living as if all is holy make of the things and places and lives we touch more worthy of our care?" All is truly holy depending on how you view it and are moved by it. Even the desecration I might add, though that is a hard one to wrap my head around. It's all part of the whole; all of life and all the behaviors of humans, even the misguided ones that lead to desecration and harm to others and the planet. If I can reside in that belief, then nothing is not holy, for all is from the Source, even our ignorance. It's that sense that joy and suffering are inseparable here in our existence, and surrendering to that truth leads to acceptance of all of it, even the desecration which stems from our inescapable wounding as these vulnerable human creatures. From there compassion can flow for everyone, and I'd say, even more so for those deeply wounded beings who out of their wounds desecrate life around them. As always, here's a poem for this day; about turning to the natural world when one is lost in fear, to remember that all is holy: "When despair for the world grows in me, and I wake in the night at the least sound, in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be; I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things, who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water, and feel above me the day blind stars waiting with their light. For a time, I rest in the grace of the world, and I'm free."
...Wendell Berry.
Dear Ed,
You venture where I was only brave enough to tiptoe. Thank you. You write: "All is truly holy depending on how you view it and are moved by it. Even the desecration I might add, though that is a hard one to wrap my head around. It's all part of the whole; all of life and all the behaviors of humans, even the misguided ones that lead to desecration and harm to others and the planet. If I can reside in that belief, then nothing is not holy, for all is from the Source, even our ignorance."
Nothing that I say could add more poignantly to what you have shared.
And then, Wendell Berry.
A wonderful touch on this week's Morning Note.
"For a time, I rest in the grace of the world, and I'm free."
With love,
Renée