As I bade my mind to be silent, and read your words, and view your images, I feel my heart open and I enter my body fully. The “I” that enters is who/what?? ….. the bird song, twisted pulp, root and vein webs, death, life’s pulse, kindness, otters, pain and sorrow, guilt, aroma of coffee, all at-once-ing in and through me as yes, “the heart’s intimacy with all things,” and my body with yours, and ours. 💞
Toni, what heartfelt joy "we-one-ing" these words. I'll say no more so as not to abandon the mutual presencing, except gratitude to you and that such connection/encounters do happen on the page. 🙏💖
I love the quiet meditative feel of this, like Rilke’s “widening circles” around a primordial center. Thank you for your welcome. I had a sense, two days after the election, that it’s time once again for more soul work. These summons come in waves, following disruptions or great loss. Grief softens and cracks open my surface engagement with the world.
Julie, it is so good to share in this inner impulse/understanding with you that it's time for more soul work. It may indeed be the Great Work (Thomas Berry) called up from the depths of these disruptions and great loss, the grief an opening.
It is, by the way, a great treasure to have stumbled upon your line-by-line of the prayer of St. Francis, and so exquisitely timed. Thank you.
Once again, dear Renée, thou hast found the (lost?) words that grasp "the inarticulable with the articulable", to quote...well, you. I came out of a dream this morning that was set in jagged snippets of my past--disjointed, jangling, disturbing, painful. As I read and re-read your letter I felt the stark truth of your footnote, "The accumulation of losses presses at the soul, the deepest dimensions of our being, and can no longer be denied by the willfulness of the conditioned mind." I also felt relief and comfort. Bless you and your words.
Becky, permit me first to offer tenderness toward those disturbing, painful waking moments. They are heart-wrenching, and I don't know about you, but for me, they can imbue an entire day, a week, or more with what they have come to reveal. Thank you for reading the footnotes. How this one reached into your dream state, perhaps no, to use your phrase, "coinky-dinky" (coincidence). I am glad you were relieved and comforted. Thank you for sharing this here.
Veronika, you know the stunned silence of such devastation firsthand, the longing of the land and people as one breathing body. I recall the extensive wildfires in the Yukon when I was there last autumn, wondering what it was like for the trees, the effort to breathe, wondering what it was like when fire ran up their bark. It was just days before Helene that I heard of the wildfires in Portugal from you, and then my son called, telling me he had been evacuated from his home because of the fires there where you are.
". . . the tender togetherness of shared suffering."
I hold you and your loved ones in this tenderness. The psyche/soul does not quickly move from such suffering shared with the land.
Thank you Renée. Also for sharing your experience and wonderings with the fire.
I had similar responses to the experience of the trees, later focusing on the earth herself, because in the 2017 fire the soil was being 'cremated' too.
'Such suffering shared with the land' stays with us, as you say. People try to move on and go somewhere else, to get away from their suffering, I guess. I don't think it works like that.
My heart goes out to all who share the experience of devastation, through storms, flooding and burning (not to mention the unimaginable suffering of manmade violence and wars)
Holly, thank you. Such appreciation this moment for the fact of connection across these concentric circles, which seems borne of the naked truth of shared sorrow and longing.
What a magnificent white wonder! Awe that softens words into silence. What is there to say? Lets let our hearts articulate the sorrow, this alchemy of togetherness.
Mary, it does, and its own life, as you know unimaginably well. I read your piece, "Lifeboat." I wished to offer a few words in response, and even still, a bubble wells up in my throat and tears brim the lids. I am mother to three adult sons. Thank you for "Lifeboat."
As I bade my mind to be silent, and read your words, and view your images, I feel my heart open and I enter my body fully. The “I” that enters is who/what?? ….. the bird song, twisted pulp, root and vein webs, death, life’s pulse, kindness, otters, pain and sorrow, guilt, aroma of coffee, all at-once-ing in and through me as yes, “the heart’s intimacy with all things,” and my body with yours, and ours. 💞
Toni, what heartfelt joy "we-one-ing" these words. I'll say no more so as not to abandon the mutual presencing, except gratitude to you and that such connection/encounters do happen on the page. 🙏💖
I love the quiet meditative feel of this, like Rilke’s “widening circles” around a primordial center. Thank you for your welcome. I had a sense, two days after the election, that it’s time once again for more soul work. These summons come in waves, following disruptions or great loss. Grief softens and cracks open my surface engagement with the world.
Julie, it is so good to share in this inner impulse/understanding with you that it's time for more soul work. It may indeed be the Great Work (Thomas Berry) called up from the depths of these disruptions and great loss, the grief an opening.
It is, by the way, a great treasure to have stumbled upon your line-by-line of the prayer of St. Francis, and so exquisitely timed. Thank you.
I have to thanks Kimberly Warner for suggesting I read your piece(s) on hope. Well met, fellow traveler. 🤍
Once again, dear Renée, thou hast found the (lost?) words that grasp "the inarticulable with the articulable", to quote...well, you. I came out of a dream this morning that was set in jagged snippets of my past--disjointed, jangling, disturbing, painful. As I read and re-read your letter I felt the stark truth of your footnote, "The accumulation of losses presses at the soul, the deepest dimensions of our being, and can no longer be denied by the willfulness of the conditioned mind." I also felt relief and comfort. Bless you and your words.
Becky, permit me first to offer tenderness toward those disturbing, painful waking moments. They are heart-wrenching, and I don't know about you, but for me, they can imbue an entire day, a week, or more with what they have come to reveal. Thank you for reading the footnotes. How this one reached into your dream state, perhaps no, to use your phrase, "coinky-dinky" (coincidence). I am glad you were relieved and comforted. Thank you for sharing this here.
The sorrow — the stunned silence — the stillness after the storm — a soft and silvery silence — the tender togetherness in shared suffering.
A familiar experience from firestorm and wildfires I have witnessed in Portugal ~ the land of Saudade.
A profound piece of writing to savour and save. Thank you Renée
Veronika, you know the stunned silence of such devastation firsthand, the longing of the land and people as one breathing body. I recall the extensive wildfires in the Yukon when I was there last autumn, wondering what it was like for the trees, the effort to breathe, wondering what it was like when fire ran up their bark. It was just days before Helene that I heard of the wildfires in Portugal from you, and then my son called, telling me he had been evacuated from his home because of the fires there where you are.
". . . the tender togetherness of shared suffering."
I hold you and your loved ones in this tenderness. The psyche/soul does not quickly move from such suffering shared with the land.
Thank you Renée. Also for sharing your experience and wonderings with the fire.
I had similar responses to the experience of the trees, later focusing on the earth herself, because in the 2017 fire the soil was being 'cremated' too.
'Such suffering shared with the land' stays with us, as you say. People try to move on and go somewhere else, to get away from their suffering, I guess. I don't think it works like that.
My heart goes out to all who share the experience of devastation, through storms, flooding and burning (not to mention the unimaginable suffering of manmade violence and wars)
Thank you for the journey into silence. The transitional photos captured the journey.
Doreen, thank you. . . 🙏
Thank you for this gorgeous collection, this remembering of the trees and the people peopling as we do in times of tragedy, Renee.
I, too, was touched by the concentric circles of these offerings and conversations.
May we people better in all times and as we grieve for loss of trees.
Holly, thank you. Such appreciation this moment for the fact of connection across these concentric circles, which seems borne of the naked truth of shared sorrow and longing.
What a magnificent white wonder! Awe that softens words into silence. What is there to say? Lets let our hearts articulate the sorrow, this alchemy of togetherness.
Julie,
Your words have the effect of "let our hearts articulate the sorrow, this alchemy of togetherness." Then, comes silence, a stillness.
Thank you.
Beauty amidst the sorrow.
I read your words, Donna, and what came was the word, grace.
Such peace, such beauty...TY
Brenda, thank *you* as always, for your presence.
Joining you in the blooming silence with deep gratitude. 🙏
It is wonderful to meet you in silence, Kimberly.
Grief has its own voice. Renèe, moving essay with my thanks for the mention. xo ~Mary
Mary, it does, and its own life, as you know unimaginably well. I read your piece, "Lifeboat." I wished to offer a few words in response, and even still, a bubble wells up in my throat and tears brim the lids. I am mother to three adult sons. Thank you for "Lifeboat."
Blessings, dear virtual friend, who helped me this day.
Likewise. . .
Thanks Renee. I pulled the images over me like a blanket to warm my spirit.
Ohhhhh, Michael, what a warm image you have returned in kind. Thank you.