"And what is beauty if not affection emptying endlessly without restraint?" I love that Renée. Where would we all be without beauty, and the ability to feel it, and see it, and be moved by it? Beauty is one of those gifts given to us like love, which also gives of itself endlessly without restraint; which is its very nature. Beauty is around us and surrounding us all the time; it's all about being receptive and filled with the desire to receive it and allow it to move us profoundly. I'm reminded of something John O'Donohue said once about beauty in his book; that one should always carry something beautiful on one's person as a reminder of the beauty all around us. And he also lamented how so many people live in places like refugee camps and prisons and giant cities without trees, who are deprived of the natural beauty of this earth, and how sad that truly is. I suppose, ultimately, that each of us must find the beauty within each of us that sustains us through times of outer despair and isolation. "I live my life in widening circle that reach across the world. I may not complete this last one, but I give myself to it. I circle around God, around the primordial tower. I've been circling for thousands of years, and I still don't know; am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song?"--Rilke. Love to you Renée.
Beauty and love . . . giving "endlessly without restraint; which is its very nature." Could it be that beauty is an expression of Love? Of Love seeing and hearing and tasting and dancing through Love? Might it be that beauty is Love's pleasure? Its bliss "in widening circles that reach across the world"?
One of my favorite poems from Rilke. Thank you for sharing your memories and reflections. I feel that call to go inward, as autumn begins to strip us of our pretense and lay bare our truest self. A gift and a vulnerability to be shared.
It is so good to read your words and to learn that this Rilke poem is one of your favorites, too. I so appreciate your attunement to the seasons, as I shared when we spoke last week. You remind us to slow down and restore our creaturely nature. You write: ". . . autumn begins to strip us of our pretense and lay bare our truest self. A gift and a vulnerability to be shared." I read your words as timeless wisdom on the digital page. We need this laying bare, this coming to our truth, and never more so than in these times. . . .
Thank you for sharing the rest of the poem, and thank you for being here this week.
Your ability to tangle and untangle words in one sentence leaves me slightly breathless with awe Renée, each and every one is wrapped in profound meaningfulness. It is not just a pleasure but a journey I take from your letter and I thank you deeply. I wish you a gentle week... x
Hi Renee, i was delighted to read that you were in my home province and that you made it to lake winnipeg, a truly wild place indeed. I know this town you speak of and have visited often. I often daydream about what it must have been like for the early settlers to have arrived on those shores. I too am in the autumnal season of life - what a great reference! Perhaps that is why i am able to easily accept the impending winter season that looms, dare i say embrace it?? I look forward to the first falling snow, hiking through quiet boreal forests, with the sound of crunching snow beneath my feet, returning to the welcoming warmth of a fire, slow mornings with a book and lighting candles at 5pm. I have been enjoying following and reading along in your adventures. Safe travels!
I'm so enchanted to read that I've been wandering around your homeland! Thank you for sharing. I often wonder if I am wandering near the homes of any of you, imagining surely I must be! I, too, daydream about the early settlers to this land. What must it have been to encounter such majesty?
When I wrote "Through Empty Branches," the day was cold and grey. When the sun shone yesterday, I was struck by how quickly it has turned slant, winter nearing. Your image of winter is an invitation. I wonder often, as you do here, if it is easier to accept, even embrace, winter as we age. The quietude, the inwardness, the penumbral light of fire. . . .
Thank you for sharing this. I'm so glad you're here.
So beautiful, Renee, thank you for your words and images! I was touched by the story of the persevering (albeit frustrated) raven. When I imagined that he finally accepted the emptiness, it reminded me of a vision I once had that spawned a ritual practice I still do from time to time. In the vision, I saw myself in a vast, churning, dark ocean. It was a metaphor for what I was experiencing in life at the time. I saw myself kicking and swimming as hard as I could, but could barely keep my head above the water. I cried out for help and a voice answered, "Stop swimming. Let yourself sink into the abyss." It felt so counterintuitive to stop paddling and just let myself fall below the surface. But I was exhausted and so I did. I watched as I became emptiness itself. It was a profound shift for me, coming to understand infinity in emptiness, and now I intentionally revisit that every now and again. I like to think that raven was having his own profound experience of emptiness in that chip baq. 🤗❤️
You so generously share an extraordinary vision . . . mystical experience . . . stirring from the depths of within, the knowing depths of the "infinity in emptiness." It is an honor to receive your words.
A dark, churning ocean; the struggle to stay afloat, to continue "to be"; your cry for help; the answer; your response to the answer so counter to logic; your surrender; your becoming the infinite emptiness . . . within the oceanic abyss. . . .
Memories blending like a bouquet, one touching the other. This mingling can be a comfort or a curse. There are times we want to snap the memory in a shot to keep forever, that it may never be lost or dulled. But that's not how the journey works. Your trip across our two countries will leave a lasting impression, from the people and the land, and from that amalgamation, a new you will emerge. Just as a new me emerges every day but I fail to notice. May I allow the blend of my memories create a softer, yet fuller, person.
You show us something here: "There are times we want to snap the memory in a shot to keep forever, that it may never be lost or dulled. But that's not how the journey works."
You touch on our human desire to hold on, to capture, to linger, and at the base of this impulse: to cling. "But that's not how the journey works." Neither on the road or in life. The seasons show us the intrinsic nature of letting go, which, is not so much a resolve (i.e., "Just let it go") but a willing "letting come," an outpouring into the flow of life itself into what continues to unfold--much as a river empties into a sea . . . into mist into clouds into rain and snow into streams and rivers and . . .
Incredible wordsmith and insight from such an artist. I look forward to every one of your submissions. You are so very brave to travel and open our eyes to this natural world that we may never see for ourselves . Gratitude and awe!
We never know where our written words go or the experience of another receiving them.
And it has been an unexpected delight of this journey for it to become "our eyes to this natural world." Thank you for sharing. I'm so glad you're here.
My first reading of any of your words. I was transported by your beautiful lyrical words. Thank you for enriching my morning through your memories and the details catching your eye.
Old Cabell Hall at UVA? I’ve been there a number of times in the 1970s and 80s. Best memories include participating in the Messiah Sing Along - with full orchestra and people who could really sing. This happened each year in early December. I warbled along in the alto section, which led off the night’s performance with And the Glory, the glory of the Lord, shall be revealed...
I was deaf in one ear at that time and knew that the other ear was at risk. So to sing portions of the Messiah and listen to And the Trumpet Shall Sound was a great gift. I did lose the rest of my hearing, overnight, in 1996. But I still sing And the Glory to myself. Often. 🎶
How enchanting to learn that you know Old Cabell Hall. The intertwining threads of our connection. . . .
I spent ten years in Charlottesville, beginning in the late 80s. I would love to have met you there and to hear this performance. And I'm so glad to know that you still sing the Glory . . . and often!
Renee, I find myself wanting to share a little more of what happens when I come here, I remind myself that this vulnerability is for the benefit of others. I circle back a few times before the words come, I grow impatient, frustrated when the answer again is not yet. I’m late, I cry! People are waiting for me. There’s time, there’s always time. What if I’m not allowed to speak? You can speak.
We circle back many times in life, we become impatient, sometimes we have to leave when we don’t want to, so that we can return, like the little boy. We have to be in the void, experience the emptiness, the stillness, the solitude to know that these spaces are where the nuggets of gold are located. We have to experience loss, to know what we gain and that time is not ours to imprison. So the circle continues. With appreciation Louise x
Indeed, what is shared here is for the benefit of others.
These questions that surface, the loving responses: Yes, there's always time. Yes, "you can speak."
I wish to highlight some of what you write:
"We have to be in the void, experience the emptiness, the stillness, the solitude to know that these spaces are where the nuggets of gold are located. We have to experience loss, to know what we gain and that time is not ours to imprison. So the circle continues."
If I add words to your profound understandings, I risk diminishing what you have shared, and so, I quietly say no more today . . .
I loved the little glimpse into your memories through your present, and, oh, that raven! I think I pictured every hop. Your words have somehow captured the very spirit of deciduity in this post! I hope the weather holds long enough that you can see the Ottawa River and maybe even the St. Lawrence!
Sometimes saying that a comment has drawn a sweet and lingering smile across my face is the only response worth words. This is so, imagining you imagining the raven. Thank you.
Yes. Thank you for turning my lake-seeking attention to rivers. . . .
Thank you. Yes, I could have lingered in Banff and the Northern Rockies for a lifetime. But perhaps I do/am. I wonder sometimes as I wander if being "there" necessitates "being there."
So good to see you here this week (and my reply to your lovely email is forthcoming!).
I’ve been pondering this wonder about “there” and “being there.” Many thoughts stir, recollections lived in the body itself, a memory in a place recalling an image or sound or emotion. And then that someone else can visit a place and “deliver” it to others in images and words. . . .
Neuroscience would try to explain it. Psychology would try to explain it. Neither could do so completely because they would be looking from the outside in.
Thank you for your kind words about the recent contemplations.
"And what is beauty if not affection emptying endlessly without restraint?" I love that Renée. Where would we all be without beauty, and the ability to feel it, and see it, and be moved by it? Beauty is one of those gifts given to us like love, which also gives of itself endlessly without restraint; which is its very nature. Beauty is around us and surrounding us all the time; it's all about being receptive and filled with the desire to receive it and allow it to move us profoundly. I'm reminded of something John O'Donohue said once about beauty in his book; that one should always carry something beautiful on one's person as a reminder of the beauty all around us. And he also lamented how so many people live in places like refugee camps and prisons and giant cities without trees, who are deprived of the natural beauty of this earth, and how sad that truly is. I suppose, ultimately, that each of us must find the beauty within each of us that sustains us through times of outer despair and isolation. "I live my life in widening circle that reach across the world. I may not complete this last one, but I give myself to it. I circle around God, around the primordial tower. I've been circling for thousands of years, and I still don't know; am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song?"--Rilke. Love to you Renée.
Ed,
Beauty and love . . . giving "endlessly without restraint; which is its very nature." Could it be that beauty is an expression of Love? Of Love seeing and hearing and tasting and dancing through Love? Might it be that beauty is Love's pleasure? Its bliss "in widening circles that reach across the world"?
Thank you for this, Ed. Much to wonder. . .
With love,
Renée
“Through the empty branches the sky remains.
It is what you have.
Be earth now, and evensong.
Be the ground lying under that sky.”
One of my favorite poems from Rilke. Thank you for sharing your memories and reflections. I feel that call to go inward, as autumn begins to strip us of our pretense and lay bare our truest self. A gift and a vulnerability to be shared.
Dear Mariah,
It is so good to read your words and to learn that this Rilke poem is one of your favorites, too. I so appreciate your attunement to the seasons, as I shared when we spoke last week. You remind us to slow down and restore our creaturely nature. You write: ". . . autumn begins to strip us of our pretense and lay bare our truest self. A gift and a vulnerability to be shared." I read your words as timeless wisdom on the digital page. We need this laying bare, this coming to our truth, and never more so than in these times. . . .
Thank you for sharing the rest of the poem, and thank you for being here this week.
With love,
Renée
Your ability to tangle and untangle words in one sentence leaves me slightly breathless with awe Renée, each and every one is wrapped in profound meaningfulness. It is not just a pleasure but a journey I take from your letter and I thank you deeply. I wish you a gentle week... x
To tangle and untangle words - nicely said! Just dancing and dancing for the love of it.
". . . for the love of it."
Yes.
Susie,
Your own wordsmithing has me dazzled. And with all manner of being, I thank you for your kind words. So glad to come to know you.
With love,
Renée
Hi Renee, i was delighted to read that you were in my home province and that you made it to lake winnipeg, a truly wild place indeed. I know this town you speak of and have visited often. I often daydream about what it must have been like for the early settlers to have arrived on those shores. I too am in the autumnal season of life - what a great reference! Perhaps that is why i am able to easily accept the impending winter season that looms, dare i say embrace it?? I look forward to the first falling snow, hiking through quiet boreal forests, with the sound of crunching snow beneath my feet, returning to the welcoming warmth of a fire, slow mornings with a book and lighting candles at 5pm. I have been enjoying following and reading along in your adventures. Safe travels!
Jacquie,
I'm so enchanted to read that I've been wandering around your homeland! Thank you for sharing. I often wonder if I am wandering near the homes of any of you, imagining surely I must be! I, too, daydream about the early settlers to this land. What must it have been to encounter such majesty?
When I wrote "Through Empty Branches," the day was cold and grey. When the sun shone yesterday, I was struck by how quickly it has turned slant, winter nearing. Your image of winter is an invitation. I wonder often, as you do here, if it is easier to accept, even embrace, winter as we age. The quietude, the inwardness, the penumbral light of fire. . . .
Thank you for sharing this. I'm so glad you're here.
(P.S. I shall light a candle at 5 today.)
With love,
Renée
So beautiful, Renee, thank you for your words and images! I was touched by the story of the persevering (albeit frustrated) raven. When I imagined that he finally accepted the emptiness, it reminded me of a vision I once had that spawned a ritual practice I still do from time to time. In the vision, I saw myself in a vast, churning, dark ocean. It was a metaphor for what I was experiencing in life at the time. I saw myself kicking and swimming as hard as I could, but could barely keep my head above the water. I cried out for help and a voice answered, "Stop swimming. Let yourself sink into the abyss." It felt so counterintuitive to stop paddling and just let myself fall below the surface. But I was exhausted and so I did. I watched as I became emptiness itself. It was a profound shift for me, coming to understand infinity in emptiness, and now I intentionally revisit that every now and again. I like to think that raven was having his own profound experience of emptiness in that chip baq. 🤗❤️
Dear Jenna,
You so generously share an extraordinary vision . . . mystical experience . . . stirring from the depths of within, the knowing depths of the "infinity in emptiness." It is an honor to receive your words.
A dark, churning ocean; the struggle to stay afloat, to continue "to be"; your cry for help; the answer; your response to the answer so counter to logic; your surrender; your becoming the infinite emptiness . . . within the oceanic abyss. . . .
I refrain from further words
except thank you, and
With love,
Renée
Memories blending like a bouquet, one touching the other. This mingling can be a comfort or a curse. There are times we want to snap the memory in a shot to keep forever, that it may never be lost or dulled. But that's not how the journey works. Your trip across our two countries will leave a lasting impression, from the people and the land, and from that amalgamation, a new you will emerge. Just as a new me emerges every day but I fail to notice. May I allow the blend of my memories create a softer, yet fuller, person.
Thank you Renee❤
Donna,
You show us something here: "There are times we want to snap the memory in a shot to keep forever, that it may never be lost or dulled. But that's not how the journey works."
You touch on our human desire to hold on, to capture, to linger, and at the base of this impulse: to cling. "But that's not how the journey works." Neither on the road or in life. The seasons show us the intrinsic nature of letting go, which, is not so much a resolve (i.e., "Just let it go") but a willing "letting come," an outpouring into the flow of life itself into what continues to unfold--much as a river empties into a sea . . . into mist into clouds into rain and snow into streams and rivers and . . .
Thank you for this.
With love,
Renée
Gorgeous words my friend❤️
Incredible wordsmith and insight from such an artist. I look forward to every one of your submissions. You are so very brave to travel and open our eyes to this natural world that we may never see for ourselves . Gratitude and awe!
Ann,
Gratitude and awe for your kind words!
We never know where our written words go or the experience of another receiving them.
And it has been an unexpected delight of this journey for it to become "our eyes to this natural world." Thank you for sharing. I'm so glad you're here.
With love,
Renée
My first reading of any of your words. I was transported by your beautiful lyrical words. Thank you for enriching my morning through your memories and the details catching your eye.
Jen,
Thank you for taking the moment to share and for your kind words. I am absolutely delighted that you are here--mutual enrichment!
With love,
Renée
Old Cabell Hall at UVA? I’ve been there a number of times in the 1970s and 80s. Best memories include participating in the Messiah Sing Along - with full orchestra and people who could really sing. This happened each year in early December. I warbled along in the alto section, which led off the night’s performance with And the Glory, the glory of the Lord, shall be revealed...
I was deaf in one ear at that time and knew that the other ear was at risk. So to sing portions of the Messiah and listen to And the Trumpet Shall Sound was a great gift. I did lose the rest of my hearing, overnight, in 1996. But I still sing And the Glory to myself. Often. 🎶
Michie,
How enchanting to learn that you know Old Cabell Hall. The intertwining threads of our connection. . . .
I spent ten years in Charlottesville, beginning in the late 80s. I would love to have met you there and to hear this performance. And I'm so glad to know that you still sing the Glory . . . and often!
Thank you for sharing. 🙏
With love,
Renée
Renee, I find myself wanting to share a little more of what happens when I come here, I remind myself that this vulnerability is for the benefit of others. I circle back a few times before the words come, I grow impatient, frustrated when the answer again is not yet. I’m late, I cry! People are waiting for me. There’s time, there’s always time. What if I’m not allowed to speak? You can speak.
We circle back many times in life, we become impatient, sometimes we have to leave when we don’t want to, so that we can return, like the little boy. We have to be in the void, experience the emptiness, the stillness, the solitude to know that these spaces are where the nuggets of gold are located. We have to experience loss, to know what we gain and that time is not ours to imprison. So the circle continues. With appreciation Louise x
Louise,
Indeed, what is shared here is for the benefit of others.
These questions that surface, the loving responses: Yes, there's always time. Yes, "you can speak."
I wish to highlight some of what you write:
"We have to be in the void, experience the emptiness, the stillness, the solitude to know that these spaces are where the nuggets of gold are located. We have to experience loss, to know what we gain and that time is not ours to imprison. So the circle continues."
If I add words to your profound understandings, I risk diminishing what you have shared, and so, I quietly say no more today . . .
except, Thank you, and
With love,
Renée
I loved the little glimpse into your memories through your present, and, oh, that raven! I think I pictured every hop. Your words have somehow captured the very spirit of deciduity in this post! I hope the weather holds long enough that you can see the Ottawa River and maybe even the St. Lawrence!
Tara,
Sometimes saying that a comment has drawn a sweet and lingering smile across my face is the only response worth words. This is so, imagining you imagining the raven. Thank you.
Yes. Thank you for turning my lake-seeking attention to rivers. . . .
With love,
Renée
Safar,
Thank you. Yes, I could have lingered in Banff and the Northern Rockies for a lifetime. But perhaps I do/am. I wonder sometimes as I wander if being "there" necessitates "being there."
So good to see you here this week (and my reply to your lovely email is forthcoming!).
With love,
Renée
Safar,
I’ve been pondering this wonder about “there” and “being there.” Many thoughts stir, recollections lived in the body itself, a memory in a place recalling an image or sound or emotion. And then that someone else can visit a place and “deliver” it to others in images and words. . . .
Neuroscience would try to explain it. Psychology would try to explain it. Neither could do so completely because they would be looking from the outside in.
Thank you for your kind words about the recent contemplations.