Susie, overwhelming yes. It is as if the ego structure does not know how to take it in. And yet, the beauty touches the sensate being so profoundly so, so synasthetically, that it cannot be denied, and what are we to do but let ourselves be swept along in the aliveness. John O'Donohue writes, "In the transfiguration of the sensuous, the wildness of eros and the playfulness of the soul come into lyrical rhythm.” We slip beyond the either/or of our mental constructs and into the creative flux of all that is. It is almost forbidden to say this, but in a certain context, that being that this event has now been deemed a "geologic" event, given the enormity of changes to the landscape (almost 1900 landslides, rivers flowing now in new patterns, etc.) . . . we *experience* the geologic as a creative force and humble our place in the Great Unfolding. . . .
(I read your beautiful piece on prayer last night and am holding it in contemplation. It is a beautiful piece, and I will comment soon.)
The images are splendid, as are your few sentences. I find elegance in the linguistic economy with which you write. I'm always amazed by how much you say in such few words. Thank you, dear Renée.
“The lived world of one is on a primordial level the lived world of us all.” I understand the tendency toward this belief. It resonates with me, even while I do understand how vastly different our experiences are. It’s hard to put into words how both can be true at once, and yet it somehow feels so.
Thank you as always for your thought-provoking offering.
My sense is that the deep inner knowing that this is so, that on a primordial level my lived world, your lived world, is the lived world of us all, touches at the inner yearning to connect, at the inner impulse toward intimacy in life itself.
Dear Renée, I pray you continue to find solace in natures ever glorious gifts in the days to follow for they are plentiful and are there for each of us in times when the enormity of events overwhelms. That you may be still and find stillness in this loud, unpredictable world... (this morning I pray anew for so many lost in yet another weather phenomenon still revealing the loss of life and damage in Spain) I too will take a long walk, maybe sit a while just to be still.
Dear Susie, thank you, and I do continue to find solace in the grandeur of nature, even as we mourn now for and with those in Spain. . . .
I have a sense that the natural world feels held in our embrace when we walk, when we sit, when we pause when a bird lifts into flight, a leaf falls, a grasshopper lands near the toes; when fat raindrops gather our attention and, so, too the mist; when we know because we recall that we are stardust. Thank you for your love and prayers.
Renée; The photos are lovely. It's so beautiful, yet so strange in a way, to see all the beauty of the fall colors around me, while the devastation remains so vivid in my mind and experience. As appreciative as I always am of the gorgeous colors this time of year, it adds a certain poignance this time, which I find bittersweet. All this beauty and all this suffering at the same time. I almost feel guilty enjoying the beauty around me when there is so much suffering as well. In a way, though, isn't that truly what life is for humans; the light and the shadow always together; always present? We surely prefer the light, but like every duality, you need the shadow to have the light. At least that is so on this plane of existence where duality reigns. So, my belief is to try and enjoy the light whenever you can; and knowing that the shadow is always present can actually enhance your experience of the light. Mary Oliver says this about light and shadow: "If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don't hesitate, give into it. There are plenty of people and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not very wise and not often kind, but life has some possibility left. Perhaps that's its way of fighting back; that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It can be anything, but most likely you notice it the instant when love begins. Anyway, that's often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don't be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not meant to be a crumb."
Dear Ed, "All this beauty and all this suffering at the same time." Both are true. Both are always true. Are they not? It seems to me that in times such as these, we are shaken loose, if for a moment, from our forgetting. We might feel some guilt about experiencing the beauty of these autumn colors. We might catch a little hiccup in the throat, and as I shared with Susie above: "It is as if the ego structure does not know how to take it in. And yet, the beauty touches the sensate being so profoundly so, so synasthetically, that it cannot be denied, and what are we to do but let ourselves be swept along in the aliveness. John O'Donohue writes, "In the transfiguration of the sensuous, the wildness of eros and the playfulness of the soul come into lyrical rhythm.” We slip beyond the either/or of our mental constructs and into the creative flux of all that is."
And so, it seems we have a task to bear, to truly let our hearts bear and be broken by the enormity of suffering, *and* the beauty.
It's overwhelming to see in your photos how beautiful the world still is.
Susie, overwhelming yes. It is as if the ego structure does not know how to take it in. And yet, the beauty touches the sensate being so profoundly so, so synasthetically, that it cannot be denied, and what are we to do but let ourselves be swept along in the aliveness. John O'Donohue writes, "In the transfiguration of the sensuous, the wildness of eros and the playfulness of the soul come into lyrical rhythm.” We slip beyond the either/or of our mental constructs and into the creative flux of all that is. It is almost forbidden to say this, but in a certain context, that being that this event has now been deemed a "geologic" event, given the enormity of changes to the landscape (almost 1900 landslides, rivers flowing now in new patterns, etc.) . . . we *experience* the geologic as a creative force and humble our place in the Great Unfolding. . . .
(I read your beautiful piece on prayer last night and am holding it in contemplation. It is a beautiful piece, and I will comment soon.)
The images are splendid, as are your few sentences. I find elegance in the linguistic economy with which you write. I'm always amazed by how much you say in such few words. Thank you, dear Renée.
Dear Becky, thank you for this reflection, which touches me.
“The lived world of one is on a primordial level the lived world of us all.” I understand the tendency toward this belief. It resonates with me, even while I do understand how vastly different our experiences are. It’s hard to put into words how both can be true at once, and yet it somehow feels so.
Thank you as always for your thought-provoking offering.
Holly, "both are true at once."
My sense is that the deep inner knowing that this is so, that on a primordial level my lived world, your lived world, is the lived world of us all, touches at the inner yearning to connect, at the inner impulse toward intimacy in life itself.
Thank you for your close read.
Dear Renée, I pray you continue to find solace in natures ever glorious gifts in the days to follow for they are plentiful and are there for each of us in times when the enormity of events overwhelms. That you may be still and find stillness in this loud, unpredictable world... (this morning I pray anew for so many lost in yet another weather phenomenon still revealing the loss of life and damage in Spain) I too will take a long walk, maybe sit a while just to be still.
I send you my love and prayers xx
Dear Susie, thank you, and I do continue to find solace in the grandeur of nature, even as we mourn now for and with those in Spain. . . .
I have a sense that the natural world feels held in our embrace when we walk, when we sit, when we pause when a bird lifts into flight, a leaf falls, a grasshopper lands near the toes; when fat raindrops gather our attention and, so, too the mist; when we know because we recall that we are stardust. Thank you for your love and prayers.
Renée; The photos are lovely. It's so beautiful, yet so strange in a way, to see all the beauty of the fall colors around me, while the devastation remains so vivid in my mind and experience. As appreciative as I always am of the gorgeous colors this time of year, it adds a certain poignance this time, which I find bittersweet. All this beauty and all this suffering at the same time. I almost feel guilty enjoying the beauty around me when there is so much suffering as well. In a way, though, isn't that truly what life is for humans; the light and the shadow always together; always present? We surely prefer the light, but like every duality, you need the shadow to have the light. At least that is so on this plane of existence where duality reigns. So, my belief is to try and enjoy the light whenever you can; and knowing that the shadow is always present can actually enhance your experience of the light. Mary Oliver says this about light and shadow: "If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don't hesitate, give into it. There are plenty of people and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not very wise and not often kind, but life has some possibility left. Perhaps that's its way of fighting back; that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It can be anything, but most likely you notice it the instant when love begins. Anyway, that's often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don't be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not meant to be a crumb."
Dear Ed, "All this beauty and all this suffering at the same time." Both are true. Both are always true. Are they not? It seems to me that in times such as these, we are shaken loose, if for a moment, from our forgetting. We might feel some guilt about experiencing the beauty of these autumn colors. We might catch a little hiccup in the throat, and as I shared with Susie above: "It is as if the ego structure does not know how to take it in. And yet, the beauty touches the sensate being so profoundly so, so synasthetically, that it cannot be denied, and what are we to do but let ourselves be swept along in the aliveness. John O'Donohue writes, "In the transfiguration of the sensuous, the wildness of eros and the playfulness of the soul come into lyrical rhythm.” We slip beyond the either/or of our mental constructs and into the creative flux of all that is."
And so, it seems we have a task to bear, to truly let our hearts bear and be broken by the enormity of suffering, *and* the beauty.
Thank you for the visual for the silence.
Peggy, thank you. In times such as these, it can feel forbidden to be still, be quiet, and allow the beauty.