SONGS OF SIMPLICITY AND SELF-COMPASSION

Isabel Allende (b. 1942)

 In the Song of What's Simple

In the song of what's simple but true,

Bent tree rubbing at my window,

I go out.  The meadow drenched rivulets of bog.

Moss to my ankles, bright.  Toes, shoes, socks all wet flecked.

It might seem ordinary but is not.

The smallest details of living

Need nothing but appreciation

For the candor they bring. 

N.N.

 

All Nights are not the Same

What can we accept about ourselves?

As I sit here at 11 pm I love myself, 

My body which feels small, 

My heart and mind,

My sore left foot.  

Foot, you are mine. 

I shan't feel guilty about how I spend my time.  

Let's not.  Let's ever not.  

Emotions and thoughts we'd rather not have?  They're OK today.

I do pretty well at living.  God has given me that.

The amber sunrise, an azure sky.

No more precious than we. 

N.N.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HERE AND NOW

 

Homemade Masks Drying

Here is where I am now. I live in a peaceful place. I sleep in a comfortable bed. I eat healthy food and some not. I swim in a small pool and stack brush in a large woods.I care for people deeply. At night my bed is full of love because I have been married a long time.  I feel anxious and comforted, sad and happy. I am both empty and full. In the morning I step outside and am thankful for another glorious day. Such a life has taken years. 

N.N. 

BEST IN SHOW

Gathering the shells, 

the precious sea glass much harder to find. 

The colored swirls 

of white, blue and gold on paper for background. 

Snapping the photos then, later. framing.  

Thank you, God, for this simple creative pleasure.

These, today, are my Best in Show.  

FROM EASTERN NORTH CAROLINA WITH LOVE

 

Yesterday the waves were wild and the sea oats almost horizontal. 

Too windy to bike ride but a good shelling day.  I got my usual quota of augers, those sweet little cork-screw shells that lie on top of shell pools when the tide goes out. And olives, thumb-sized cylinders--from a baby's thumb to a large adult's--with a lovely patina of mostly geometric designs. (On the other hand, they do cover their tiny prey in slimy mucus and smother them.)

Broken sand dollars, calico scallops

Mr. Wiggles was decent on his walks.  He didn't make a fool of himself with any of the other dogs.  One woman seeing him pee at every home on the route said, "The boss is in town!"  I liked that.  A man on his phone gave a look and said, "Killer."  Our little maltipoo seems to elicit sarcasm.  

Today at high tide the sand and sea and sky are one. Eastern North Carolina is just one big dripping puddle.  No sun, no cloud differentiation, no horizon.  Just a pool of gray.  I don't have a good picture because there's nothing to see.  Somehow it doesn't matter.  This is still good sheltering.  

River, lake, pond, ocean, creek. . . .  Is it because our bodies are about 65% water?  Is that why we are drawn to it?  I wonder.  We hike miles to glimpse a waterfall.  Riverside and lakefront property with access or a view is so desirable.  And who doesn't love a boat ride?  Or paddle-boarding.  Well, maybe not everyone, but we love doing something in the water. My husband loves fishing. The kids a water park.  Or a puddle.  Anything you can wade in.  Where I grew up there was a sewer we called a creek; we loved jumping it it, over it, around it.  So did the dog.  We'd stay in leaky cabins in the Ozarks just to be able to leap from a rock into the water.  Even now I seldom use an umbrella unless it's pouring.  It's fine to walk in a drizzle. Fine to water my plants with a hose that sprays everywhere and leaves me soaked on a warm day. Sounds fun, doesn't it?

I hope you were able to spend this weekend somewhere you wanted to be.  That you got some free time away from the news.  And that whatever your body was drawn to was there for you to enjoy.  With good wishes for all,  Nina Naomi 

 

 

 

 

"I BELIEVE IN INTUITIONS AND INSPIRATIONS," SAYS ALBERT EINSTEIN

 

Me too.  How about you?  This seems to be a time to listen to our intuition.  I've written about this before ("Doomscrolling.  Let's Not," 7/20/20).  How our intuition is emotionally powered; when our emotions are strong, our intuition kicks in.  It takes what is happening in the moment--good or ill--and integrates it with our experience and memory. I know that when I have needed to be brave, or recognize something that I'd rather weren't true, my intuition has been my guide.  It has taught me to rely upon it.  As you read this, are you remembering a time when that has been true for you as well? When because you followed your intuition, you were emboldened to change something important to you?

One thing about intuition:  it exists only in the present.  "This is wrong."  "I know what has to be done."  Or, "This is right."  "Here is what matters."  They say our intuition responds to signs: a snippet of conversation, an email, some words, even a gesture can become a trigger to awaken our inner guide.  That has been true for me.   People's minds find all sorts of reasons (excuses) for doing the wrong thing. But when our intuition tells us something, we can generally trust it.  When we're chasing our tails, that's usually the mind floundering.  Intuition gives us purpose and direction. When it speaks to us we can act quickly and with confidence.  We can do the hardest things.  

I've been reading and thinking about ways to encourage our intuition.  One way is to make space to hear our intuitive voice, space for it to be clear and true.  Some deep breaths might help.  If our world is crashing, and some of ours have been, a pause might provide space. A break-away of whatever length we can manage.  Space to become attuned to ourselves.  Being honest with ourselves is also important experts say. Admit if something feels wrong; don't try to normalize what isn't right.   We can spend years ignoring our intuition while trying to normalize another's misbehavior.  I've done that.  

Other experts say that being creative allows our intuition to flow naturally.  Another reason to paint, dance, write . . . to move through life believing in ourselves.  

These days it's great to not future-trip about what might happen--we've seen how that doesn't work--or ruminate about the past.  But to try listening to our bodies, where our intuition resides.  And if no less that Albert Einstein recommends it, so much the better.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WHO HAVE YOU BEEN MISSING?

Who have you been missing most during this pandemic?  I've been missing my mom, been wanting her advice. This is bad because she's been gone for 15 years.  She's the Nina Naomi this blog is in memory of.  I love being her, just for this bit of my life, this on-line persona.  I know some of us dread turning into our parents but, for the most part, I'm fine with it.  Do you have a role model whose advice you would welcome?  On dealing with isolation, limited options, money, health and child worries?  Or just plain change?

We've got a running joke in our family--"What would Fauci do?"  You know, the doctor in the White House Coronavirus briefings.  Would Dr. Fauci recommend the beach rental house?  And on what conditions?  Would he approve the college student's meal delivery job?  Does he wipe down those plastic clam-shells that the grocery deli comes in?  

Maybe my mom wasn't my lodestar consistently when she was alive. Not when I was young and going full force. I didn't always want advice.  Got enough of that at work.  Maybe you too.  But as I was ruminating on what she would tell me if she were alive, I realized:  the role model is there.  Her last years were isolated, she and my dad retirees in a rented condo at the beach, no in-town relatives, having to wait for family to show up.  World-travelers (I have a picture of her on a camel) became stay-at-homes.  Party-givers became TV watchers.  They found a way--because of their age--to accept an unknown future.  

So what did she do when her world changed? She taught herself how to quilt.  She entered local craft competitions and once even won a ribbon.  She read voraciously, especially American history.  She sent cards in her clear, even handwriting, an old-fashioned cursive.  She went shelling on the beach and organized her treasures in interesting ways, before the term shelfie was coined.  She planted hostas in the shade and gardenias along the porch.  She labelled photos with enough information so that no ancestor would disappear on her watch.  So many parallels between our coping and hers.

She would tell me, and all of us, that we're doing just fine.  That isolation and health problems, even death, can come at any time to anyone and we are made resilient.  Then we would discuss that there are tools to help with depression, grief, fear and loss:  friends, therapists, medication, God, nature, children, pets, hope, sleep, walks, a good cry, healthy mourning, books, the Psalms . . . .  And I would be helped.  I hope you too.  In peace, Nina Naomi

HOW CAN IT BE AUGUST?

How can it be August?  We've been making peace with the sameness of days, and even weeks, but now months?  In our town K through 12 will be online again. The school buildings are shuttered.  September will be the same as May. I'm relieved really. 

I watched the news this morning. Maybe a mistake, I admit.  Forty-seven thousand (47,000) new cases in the US today.  China had 43.  Not 43,000.  Just 43.  And they don't have a vaccine either.  But they've brought down their numbers now, wearing masks and distancing. It's not rocket science, as they say.  No trickier than buckling a seat belt to save lives.  Takes no longer than putting on a pair of glasses. 

I think I'm feeling discouraged.  Do you have days like that? 

My family's favorite baseball team is the St. Louis Cardinals.  But we're seeing that dissolve before our very eyes.  Four more players tested positive.  Games postponed (aka cancelled).  Football no better. Our teenagers love their marching bands, but that's a no go.  We've been anticipating the diversion of sports.

Remember when Trump said he wanted to see the churches packed on Easter?  At our church we're hoping that's true by next Easter.  We don't expect it by Christmas.  My husband preached at a funeral this afternoon, for a man who spent years building friendships and doing good.  But only 25 of his friends could attend, and those carefully spaced.  The total dead from the coronavirus today in the United States is 160,375 people. We're doing worse than any country in the world.

It's been hard to remember that this isn't just a number.  It's real people, like the person we buried this week.  Someone for whom the prayer, like today, might have been:

It is better to rely on the Lord than to put any trust in flesh.

It is better to rely on the Lord than to put any trust in rulers.

. . .

We do not live to ourselves and we do not die to ourselves.

If we live, we live to the Lord,and if we die, we die to the Lord;

so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's.

So then, life goes on.  Unless it doesn't.  There's no business-as-usual; rather a mix of confusion and hardship, anger and resentment, compassion and kindness; a hodge-podge, some of which helps and some of which can make everything worse.  Yes, not such a good day.

Mindfulness helps.  An antidote to the discouraging news of the day.  A practice.  Not offering salvation, not offering the hope of eternal life, which I find elsewhere,  But encouraging a kind of calm.  Something for which I am grateful.  Mindfulness, like many things, has a slogan:  taking time for what matters.  Time is so amorphous now, but when we think about it, what matters isn't at all.  It's still right here, ready for our attention:  the health of our own mind; the care in our heart for the suffering of others; our faith; the love of family and friends; our compassion for those who support our lives:  the grocers, cleaners, doctors, nurses, drivers, teachers . . . .  Maybe we are some of those people for others. Our love of nature:  for me the trees I live among, persimmon and tulip, cedar and loblolly; the boulders and moss, creek and meadow; the hawks, the deer, that possum ("Good Morning, Possum," 7/30/20). 

I have been given my daily bread, every day.  And today in the service I asked for my trespasses to be forgiven, and to forgive those who trespass against me.  I asked not to be led into temptation but to be delivered from evil.  I prayed, "hallowed be thy name."  You know the words.

And I received a benediction, which I pass on however your day has been:  Let us go in peace. 

                                                  

                                                                         Nina Naomi