TIME PASSES; THAT'S ALL IT KNOWS HOW TO DO

 "Teach us to number our days." Psalm 90:12

You come home and pour tea or coffee and all around is silence.  You might feel lonely. Or you might feel free.  Maybe nothing is more relaxing for you than solitude. 

The weather is cold and the kids are restless.  You might be overwhelmed.  Or you might join in the fray. A snow day becomes a play-day. You laugh more than you have for ages.  Your children love your company; time enough for silence. 

Everyone's days are different.

Yet, time passes; that's all it knows how to do.  Sometimes it's hard to keep the days from blurring.  Retired now, and in the Third-Year-of-Uncertainty, my first waking thought is often to focus on what day it is. We're so used to wondering where the week has gone, or month, or  even year. Such has it always been, but even more so now. Nothing is less forgiving than time.  

Experts say we need something to look forward to.  Maybe it's not that trip to Alaska this year.  Maybe it's learning to make candles or build a fence; or (you fill-in-the-blank).  I'm guessing that each of us has a project to finish, something we liked when we began and couldn't imagine abandoning.  A friend of mine is re-reading the classics.  A relative is clearing a trail to the riverbank.  Another friend is knitting baby blankets for her unborn descendants.  

Some people, children mostly, complain of boredom.  Amazing, given how much they have yet to learn. Perhaps they confuse the need for attention with boredom.   

I don't get bored but I can get depressed; depression is a known by-product of this pandemic. Strange, but nothing alleviates a difficult feeling like giving it its due.  If I say, "I am unhappy," the sadness begins to lessen.  Same with anxiety or fear.  Don't you find this to be true?  It's as if hard feelings want us to acknowledge them.  "Yes, sorrow, I know you're there, I'm not ignoring you."

We went to the funeral of a beloved man this week.  His wife said that she is grateful for the long goodby they had. She shared a picture on her iPad of him resting deeply during his final hours. Time seems to have slowed for her in his last illness. I expect she'll be OK coming home to a new silence. Her faith enfolds her securely and she mirrors it to others.  

Like the low winter sun and the passing of time itself, the pandemic casts a long shadow.   But shadows exist because there is light.  The dark casts no shadow. So we could say, "Yes, shadows, we know you are there.  Thank you for reminding us that where you are, there is also light." 

                                                                  Nina Naomi 

HAPPY WINTER

 

Pot of Thyme on Craft Table by Door

Finally, real snow in the Piedmont. Thank goodness no power outages!  We undecorated the tree weeks ago and put it outside sans ornaments.  It looks so cozy out there, the cold air keeping the needles fresh.  Shall I leave it up till Valentine's?  Then maybe snip the branches to use in the fireplace.  Last year the fire pit was such a staple of Covid outdoor get-togethers, we about wore it out.  

I hope you're warm and comfy where you are.  We have Florida family--no winter there; New Jersey family--winter frigid and long; St. Louis family--snow and ice (Midwest winters can be brutal); North Carolina family--a little of this and that.  On the North Carolina coast the sun drops into the ocean this month.  Friends and strangers gather on the beach at sunset to watch the magic, then drift off home for early dinners. We do it too when we're there. 

When we lived in a drafty Illinois parsonage the wind blew right through the walls.  This is factually true.  The temperature of the walls was only a few degrees higher than the outside air.  No insulation at all.  I would speed-dress the babies.  Best to be young in those conditions.  But here,  the snow makes the house a snug harbor. 

What do you like to do on a day like today?  Of course, if there are children, play in the snow:  sled on it, build with it, lie on it, tromp in it, throw it . . . .  Something besides shovel it.  Cold fingertips and toes often mean warm spirit and heart.  

Early Snowfall

But also a bit of light:  sunlight by day, moonlight after the sun sets, starlight and candlelight as the night deepens.  A comfortable chair, comfort food, something to read or watch.  Today is Sunday, a day for slowing down anyway.  Hopefully, if they're not snowed in already, even the hardest workers get a day off.  For many it is today.

Earlier this week our family had a health scare that did not materialize.  All is well, the tests said.  With my penchant for waiting for the other shoe, I was sure the news would not be a comfort.  But it was.  You know how it's said, if you're not depressed everything is enjoyable.  Well, that's how this snow day is for me.  I'm wishing for the same and more for you.  Happy winter!                  Nina Naomi

 

 

 

DEEP THOUGHTS FROM HARD LIVES

Sometimes the deepest thoughts come from those with the hardest lives.  Maybe always.  And what those with difficult lives touch in us are our vulnerable places;  places where, like it or not, through trial by fire our weaknesses become strengths. 

Look again at the poem I posted on December 21, 2021.  It's worth re-reading.  [I've spaced it differently here.]

 ONE ART

by Elizabeth Bishop (Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1956)

The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day.  Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.  The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:  places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel.  None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch.  And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went.  The art of losing isn't hard to master. 

I lost two cities, lovely ones.  And vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.  I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. 

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.  

Elizabeth Bishop lost her father when she was an infant, her mother to mental illness just five years later and, as an adult, her lover to suicide.  Knowing this about her, we have no trouble believing that she's acquainted with the art of losing.  But mastered it?  As we read through the poem we begin to feel that she protests too much. 

Not that many of us have ever thought of surviving loss as an art.  Or a skill.  Bad luck maybe.  Inevitable.   And of course that comes through in her poem as the tension builds.  "Then practice losing farther, losing faster."  The pace clips along, the poet knowing that we--like she herself--have no choice.     

We can feel the apprehension in the poem.  For most of us, our loses do mount.  The predictable loss of objects of course, but then memories ("places, and names") and keepsakes (the watch), the future (trips we envisioned), the past (whole continents, rivers) and finally the loss of a person we deeply love-- which may happen at any age.  That loss does seem like disaster.  We must work hard to survive the greatest losses. And yet against all odds we do. We don't crumble into dust.  It's not permitted somehow, maybe even when we'd rather. 

At the end we see that she has not actually mastered loss.  Not because she's lying ("I shan't have lied" she demurs), but because no one does.  She has had to analyze it, parse it, write about it.  Like ours, her losses are incremental.  She does miss the "you"  with the joking voice, the intimate gesture.   And--even though succeeding, as must we all--she is working overtime to accept this vaster loss and buoy herself up.  

For me, this poem confronts those experiences most universal and profound.  It reminds us how grief, loss, disaster and survival live side-by-side in our lives. But she tells us this gradually, slant, if you will.   She begins with the inconsequential, like misplaced door keys or a squandered hour, then moves in stages to the death of one we love.  And if we do survive even this greatest of losses it must be at least in part because,  as Robert Frost says in Out, Out-- we are not the one dead.  A truth that could blind. 

One Art is hard to exhaust. And isn't that a gift?  It  is one of my favorite poems for its depth and beauty. Perhaps it is, or will be, one of yours too. 

Thank you to all who create.                   Nina Naomi

 

 

SHOW YOURSELF SOME KINDNESS

"Show Yourself Some Kindness" is the name of an article in a magazine I like called The Simple Things.  As we enter the third year of the pandemic that's a good idea.  And on the anniversary of the insurrection in the capitol building in Washington, DC--the lowest point in recent US history. 

This date gives context to anything we might say; it can't be ignored.  Franklin Roosevelt called Dec. 7, 1941 a date which will live in infamy.  He was referring to the bombing of Pearl Harbor which preceded the entrance of the United States into WWII.  We can say the same of Jan. 6, 2021.  

So with this backdrop . . . it seems that most of us have experienced some level of suffering lately. And not just something as extreme as the suffering and fear caused by the attack on our democracy a year ago.  We're all affected by the strictures of living in a pandemic. After all, bouncing from variant to variant does feel like Wack-a-Mole.  

And it's not like that's all that's happening in our lives either.  Some of us have SAD, seasonal affective disorder. Some are in the midst of divorce; some, fitting chemo into their lives; or struggling to feed their families.  The list is long. Nothing has slowed normal losses.  Life has never been easy. 

At the same time, the abundance of goodness and beauty also cannot be denied.  Leaves turn, snow falls, birds sing, day breaks, sunsets dazzle.  People help eachother.  Life goes on.  And although we've learned that nothing is perfect, nothing lasts and nothing is finished, life is about finding what's special in the day-to-day.  No matter how imperfect each day is, we almost always find something good in it.  Just the idea that imperfection is fine, including my own, makes me breathe easier. 

So what is OK?  Everything, really.  Our lives as they are.  Just a few good friends is OK.  Or even none.  It's OK to have a pet and be calm and rest in that unconditional love. It's OK to be content with whatever you have, even if what you have wakes you in the night.  Anxiety is OK;  Fear is OK; so very normal.  So is abundance.  

How to show ourselves kindness?  So many ways.  Think of saying "Thank you" to you.  For instance, we can thank our bodies for all they do.  We can thank our bodies with exercise, with yoga, with water and with healthy food.  And with rest.  When things are worrying, it's OK to curl up and mother ourselves.  

We can thank our minds too.  By gazing at the stars, watching the sunset, walking in the cold winter darkness, reading poetry (or writing it); anything we do that is creative.  Creativity rewards our minds for all their hard work processing everydayness.  Creativity puts our minds in a state of flow where, experts say, the ego falls away.   Whatever we do where time is immaterial is flow.  Turn on the music and dance?  Paddle (or swim), each stroke building on the one before?  Write in a journal?  Spend time with a child? 

And our spirits of course.  They are ready for nurture.  Reading, praying, meditating, consoling.  On this the one-year anniversary of the insurrection President Biden gave a stirring speech about the lies that led to that blasphemy. My heart is saying Thank You to him.  And to all who fight these lies. Truth frees the spirit.  

This is not such a touchy-feely post.  Today's date doesn't lend itself to that.  But it is about kindness. Let's direct it first toward ourselves, next toward others. In that way goodness and mercy may follow.

                                                            Nina Naomi

  

 

WISE WORDS, A COLLECTION

 

 

Reader, I've filled my 2021 collage journal with these words and would humbly like to share them with you:

Winter reminds us that every living thing, including us, needs quiet time.

The world is full of magical things waiting for us to notice. 

"Books are the destination and the journey.  They are home."  Anna Quindlen (b. 1953)

When the astronauts looked back, they saw that what they were leaving behind was perhaps even more beautiful than where they were going. 

Acknowledging the good you already have in your life is the foundation for all abundance.  Eckhart Tolle (b. 1948)

A healthy wish:  To live simply.  To sit by the window when it rains and read books, and never be tested on them.  

Another healthy wish:  To fall asleep when the moon is high and wake up slowly without penalty.

Go ahead, write about your life; it's completely yours.

"[Books are] the only time we really go into the mind of a stranger, and we find our common humanity doing this.  So the book doesn't only belong to the writer.  It belongs to the reader as well.  And then together you make it what it is."  Paul Auster (b. 1947)

Trees have given us shelter, food, warmth and healing for all of human existence.  Now we must care for them with love.

"Life is to be lived, not controlled."  Ralph Waldo Ellison (1914-1994) 

"Make your life a little easier, especially in your head." unknown 

What we pay attention to thrives.  What we ignore fades away. So place your attention carefully.

"It is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world."  Mary Oliver (1935-2019) 

Peace doesn't mean no noise, trouble or effort; it means to be in the midst of these and more, yet still be calm in mind and heart. 

"The greatest wealth is to live content with little."  Plato (428-348 BCE)

Change is inevitable.  It's OK to change your point of view, change your priorities, change your beliefs, your mind, your behavior . . . .

"One short sleep past, we wake eternally." John Donne (1572-1631)

There's more to come, and some of it will be beautiful. 

Just connecting to beauty is consoling.  It helps us know the best we can do; the worst gets so much publicity. 

As life progresses, there are certain things we just have to get used to.  

"Something that is loved is never lost."  Toni Morrison (1931-2019)

"You are never stronger . . . than when you land on the other side of despair."   Zadie Smith (b. 1975)

It's easy to love life when everything is new to you, but surprising to still love every day as I get older. 

We don't live to ourself or die to ourself.  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. Romans 14:7-8

How wonderful when you realize that you can save yourself.  How amazing it is to be brave without forethought.  

Learn to stop rushing things that need time to grow.

Sometimes just going forward is superhuman.  Give yourself credit. 

A Star led the way to the Light of the World.   

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

WHAT INNER JOURNEYS WILL WE TAKE THIS YEAR?

Things I've found, read, thought of, or happened this past year that helped me, and I hope you: 

We don't have to try to live each day to the fullest.  Each day is full on its own.  All we have to do is notice. 

All you can control is you and all I can control is me;  then let us be at peace.

Time speeds up and slows down, shortens and lengthens according to a formula we can't change. No hour feels exactly like any other hour.   If time is the interval between two events, the interval is ever different.  There is clock time and there is felt time.  We can be at one with that; time has its own temperament.  

I can measure my life by what is going on within me, rather than by a pre-pandemic lifestyle.  What motivated me last year?  What will my projects be  this year?  You too.  What will our inner journeys be like in 2022?

We don't have to wait until we're too busy to say no.  We can say no because we don't want to be too busy. 

Our sadness can be a mild alarm signal, triggering more effort to deal with our challenges.  Sadness can send us to our tool kit:  a walk, anyone?  Some time alone, or with friends?  What action is needed?  What change to be made?  Welcome, sadness. 

Find what you do that's so absorbing that you forget the world exists, then do it more often.  

Beware of destination addiction.  If happiness is always the next  activity, the next outing, the next day--anywhere but here--it will never be where you are.  It will never be now. 

Make yourself a little world where you can be from time to time alone and perfectly at home.  

Useful metaphor (though easier said than done):  Do not let anyone rent space in your head unless they are a good tenant.

Virginia Woolf suffered from depression and died from it, yet she wrote,"Happiness is in the quiet, ordinary things.  A table, a chair, a book . . .  .  And the petal falling from the rose, and the light flickering as we sit silent."   We can look to those small things if we're depressed too.  

 A truth I've learned from experience:  you can recover from loss, even a loss that squeezes your heart with iron fists.  

Pause and look for the bits of magic that happen each day.  

Time spent caring for plants is meditation in motion.  Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of our soul. 

Every year I'd like to make my needs simpler. 

When I need a guide, God is the best one I've found.  

"I want to think again of Dangerous and Noble things.  I want to be light and frolicsome.  I want to be improbable, beautiful, and afraid of nothing as though I had wings."  If Mary Oliver could say this when she was 68 years old, we too can cultivate our own unbounded spirit.

So many years ago Rachel Carson (1907-1964) wrote, "There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature--the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter."  This is still true. 

Bell Hooks, whose death we are mourning, said, "Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving.  When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as a means of escape."   Such consideration this shows.  And such appreciation of solitude.    

Forgiving makes us feel free and light.  Let's forgive those we can, even ourselves.