Wednesday, September 14, 2011


“I read that blind children, in a room painted deep blue, became more tranquil, at ease, as if what they could not see their way to, informed them… “  —Mark Doty. 

What a lovely concept: Maybe we should all practice going into unfamiliar rooms with eyes shut and see whether we might guess the color on the walls. I bet many of us would be surprised how often we get it right.  We “feel” a great deal more than we often realize or readily accept. 

Those of you who were in the countryside during the earthquake recently may have noticed that the cicadas, the crickets, and even the birds in the trees all stopped making their noises about thirty seconds before the quaking started. It was rather remarkable. The birds felt it from the tops of branches. 

And now, with all the rain we’re getting, it might be nice to ponder the lotus blossom. Mary Ann planted seeds in our pond at The Barn Swallow a couple of years ago, and they spread like crazy. This is their season! Huge pink blooms are opening every morning: tall and so utterly majestic coming out of the bottom muck of a pond. It’s amazing to see something so huge and seemingly unreal come out of that mud in total splendor. Very inspiring.  If you get a chance to come by and visit us, you must go see them.  It’s well worth the trip. Once you see them, you won’t question why so many of the ancient gods were born from this bloom. Next time your feet get stuck in the mud, just feel the soft pink of their petals.  Let it inform you. 

Here’s another poem for inspiration:

Not Poor

We are not poor.  We are just without riches,
we who have no will, no world:
marked with the marks of the latest anxiety,
disfigured, stripped of leaves.
And yet, if our Earth needed to
she could weave us together like roses
and make of us a garland.

For each being is cleaner than washed stones
and endlessly yours, and like an animal
who knows already in its first blind moments
its need for one thing only—

To let ourselves be poor like that—as we truly are.

Rainer Maria Rilke