Month: April 2022

WORDS LIKE LIGHT 

Thursday, April 21, 2022

            Perhaps I should try to be a better ‘inquirer’, sort of like a news reporter seeking information about what’s happening. When I see my fingers tapping on the keyboard to write these words, I could  make inquiries as to how this happens – how the muscles and bones in my hands know which ways to move, how my 80-year-old mind shapes thoughts into words and then sets them in sentences on the computer screen.  When I see leaves on trees and bushes shaking in winds, I could wonder why they swirl and shake in so many strange ways, and when a blue sky brings its beauties above our house, I could solicit information about how exactly this miracle is made. I need to be more of a questioner, need to delve deeply into the mysteries of even the simplest moments. Each day I could be an explorer, searching for why sounds are so diverse, why light always seems alive, why the present moment seems to always stay with me, like a loyal friend. Perhaps I could pretend I’m wearing a hat that says ‘PRESS’, and could prowl through my days in search of answers to the billions of marvelous questions. 

___________________

On yesterday’s walk along the Mystic River, I came upon this truck sitting patiently on the road as a duck sat patiently in front of it. I was impressed by the courtesy of the driver, just sitting in peace behind the wheel, waiting for the duck to decide what to do. I walked over toward the duck, softly waving my arm, and the duck slowly hopped to the side. As the driver drove away, he gave me a good wave and a smile.

And here’s a scene from yesterday’s walk, looking across lovely St. Patrick Cemetery to the Mystic River in the distance …

And finally, a quick video from our 3-mile walk this morning on Napatree Beach …

WORDS LIKE LIGHT

Sunday, April 17, 2022

  I hope these words don’t sound too boastful, but I believe my life is a splendid one. Of course, it’s the same splendor that exists in every person I pass in the grocery store, every shaft of sunshine, every shade of color on winter days, and every ripple in the Mystic River. This entire universe is an endless display of splendor, and since we’re all part of the universe, we all share in the splendor. Somehow, all over the earth, billions of lungs keep lifting and falling with splendid evenness, and hearts keep helping people and panthers and butterflies stay strong in splendid ways. Just the fact that I can carry my coffee cup to my lips is a magnificent accomplishment, given the countless nerves and muscles that must flawlessly function together in the process. When birds wander above the river, they do it with smoothness and majesty, and when the girl greets me at the grocery checkout, her smile is a miracle to me. All of us – people, small stones on the shore, flames in a winter fireplace – share in the splendor of this earth that somehow and miraculously became our home.  

Some scenes from a good life …

One day 
a man took time up to a mountain 
and somehow made it fly, 
and soon the see-through minutes were floating free, 
the meaningless gossamer hours were gliding away,
and the man wondered 
where was time now,
and all he saw was now and here,
and the past had sashayed off 
to nothingness
and the future had folded its arms 
and said farewell, 
and the man saw 
that his thoughts were as wide 
as the sky

and so was he.  

WORDS LIKE LIGHT 

Thursday, April 14, 2022

            I am not a regular churchgoer, nor do I consider myself strictly a Christian, but during the days leading up to the celebration of Easter, I am always struck by what Jesus said in forgiving his enemies. He said he forgave them because “they don’t know what they are doing”, and when I read those words, I usually say to myself, “Yup, and neither do I.” I do hundreds of things each day, from walking around the house and yard to setting words into sentences on this computer screen, and, honestly, I usually haven’t a clue as to exactly what I’m doing. Life, to me, becomes more of a mystery with each passing day, and I often feel quite befuddled by what’s happening. When I walk, for instance, what exactly are my muscles and bones and brain doing that enables me to move so efficiently? We use the word “walking” to conveniently label the activity, but that doesn’t begin to describe the inconceivable complexity of it. And when I write, do I honestly have any clear idea what I’m doing? I like to pretend that I do, but in truth, the words seem to settle themselves across the computer screen in their own strange ways, with little help from me. The sentences sometimes seem clear, but I’m not at all sure how it happens. Actually, I guess something similar could be said about most of my life. I often feel like I’m living in the midst of a vast and generous (though not always happy) mystery, something like an endless rising of rainbows, or a continuous string of surprising sunsets. I could pause in amazement almost every moment of every day. Do I know what I’m doing, any more than the enemies of Jesus did? Usually not a bit. I just try to keep up with the spectacular show, and hope I’m no one’s enemy. 

Some scenes from our recent walks …

And Delycia’s lovely early-spring blossoms …

WORDS LIKE LIGHT 

Tuesday, April 12, 2022

         I love eating store-bought food, especially the snacky kind, but I often forget about the delicious and nutritious food that’s always available in the universal ‘store’ of life. I take delight in occasional nibbles of my cherished pretzels, and a small bowl of chips seems to enhance my perspective toward everything, but what about the refreshment that comes from just a taste of every single wholesome present moment? Instead of chips and a sugar-free chocolate bar at 10:00 a.m., could I simply open the perfectly fresh present moment and enjoy the immeasurable miracles of its uniqueness? Instead of a bedtime apple and rice-cake, could I silently sample some tidbits of the healthful thoughts and feelings that are always waiting for me on the table of the here and now? There’s wholesome cuisine for my inner spirit all around me – in simple but spectacular clouds passing over, in the sounds of my wife’s footsteps through the house, even in the hum of the clothes dryer down the hall. In fact, I could just sit still beside a window and serenely consume whatever sights and sounds I hear, a repast far more nourishing than no-salt mini-pretzels.   

Below, some scenes from our recent lucky walks …