Furious Winds

Suddenly, furious winds are blowing leaves off trees today, and to the ground they fall, ready to be blown again, or munched and mulched by mowers! Gray clouded sky, when predominant, prompts a sense of foreboding: naked chill of winter again inevitable, alas. 

Nevertheless, on a warmer note, reviewing some thoughts today about what bullys do, I was unexpectedly delighted by a political pundit who highlighted a journalist's analogy (Denver Post, John Ingold, 10/04/12) and then added his own cryptic question.  It went like this: "Like a bull to a matador, Romney time and again turned toward Obama to deliver attacks..."  Then the question: "And what does a matador do to the bull in the end?" 

Perhaps I am abandoning my initial intent to remain apolitical here, perhaps not. What I am definitely unable to do, it seems, is stomach (let alone comprehend) blatant dishonesty. That the madman, shouting in the marketplace, is given any credence at all, baffles me. (Not to mention his/her having any voice or presence there!)  Clearly, there is a problem of differing perceptions. And, of course, grappling with the question of suffering and evil is not unique to me! But often the enormous practical implications of the philosophical and theological questions do preoccupy and alarm me. That's when I inhale all the hope I can, study to regain perspective on exactly "what" politics is and isn't, and remind myself that narcissism, mendacity and greed for power have been in the picture ever since the first humans walked the gardens of earth.  

Ever since the first Fall, winds have blown and leaves have been munched and mulched. Now the mowers make a less organic and more disturbing noise.  But the din of that noise teaches: it is good, necessary and POSSIBLE to re-orchestrate the sound and the fury!  Every major belief system has shown us ways.  No need to reinvent the wheel on this, even though it sometimes sort of feels that way. 

And so I say: shalom, hallelujah, amen.

Olympics, Los Angeles, CA - smruhland

Resolute?

Resolute?  Possibly.  But definitely sure that I never want Sinclair Lewis's  summation of his MAIN STREET heroine to be applied to me.  "She was a woman with a working brain and no work." He also said so well that "She could not determine whether she was checked by... inertia -by dislike of the emotional labor of... asserting independence.  She was like the revolutionist at fifty:  not afraid of death but..." 

Clearly, about half way through it, I am enjoying my first reading of MAIN STREET.  Much to admire, love and renew my awe for the amazing gifts of insightful writers and thinkers of every time.  It's not only their larger observations, but also their creative, descriptive word-smithing in phrases like "The cold air gave fictive power" and "Carol was dream-strayed," but also the recurring introspection ("I must go on.... I will go on").

"The parlor was distinguished by an expanse of rag carpet from which as they entered, Mrs. Bogart hastily picked one sad dead fly. In the center of the carpet was a rug..." Lewis continues to describe a hideous room.  

He empowers my resolve to be strong against "The Village Virus," and read as much as I can, not letting the days drown my working brain in the poverty of unemployment.  But just as crucial, as occurred to me the other day, it's important to keep hanging, like a bat in the sunshine, knowing that vision will come again in the darknesses.

Ano Nuevo Point Trail, CA - smruhland

Rest v. Motion

They say that 'A body in motion tends to stay in motion, and a body at rest tends to stay at rest.'  So it seems I have been 'at rest' as far as blogging goes, but not otherwise. Downsizing:    what a lot of work it takes to get rid of stuff and to spruce up ones abode!   I do long for the time when I shared things I never wanted to own, like kitchen appliances.  But some old carpentry, painting and sewing  skills have come in handy lately and I had the tools. So my project progress is evident. Nevertheless, there are  still many things I  should toss, shred  or carefully give away. And so I wonder :  When, exactly, will it be time to get rid of the tools? And when will it be time to find a new place for my own best artwork?  

It could be very satisfying to divest myself that much, but perhaps I'll be forced to wait until the very end - for lack of takers.  And because I am not done living!  Unfortunately, making things, artistic or otherwise, necessarily brings certain encumbrances, e.g. the raw materials and the finished works. Neither are problematic if I have the space and if the art created years ago still works for me.  And it does still work for me.  Fortunately, I have created a personal place that is comforting and beautiful and perfect for me.  But because it is true that nothing lasts forever and you can't take it with you, I begin (often) to think ahead.  

I also begin to know (at least a little) what it feels like to offer your best loved children for adoption: I simply must find them good  homes where they will give joy and also be cherished.  Otherwise, nothing doing. 

Wenonah Canoe on Mississippi River, Little Falls, MN - smruhland

Pronto!

Only three minutes to post this before April Fool's Day! And why not confess that I totally forgot it was Earth Day, so I did not turn off my lights this evening.  But I did use less lumination than I used to as I watched my new energy efficient VIZIO TV! Amen! 

Choices: Spring or Splat

The daffodil bulbs I buried in the dirt of a decorative ceramic pot last Fall are actually starting to peek through!  I am very excited and so hopeful!  If they all bloom, it'll be one glorious bunch of brightness on my deck.  So I am trying to restrain my impulse to water them, lest they drown or rot from oversolicitude. I make a daily, deliberate choice to back off, and let nature take it's course.


Choices always have consequences, so they are pretty important.  Of course, many choices are rather inconsequential in the larger scheme of things.  For example, my potentially water-logged or rotting daffodil bulbs would sadden only me.  So, minor green thumb issues or choosing an occasional iced turtle mocha rather than a regular coffee at Caribou, matters less than the choice to BE rather than be employed (something every retiree understands); and less than the choice of an authentic hermit-paced solitary life over one perpetually hibernating in a black hole of thoughtlessness; and less than choosing to smartly flee the prospect of crushing debt rather than be overtaken by it.  


But whether clandestine or transparent, choices matter to both people and plants - and animals too. Hopefully, choosing the best existential refresh key, and decisively clicking on it, will keep nasty allergies at bay, and whatever goes splat on my windshield will nourish daffodil karma forever!

Breezes

People were walking themselves, their kids, their dogs. Neighbor downstairs was on her patio, summer sun visor in place making it possible for her to read in the bright sunshine. Ducks were squawking as they positioned themselves on the melting river ice. I stood on my deck, facing southwest into the sunshine, braced against the railing with eyes closed. Daylight saving time, 4:15 p.m. I noticed the gentle breeze only occasionally made the wind-chime sound above me, but strengthened  sometimes and waved the flag enough for me to hear it from half a block away. A train sounded from across the river and noisely travelled south through town. 


A glorious and atypical March 11 in central Minnesota. 


What was I thinking? Quite a few things actually came in and out of my mind.  But I tried to stay in the moment, and even wish myself to slimness as the sun washed away the cold of winter. Yes, I ought to go down for a walk in the park. But at least I was standing up here!


And I was doing something useful: I was busy  being, and soaking in all the peace I could.  I was mindful of the Syrians who had recently helped four journalists escape across the border to safety, leaving two of their dead colleagues behind; I thought about people I know whose health still needs to cross safe borders; I thought about some things that worry me; I realized that just wanting and praying for peace, security, health, justice (and even slimness)  is not sufficient.  But it is a start.  Awareness, alertness, compassion, thankfulness and a discerning honest heart really can jumpstart the changes necessary for another fabulous day of limitless positive potential.  Otherwise, my life is a total waste. And the gentle breeze might just as well be stagnant air.

Mud

In another month or so, when the ground thaws, there will be lots of mud, and the Minnesota mud rooms will be fulfilling  their purpose. This thought came to me a day or so ago, somewhat secondarily to another thought about mud.  If only all the muddy thinking apparent in current political polemics could be contained in a mud room!  


The worst, for me, is the way separation of church and state gets all mixed up.  And when power seeking individuals display such mendacity, cowardice and hypocrisy, well, I wonder how we can be spared their vitriol.  Sure, I can switch them off at will, but they continue to make headlines.  Pure hearts are proudly worn on sleeves and  foul moths spew muddy waters of bigotry and incivility.  Hence, muddy and tangled logic defies containment and  keeps getting tracked beyond the mud room and into the house. 


Usually what repels us is also something ugly within ourselves that we do not recognize. So I suppose I ought to be careful here.  But I think it is safe to say that critical thinking skills can serve us well these days.  If we have them, we need to hone them! If we lack them, we need to get them! It just isn't enough to quote learned scholars and saints of the past, or our country's Founding Fathers, or The Constitution , or the Bible or the Qu'ran.  The proof is in the pudding, really.  


Integrity, courage, compassion, truthfulness, generosity, intelligence, and holiness can be discerned any number of ways and so can foolish ambition and false religiosity.  Spirituality is always more than skin deep, but inevitably surfaces in quite tangible ways that even the most ordinary alert person can recognize.  But first we must scrape off, or wash off, the mud - and leave it in the mud room. Only then can we distinguish the universal freedoms at risk in our democratic society, the responsibilities we have as persons, as citizens, and  the disadvantages of a pseudo-theocracy where the idol always has clay feet.