Fire's Time

Some mornings the fire is harder to start than others. There are a number of factors that effects this, but ultimately, it comes down to time. I have to invest more time in the fire when it is hard to start.

The fire reminds me that my life is interwoven with billions of other lives including the lives of the Trees that are now my firewood. How their lives play out leading up to the time that they spark into flame is not something I can control. The fire will start when it will start.  My role is to participate, add air and fuel and, with patience, in its time, fire will arrive.

Toe Lesson II

With the fresh Snow and Rain of yesterday, my frozen barefoot tracks no longer exist. They have been replaced by the half barefoot/half booted tracks required by my frostbite healing process.

I encounter my tracks and think about impermanence. My tracks will change. My toe will change.  The sadness I felt when I saw my barefoot tracks can be a part of the past. The image only lives in my mind. The tracks are gone. I can let them go if I chose to, or I can hang onto the memory and allow it to continue to cause me pain. The choice is mine, in this moment, right here, right now.

Toe Lesson I

As I was walking the path to my sitting spot this morning, I was confronted by my barefoot tracks frozen in last weeks snow. Seeing my tracks brought me to a place of regret. Because of the frostbite on my toe, I will have to wear shoes for the rest of the winter. I will have to find another way to stay centered and present. 

Then it occurred to me that the reason I have frostbite is because being barefoot didn't keep me present and centered in the first place. It came to me that my frostbitten toe, which is now numb but healing, is the answer. It is a reminder of what happened, but also a reminder of where I am now. The discomfort it brings me mirrors the tactile experience of being barefoot. It is also a reminder to reflect on exactly what I am attending to now, what I might be missing, and what the consequence of that can be.

I am excited about the direction my toe will take me. I look forward to finding out what I notice now.

Finch

As I sat breathing this morning, I noticed a group of Finches searching tree branches for bugs. I was humbled by these tiny bird's ability to survive and thrive in such cold weather. It seems like their small bodies would freeze in a matter of moments.

When I am out I this type of cold I am protected by layers, and even still I can only take it for so long before retreating to the warmth of the cabin. As a kid I thought that if you fell asleep in the cold you would die. I got this idea for movies and TV shows, where imperiled adventurers struggle to keep each other awake during long cold nights. Yet there was Finch. With no cabin to retreat to, she goes about her day, cold or no cold.

Finch got me thinking about the mythologies we create for ourselves. Mythologies about what is possible, and about what we can and can't survive. Having slept out in the cold, with appropriate gear, I know that it's not a death sentence. It's actually pretty amazing, but for so long I believed it was something I could not do. So often the limits I place on myself are only real in my mind. Once I test those limits, I realize that don't actually exist.

Today, I will be paying attention to times when what I think I can't do gets in the way of me experiencing what is actually possible.

Cold Air

My first inhale this morning stung my nose and reminded me that when the Air gets this cold if I breath in too quickly, I will start coughing. The chilly Air requires that I be mindful of my breath.

Today, I am grateful for this cold reminder to take time, slow down, and pay attention to the effects of my actions.

Frozen Tracks

Exiting the Eastern door this morning, I was grated by my barefoot tracks. They were frozen in the slushy snow now turned to ice. Remnants of last evenings sojourn outside to breathe, they drew my attention back to the wonder of tracks. 

Captured in the ice were remnants of me; how I walked in the ice last night, on my toes to avoid as much of the chill as possible, where I walked, straight out to the screen house and back, and when I walked, before it was cold enough for the slush be freeze into this morning's ice. 

But there is a wider arc contained in these tracks. These tracks, combined with all the tracks I have ever set down through my steps and my actions, connect back to the beginnings of me. And the tracks of the beginnings of me connect back to the beginnings of everything. My beginnings connect back to my parents and their beginnings. Those tracks connect back to their parents and on and on back to the beginnings of everything. My tracks in the ice also connect forward to me, right here, right now.

I appreciate this reminder of my connection back to the beginnings that link to me now.  Today, I will be mindful of the tracks I leave today and what they reflect about my intentions for living, and how they manifest what I hold dear.

Feel Snow

The view that greeted me as I walked out the Eastern door this morning looked like a black and white photo. The light was not yet bright enough to bring color to the land. In the dimness, the only way I could tell it was snowing was by feeling the flakes on my face. This got me thinking about the importance of paying attention to all my senses. My eyes did not know it was snowing, neither could I smell the snow.

Today, I will be paying attention to how all of my scenes inform me about the world around me. I'll do my best to avoid the illusions created when I rely only on a few.

No Wind

It took me a while this morning to notice that the wind wasn't blowing. It got me thinking about the importance of notice what isn't as much as what is. It's easy for assumptions to keep me from noticing what isn't happening around me.

Today, I will be paying as much attention to what is absent as what is present.

Snow Light

The snow covers up the skylights, but I notice that it is still a bright morning. It's because of the reflected light from the snow on the ground and hanging on the trees. In fact, on days like today, light seems to be everywhere. This gets me thinking about balance. No matter how dark things can get, there is always light somewhere. It's just up to me to keep my eyes open so I can see it.

What Do We Do?

There is a tremendous amount of sadness and confusion in the cabin as my children learn that one of their musical inspirations has been accused of rape. They don't know what to do in response.

This question of how to respond gets me thinking, “In order to achieve what?” 

As we continue to muddle through what seems to be a particularly complex part of our cultural history, I plan to use this question as an aid to keep my responses as thoughtful and intentional as possible.

Worry?

I sit out in the warm morning air and am invited into a place of worry. Is it fluky weather, or further evidence that we have done great damage to the Earth?

I believe that everything that happens simply creates further possibilities.

Worry is passive. It invites us to wonder things like, “Should this have happened?” Or “What will happen next?”

I prefer to say, “This is what has happened. What is possible now as a result?”

That's what I'm doing today.

Noticing

Not two miles North of the cabin, US route 95 carries 6 lanes of traffic up and down the Seacoast of New England. As close as it is, there are times when the wind blows just right, and I can no longer hear the highway. This morning was one of those times. All I could hear was my breath, the accommodating  breeze, and two Owls hooting to the Southeast. I am so used to ignoring the noise of the highway, that it took me a while to realize that it wasn't there.

This got me thinking about how routinized expectations can get me to miss things. I was so used to ignoring the sound of the highway, that I almost didn't notice that it wasn't there. Once I did, I realized that I could hear the sound of my breathing. Noticing the quiet opened me up to what else was available to me.

Today, I will be noticing times when what I think is happening gets in the way of me noticing what is.

Barefooting II

I had to do some cutting of trees yesterday, so I had to put my boots on. The first thing I noticed as I walked out of the cabin and off the front porch, was how little I was paying attention to where my feet were. Having walked off the porch many times without shoes, I am aware of how aware I have to be. I need to notice if there is anything there on the ground that I might not want to step in or on. In my boots, I just trudged along, eyes up, focused on where I was going, not where I was.

This brings me back to the reason I choose not to wear shoes in the first place. It is because of the connection it creates between me and the moment I am in. I have to be paying attention to where I am to keep my feet safe. Barefooting is a concrete practice that creates tangible reminders of what happens when I get distracted. It has given me many gifts.

Today, I am grateful for the gifts in find in the moments I am in.

Cherry Tree

Due North of the cabin, stands Cherry Tree. Cherry Tree is probably the oldest tree on the part of the land that was once open Cow pasture.  It's mostly dead, though there is a small section of it that still leafs out in Spring. 

It is a beautiful tree, tall and expansive, it's many trucks reaching high into the Sky. Even it's dead branches have a specific artistic grace that I find alluring. 

I know it will fall soon, or I will cut it down, but for now, it stands tall and beautiful, available for me to appreciate.

Cherry Tree reminds me of the truth that everything is temporary, but even so, there is beauty for me to appreciate if I choose to see it right here, right now. 

Action

On the other side of Pinegrove, I heard some big machines. It reminded me of the day the electric company came in and cleared around the power lines. Their clearing created an opening in the woods that disconnected Pinegrove from the woods further on. I was really upset that day to see such changes in the forest. But today, wondering if they were coming back to clear it out again, I get thinking about how I tend to get settled into a place and think, now that I'm here, everything should stay the same.

Thing is, some changes need to happen in order for me to stay living where I live. Clearing out around the electric lines benefits me. It's part of what keeps the lights on at the cabin. Mindful, thoughtful change is essential if I am to continue to do what I do. Mindless thoughtless change is damaging, and doesn't help anyone.

Today, I will be mindful of my actions. I will be considering their effects and their consequences for others and myself.

Cold and Dark

I could describe this morning as cold and dark, but that's not what it was for me. The first thing I thought of when I saw the dark blue Sky with shards of bright reds and yellows was that it looked like the beginning of a performance.

Today, I will be paying attention to the way I  choose to describe things, and the effects of these descriptions.

Fly

Through a skylight this morning, I saw a leaf flying high in the air. A burst of wind caught it, and it flew even higher. This got me thinking about possibilities. 

Sometimes a leaf disconnects from a tree and falls to the ground. Sometimes a leaf lets go and flies high in the sky, having a grand ride and landing who knows where.

I wonder what is possible when I let go, and allow the wind carry me.

Today, I will be on the lookout for times when my expectation that falling to the ground is the only possibility get in the way of letting the wind carry me places I couldn't have imagined.

Crow Family

Crow and family greeted me this morning from the Northwestern woods. Their caws were loud and abundant. They got me thinking about the joys of being with the people I love.

I am so grateful for the people in my life, and all that I learn from them.

Thank you. 

Apple Peel Lesson

I was cutting up an apple for breakfast, and I got to thinking about the idea of peeling. 

“Where, exactly does the peel end,” I wondered?

I thought back to experiences I have had peeling apples, and it occurred to me that it really doesn't. There are spots where there is more or less peel, but the idea of a point at which the peel ends is an illusion. The peel and every other “part” of the apple slowly transitions from one to the other. Even the seeds are attached  though a sort of stem that transition from seed to core.

The same is true for the boundaries that separate us; state from state, country from country, continent from continent, people from people.  There is no tangible point at which the river that separates New Hampshire from Maine becomes New Hampshire water and no longer Maine water. It is all water commingling at the shore with the land obscuring the boundary even further.

And it is true for us. The popularity of DNA testing is revealing how intermingled we are with each other.  The choice to see myself otherwise is just that; a choice.  I can choose to see myself as Apple or peel, but ultimately, both are aspects of the other, and in that way inseparably connected.

Today, I choose to see myself as me and Apple and Earth and Sky, and enjoy what is made possible as a result.

Ice Lesson

It rained yesterday. Then the temperature dropped. I know from experience that all this means ice will form. When I stepped out the Eastern door this morning, the intense cold greeted my feet, but even with all this information, I forgot to be mindful of my steps. I slipped anyway.

This got me thinking about how, no matter how mindful I might be in the moment, I will still forget and slip. I might slip into worry or fear or doubt, or focusing on the past. I can look at this as a failure or I can consider it another opportunity to re-focus on my practice.

Today, I am grateful for everything that happens in my life, and how each experience is an opportunity for me to learn something I didn't know before.