When we are capable of stopping
we begin to see
-Thich Nhat Hanh
Photo by Amy Hoppock (the bridge)
It wasn’t until I stepped onto the short, hidden wooden bridge over Dry Creek that I noticed the mama mallard on her daily paddle. She emerged from under the bridge right as I stepped onto it. In the cooling, gracefully shade of the vast, old cottonwood trees, I stood silently and watched as she paddled down the creek. Her head was swinging back and forth, side to side, surveying the edges of the small, shallow stream. I watched until she reached a snag in the creek, at which point she glided effortlessly on the shore and disappeared in the underbrush.
Awe comes in unguarded moments when the mind slows, and the gentle head-turning of a duck seems not so different from my own. A reminder of how we are all connected, the mama mallard and I more similar than different.
As I continued my walk, I noticed how I, too, was moving my head back and forth, up and down, in a hungry effort not to miss a thing. The hawk gliding over the field, landing in a tree, calling out, and sailing out, over, and higher above with breathtaking grace.
The baby owls (I call them Hed & Wig-this was my daughter’s suggestion and should need no explanation...) that peaked with curiosity from the top of the hollowed-out tree. The mama owl perched hidden in clear sight just around the corner, indifferent to the babies and yet completely aware. The stealthy weasel that was tormenting the quail and proudly running with a mouse in her mouth. Lives connected to mine because we share the same place, space, and air.
The poem Praying, by Mary Oliver, captures that moment with the mallard and many other moments on my daily Dry Creek walks.
Praying
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stone: just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak
-Mary Oliver
Smaller and deeper means to walk slowly, head-turning, eyes open with the willingness to pause, stop and see again the mystery and lives unfolding all around me.
Photo by Amy Hoppock (Dry Creek Trail)
Read Mary Oliver’s poem Prayer or When I am Among The Trees (see below) before you take a slow, meandering walk. Stop often, as Thich Nhat Hahn suggests, so that you can really see. Pay attention to awe and wonder in your neighborhood.
In the Episcopal church, we’ve learned to pass the peace. It was uncomfortable at first. Before communion, we walk among our friends and family and say “Peace of the Lord,” and they return “And also with with” or a simple, “peace” many people slightly bow their heads when wishing the other peace. I practice passing the peace on my walks. It’s silly, and yet…Try bidding the flying hawk, snoozing owl, dizzy quail, or old cottonwood tree peace. When I see something that inspires awe, or even a second look I say, (sometimes out loud-sometime in my head), “I bid you peace,” and bow my head. It’s a small reminder of our connection, our shared life, our common shared space.
Books I’m reading, have read, or can’t stop thinking about.
Currently Reading:
The Last Bookshop in London by Madeline Martin
Grace and her best friend Viv arrive in London on the eve of WWII. Grace’s mother died, and her uncle, who owned the home she and her mother lived in, had told her she could no longer stay. Her mother’s best friend in London offers her a place to stay. Insult to injury, Grace’s uncle refuses to write a letter of recommendation for Grace. Without the letter, she is unable to find a job in London. Her mother’s best friend, the neighborhood “social director,” forces Mr. Evans of Primrose Books to hire Grace for six months with the added promise of a letter of recommendation when she is done. In those six months, WWII begins and everything changes in London. It’s a feel-good story if there can be a feel-good story about nightly bombings and the challenges of war faced by ordinary people. This book was about the power of individuals to make life better for their neighbors through kindness, even kindness through gritted teeth. It was a reminder of the power of stories to bring people together.
One of my favorite books so far this year.
A Book I Can’t Forget:
The Overstory by Richard Powers
I read this book last summer. I felt at the time, and I still do, that it was at least 200 pages too long. That said, I still find myself thinking about the story and the characters almost a year later. It’s seemingly unrelated stories of families and individuals in different eras and times, of different values and beliefs and the hidden power of trees. I read that it was written to reflect the structure of trees: roots, trunk, overstory. The roots are the stories that seem unrelated, the trunk is the structure of the stories that slowly start to come together, the overstory is how the characters come together. It’s not an easy read, but I would say it is a good summer read. It takes time. It’s smart. It’s unexpected. But, there is just something about it that’s worth the investment of time.
ideas.poems.quotes.songs that sparkled for me this week.
(I try and pay attention to words or phrases that stand out to me in my reading and listening. There is a spiritual practice called Florliledgium that collects short, interesting pieces {words that “sparkle” up} and put them together. This is kind of like that. Watching for things that sparkle. Gathering them and seeing how they work together and what message, mantra, or new idea might arise.)
A Practice:
Read slowly.
Notice if a word or phrase stands out to you.
How do the words make you feel?
Is there an invitation?
(I’m sharing in italics the lines that stand out to me in these passages. Maybe it’s the same, or maybe it’s different, there is much food for thought in each of these passages)
When I Am Among The Trees
When I am among the tree,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay Awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
-Mary Oliver
“You mustn’t wish for another life. You mustn’t want to be somebody else. What you must do is this:
“Rejoice evermore.
Pray without ceasing.
In everything give thanks.”
I am not all the way capable of so much, but those are the right instructions.”
― Wendell Berry, Hannah Coulter
“All too often we bemoan our imperfections rather than embrace them as part of the process in which we are brought to God. Cherished emptiness gives God space in which to work. We are pure capacity for God. Let us not, then, take our littleness lightly. It is a wonderful grace. It is a gift to receive. At the same time, let us not get trapped in the confines of our littleness, but keep pushing on to claim our greatness. Remind yourself often, “I am pure capacity for God; I can be more.”
― Macrina Wiederkehr, A Tree Full of Angels: Seeing the Holy in the Ordinary
*All Typos, misplaced commas and the like prove my humanity.