Nature teaches.

Crabapple in November (9:42 am, 11.26.14, Anchorage, Ak)
Crabapple in November (9:42 am, 11.26.14, Anchorage, Ak)

This morning just before  sunrise I looked out of the back window of the house where the crabapple tree arches over the house. My attention was riveted on a single crabapple and how it hung by a thin stem onto the sleeping tree. How it stayed there by a tiny thread. It moved me. “Why?”  I asked myself.

I then traced the line of connection from the crabapple, down the twig, the small branch, the large branch, the trunk, and into the roots. The answer came that I was moved because of the connection, the absence of separation between the crabapple and the roots. I felt this connection in myself, in my heart.

When I resolve to hold onto this connectedness, this oneness, I have the strength of my own heart and I can live my life from the heart. I can bear the pain that comes my way without projecting it out onto the “other,” in order to avoid feeling it.

The reward? Self possession. An awakened heart.

Thank you, dear crabapple tree.



True respite, true healing.

There are places inside me where the soothing balm of rest has never penetrated. I long for a small respite from the reaching, a moment of sweet stillness, quiet darkness, the great silence that can penetrate and loosen the small, hard knots of endless trying. I want to be willing and able to move only as fast as I am capable of moving while still remaining connected to the impulse to move from deep within, stopping when I have lost that slender thread of desire and having the courage and faith to wait, in stillness, until I find it again.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer

“A Poem on Hope”– Wendell Berry

A Poem on Hope

It is hard to have hope. It is harder as you grow old,
for hope must not depend on feeling good
and there’s the dream of loneliness at absolute midnight.
You also have withdrawn belief in the present reality
of the future, which surely will surprise us,
and hope is harder when it cannot come by prediction
anymore than by wishing. But stop dithering.
The young ask the old to hope. What will you tell them?
Tell them at least what you say to yourself.

Because we have not made our lives to fit
our places, the forests are ruined, the fields, eroded,
the streams polluted, the mountains, overturned. Hope
then to belong to your place by your own knowledge
of what it is that no other place is, and by
your caring for it, as you care for no other place, this
knowledge cannot be taken from you by power or by wealth.
It will stop your ears to the powerful when they ask
for your faith, and to the wealthy when they ask for your land
and your work.  Be still and listen to the voices that belong
to the stream banks and the trees and the open fields.

Find your hope, then, on the ground under your feet.
Your hope of Heaven, let it rest on the ground underfoot.
The world is no better than its places. Its places at last
are no better than their people while their people
continue in them. When the people make
dark the light within them, the world darkens.

–Wendell Berry


“The Peace of Wild Things”– Wendell Berry

The Peace of Wild Things

By Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Wendell Berry, “The Peace of Wild Things” from The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry. Copyright © 1998. Published and reprinted by arrangement with Counterpoint Press.

Source: Collected Poems 1957-1982 (Counterpoint Press, 1985)

Rudolf Steiner’s Calendar of the Soul– Thirty-second Week (November 10-16).

November leaves (11.15.14, Anchorage, Ak)
November leaves (11.15.14, Anchorage, Ak)
November Sitka rose hip (11.15.14, Anchorage, Ak)
November Sitka rose hip (11.15.14, Anchorage, Ak)

I feel my own force, bearing fruit

And gaining strength to give me to the world.

My inmost being I feel charged with power

To turn with clearer insight

Toward the weaving of life’s destiny.

— Rudolf Steiner

"When the frost is on the pumpkin." (11.15.14, Anchorage, Ak)
“When the frost is on the pumpkin.” (11.15.14, Anchorage, Ak)
Chugach Mountains from the Park Strip (11.15.14, Anchorage, Ak)
Chugach Mountains from the Park Strip (12:08 pm, 11.15.14, Anchorage, Ak)
Chugach sunrise (8:53 am. 11.15.14, Anchorage, Ak)
Chugach sunrise (8:53 am. 11.15.14, Anchorage, Ak)

Merging with Nature.

Waxing Moon (4:11 am, 10.6.14, Anchorage, Ak)
Waxing Moon (4:11 am, 10.6.14, Anchorage, Ak)

When I looked up at the web of trees, the night fell over me, and for a moment I lost my boundaries, feeling like the sky was my own skin and the moon was my heart beating up there in the dark.

— Sue Monk Kidd, The Secret Life of Bees