October's Book: The Faraway Nearby by Rebecca Solnit

Delicious!  A new book by Rebecca Solnit. I loved two previous books by her, A Field Guide to Getting Lost and Wanderlust, A History of Walking. Both titles intrigued me before I knew anything about the contents, and the same was true for this new  book, The Faraway Nearby. 

The title comes from the way Georgia O'Keefe signed her letters to loved ones after she moved from New York City to New Mexico.  "It was a way to measure physical and psychic geography together. Emotion has its geography, affection is what is nearby, within the boundaries of the self." (p. 108)

Solnit investigates those boundaries of the self. 
        The self is also a creation, the principal work of 
        your life, the crafting of which makes everyone an
        artist. This unfinished work of becoming ends only 
        when you do, if then, and the consequences live on. 
        We make ourselves and in so doing are the gods of 
        the small universe of self and the large world of
        repercussions.  p. 53  

I can't really tell you what this book is about, for there are stories within stories and sometimes connections are made, but then sometimes not. One thread is her mother and the Alzheimer's that is enveloping her. But then there are the stories of Frankenstein and of Che Guevara and of an interlude in Iceland and many others. I like books that take me for a labyrinthine journey, and this book does that for sure. 

        You can speak as though your life is a thread, a 

        narrative unspooling in time, and a story is a thread, 

        but each of us is an island from which countless threads

        extend out into the world. p. 144

The Art of Preservation
The entrance to the labyrinth is apricots from her mother's tree; apricots that needed attention before they decayed, before they were rotten, and at the same time her mother was disintegrating.
One strand in that thread of the story is the act of preserving something. 
        I wish I could put up yesterday's evening sky for all 
        posterity, could preserve a night of love, the sound 
        of a mountain stream, a realization as it sets my mind 
        afire, a dance, a day of harmony, ten thousand glorious 
        days of clouds that will instead vanish and never be seen
        again, line them up in jars where they might be admired 
        in the interim and tasted again as needed. pp. 83-84 

What would you preserve if you could?

I would preserve the first glimpse of each child, each grandchild. And so many other firsts--the first taste of chocolate, the first shared secret with a friend, and the first sight of Paris. I would  preserve my mother's next to last breath and a collection of  "I love yous" -- how pretty they would be displayed in a glass bowl, sparkling in candlelight. How could I not preserve women gathered on the beach doing T'ai Chi together, absorbing the energy of the waves and the warmth of the sun and sand? And the feeling of being home when I walked in the back door of our once upon a time home, Sweetwater Farm? 

What I would preserve are blessings gathered through a lifetime.

The Take Away
With a book like this it is not always easy to pinpoint its fruits. 

What do I take away from this book? 

I think I take away the reminder that each of us has more than one story going on in our lives at the same time, and some of those stories twist and wind around each other and can't be separated in order to find the beginning and the end. Some of those stories are  influenced mightily by others' stories and not necessarily others' whom you can easily identify. Not always someone in your family tree. 

Some are stories we tell ourselves, and some are ones we have been told and adopt for ourselves, but ultimately we need to choose which ones to preserve and what they are going to look like and sound like. 
         The present rearranges the past. We never tell the story 
      whole because a life isn't a story; it's a whole Milky Way 
      of events and we are forever picking out constellations 
      from it to fit who and where we are. p. 246. 

 Mary Hayes Grieco in a book I was reading at the same time, The New Kitchen Mystic, refers to the "front and the back" of our stories. I often refer, instead, to shadow and light, but Solnit sees story as "the point of entry to larger territories," (p. 194)

      Listen: you are not yourself, you are crowds of others,
      you are as leaky a vessel as was ever made, you have
      spent vast amounts of your life as someone else, as
      people who died long ago, as people who never lived,
      as people you never met....There are other ways of 
      telling.  p. 248.

The Call
Do you see why I can't tell you what this book is about and why I can't state in one sentence what the take away from this book is for me? 

Still, however, I know it is a call similar to what the call of this stage of life is--to examine my story, to identify the threads, and to do the best I can to let go of what no longer serves the larger constellation.  
      The two jars before me are like stories written down;
       they preserve something that might otherwise vanish. 
       Some stories are best let go, but the process of writing 
       down and giving stories away fixes a story in its 
       particulars, like the apricots fixed in their sweet syrup, 
       and the tale no longer belongs to the writer but to the 
       readers. And what is left out is left out forever. p. 239.

Through my spiritual practices I fill the jars and preserve the fruit and offer it to others, both in hopes that I will know my own essence, but also that others will be nourished. 

Favorite Lines
Yes, there is the big story of the book, but then there are the lines that resonate all on their own. Here are a few:

"Never turn down an adventure without a really good reason." pp. 35, 74, and 250. 

"Books are solitudes in which we meet." p. 54

"Your door is my wall; your wall is my door." 58

About Buddhist monks: "They lived in the trust that the bowls would be filled." p. 146

"Creation is always in the dark because you can only do the work of making by not quite knowing what you're doing, by walking into darkness, not staying in the light. Ideas emerge from edges and shadows to arrive in the light..." p. 185

An Invitation
Of course, I invite you to read this book or any of Solnit's other books, but I am also interested to know your ideas about story. And how about sending me a list of what you want to preserve? 

      
     

A Bonus: Fall Pictures and Poetry from Readers

Don't these pictures just make you smile? My sister-in-law, Sue Kelly, is becoming quite the nature photographer and she especially enjoys watching the squirrels at her house. 
Thanks for sharing these, Sue. 






Another reader, Charlene Nevans shared this wonderful prayer by Edward Hays from Earth Prayers. She used it recently at the beginning of a T'ai Chi class she teaches. Thank you, Charlene. 

O sacred season of Autumn, be my teacher,

for I wish to learn the virtue of contentment.

As I gaze upon your full-colored beauty,

I sense all about you

an at-homeness with your amber riches.

You are the season of retirement,

of full barns and harvested fields.

The cycle of growth has ceased,

and the busy work of giving life

is now completed.

I sense in you no regrets:

you’ve lived a full life.

May I know the contentment

that allows the totality of my energies

to come to full flower.

May I know that like you I am rich beyond measure.

As you, O Autumn, take pleasure in your great bounty,

let me also take delight

in the abundance of the simple things in life

which are the true source of joy.

With the golden glow of peaceful contentment

may I truly appreciate this autumn day.

by Edward Hays in Earth Prayers

Tuesday's Reflection: What are you going to be for Halloween?

Remember when deciding what you were going to be for Halloween was the most important decision in your life? Were you going to be a superhero or something more traditional, like a witch or princess or ghost? Did you have one of those creative Moms who could turn you into Peter Pan or a fire hydrant with a whirl of her sewing machine? My children were at a clear disadvantage in that department, having me for a Mom. I remember one year Kate was a mouse. We used sheets that I somehow stitched together and filled with wads of paper for fullness, and another year Geof was Goldy Gopher, the University of Minnesota mascot. I think I made the tail to go along with U of M sweatshirt and pants and a mask or maybe my talented sister made it for him. 

Halloween was a challenge for me, but that's not to say I haven't worn many masks, many costumes in my lifetime. How about you? 

The Costumes and Masks of Life
 I have worn costumes called student, mother, wife and daughter and friend, business owner, spiritual director, teacher, and writer. For the most part I have loved those roles, and they have represented true aspects of myself and the life I have been privileged to live. However, there have also been moments when I have questioned my own authenticity.

Sue Monk Kidd in When the Heart Waits, Spiritual Direction for Life's Sacred Questions says, "We become adept at playing games, wearing masks as if life were a masquerade party." p. 47.  She wonders, "Had my masks gotten stuck to my face?" p. 53. 

Emotional Masks
I have worn the mask of confidence when feeling little or no confidence in myself. I have worn the mask of contentment and ease when my heart was breaking inside. I have worn the hostess mask when I would have preferred to be completely alone. I have worn a mask of courage, when I have been scared, and the mask of adulthood when I have felt like a child. I have worn the mask of seeker when I have instead been lazy. I have worn the mask of anger when what I really felt was fear.  I have worn the mask of belief when I felt on shaky ground. 

To quote Carl Jung, "We meet ourselves time and again in a thousand disguises on the path of life." 


Beyond Costumes and Masks
Occasionally over the years we bumped into an identity crisis. Perhaps when our youngest child went off to kindergarten or when we faced an empty-nest or when we lost a job unexpectedly or a long-term relationship ended. Those raw times became doorways of discovery leading to our True Selves, or as Meister Eckhart identifies, "There is something in the soul which is only God." 

What in you is only God? 

How does our True Self radiate over and around the margins of the mask?

Who are you beyond masks, roles, work, skills, history, experiences and associations? 

If all my identifications -- "Bruce's wife, Kate and Geof's mother and Maren and Peter's GrandNan, Betty and Dick's daughter, a spiritual director, a teacher, a writer, a friend --were suddenly stripped away, and some day they will be, who would I be? Who am I?

This is the work of these years. The work for today. 

Today's Challenge and Opportunity
Many of our roles have already disappeared or at least are worn less frequently. Fewer costumes in the closet may make it easier to "embrace our new wisdom face as it emerges," says Angeles Arrien in The Second Half of Life, Opening the Eight Gates of Wisdom. p. 45 or we may continue to mourn their loss, refusing to see they are two sizes too small or frayed around the collar. Send them to the resale shop. It's someone else's turn to use them wisely.    

 "Embracing our wisdom face, we can meet the challenge with which the eighth-century Buddhist Sage Hui-Neng is reputed to have confronted his disciples: 'Show me the face you had before even your parents were born.'" (Arrien, p. 51)

So how do we do this? This is the time to fully engage your spiritual practices. This is the time to know the part of you that is "only God." This is the time to get a bit uncomfortable and ask yourself what roles, masks and costumes you are having a hard time releasing. This is a time to "stop performing, pretending, and hiding to sustain our false identities and cultivated masks," (Arrien, p.48) and instead, "to be someone who is fully alive, a courageous explorer and adventurer who is willing to discover the true face that lies beneath family conditioning and cultural imprinting." (Arrien, p. 47). 

Open yourself to a time of moving beyond what you have always done and whom you've always been. 

This is a time of deepening. 

An Invitation
Share the masks and costumes you are leaving behind and what you are discovering about your true essence. Angeles Arrien suggests stretching yourself in order to learn something new about yourself everyday. I would love to know about those discoveries and adventures. 

October Reflection: I Never Met a Pumpkin I Didn't Like!

Delicious autumn!
My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird
I would fly about the earth seeking successive autumns.
                        George Elliot

My sentiments exactly. Or almost exactly, for Elliot forgot to mention that the bird would be looking for pumpkin patches!

I love every aspect of fall, but perhaps my favorite part of fall is the pumpkins. 

Pumpkin Diversity
How ironic in the season that we focus on words like "dying" and

"surrender" and "letting go" and "moving into darkness," there are pumpkins. What could be sillier than something big, round and orange? And what about all the varieties of pumpkins: Cinderella, Aladdin, Baby Boo, Jack Be Little, Lumina and Red Warty Thing. And what about the one that looks like peanut shells have been attached with a glue gun? 

Furthermore, pumpkins just aren't orange any more. They are pale green, almost grey, and darker green and peach, and white, and yellow and red. I love them all. 

Light on the Meaning. 
For once I am not going to do a deep reflection here.  I won't meditate on the meaning of my love of pumpkins.  They make me smile. They bring me pleasure, and I like to think that people walking by our home experience a touch of pleasure when they see my collection of pumpkins as well. 

Pumpkins are playful. Yes, I could turn them all into pies or soups and stews. Recipes abound, and maybe I will do one or two, but I am content with the way they seem to smile back at anyone who notices them. "Yup, I know I look kind of silly, but that's my job."

Pumpkin Memories
Of course, as with anything now that I am in my mid 60's, there are memories attached, even to pumpkins. Perhaps my favorite is remembering our son and daughter-in-love's October wedding. The rehearsal dinner was outside under a tent at our farm, and your eye could not rest without seeing a pumpkin --in

the gardens, on the tables, stacked outside the garage and at the entrance to the tent. I loved roaming the countryside, scouting out every Amish farmstand and loading the back of my Jeep with pumpkins. Maybe just one more. And then as if that weren't enough, a friend of the bride's painted a tiny pumpkin for every guest as their place card and favor at the wedding reception! Loved it. 

I also recall that it was my mother who enlightened me about white pumpkins. many years ago.  I didn't know there was such a thing--had never seen one. When Mom and Dad came to visit us in Ohio one fall, we headed into the countryside on a mission to find white pumpkins. Now they are everywhere, but at that time, we were trendsetters! 

I Lied! 
Of course, I can't close without at least a little reflection. Pumpkins remind me to see the beauty, to allow surprise to enter my life, to play, even for a few minutes. 

Pumpkins offer me an opportunity to consider what I have been gathering in these last months and to ask myself what I will make of what I have gathered within. 

Pumpkins, in their bounty and their individuality, remind me to give of myself. Generously. To reveal my own inner riches. 

Invite a pumpkin to come home with you and let it entertain you. 

An Invitation
Many people love fall, but dread winter. What is it about fall you love? Do you have pumpkin stories to share? Or pictures? 
What does fall mean to you emotionally? Spiritually?

Tuesday's Reflection: The Lure of the Lamp

I love coming downstairs on these dark mornings and turning on the kitchen desk lamp. For just an instant I stand in the glow of a little circle of light. It is still dark outside and in the rest of the house, but right there in that sheltered space, there is light. 

Just enough light to remind me of the light to come.

"Holy Dark"
Joyce Rupp O.S.M in her book Little Pieces of Light, Darkness and Personal Growth calls the kind of darkness that is essential for our growth "holy dark." That's how the early morning dark into light feels to me. 

That one light is a reminder to me to get quiet, listen to the inner promptings. It is in the little circle of light that I meditate and pray. I write. I read. I sit in silence. It is in the little circle of light where there is shelter for deep conversations and connection. The lit lamp reminds me of the inner light that never goes out, even when I may feel overwhelmed by darkness. Light follows the dark. 

And it always does. 

Rituals of Light and Dark
I recall my mother's habit of turning a light on in the bedroom she shared with my father in the early evening or late afternoon during the dark months, and when I was still living at home or in later years if I was visiting, she turned on a lamp in my bedroom as well. When I finally ascended the stairs to my room, the light would be waiting for me, welcoming me and protecting me as I moved into the darkness. That lamp on my dresser symbolized her love for me. I felt loved. 

Now if I stay with my father, I try to remember to turn on a light in his room before he goes to bed. And at home, even though I know it isn't energy efficient, I always leave a lamp on in our bedroom, so whenever my husband or I enter that room, a sign of protection and welcome and love greets us. I think Mom would approve. 


Sometimes during the day the house flashes with light. When potential buyers come to view the house, the routine is to turn on every single light in the house, per realtor instructions.  No matter the time of day or if the sun is blazing. My husband resists this ritual and suggests the realtor can turn on the lights when she/he arrives, but I think the house with all its lights on welcomes its guests and says, "This is a safe place. This is a place where you can create your own light." At other times I imagine someone walking by our house at night and seeing light in the upstairs bedroom window or downstairs in the den or living room. How could anyone not think, "Cozy, peaceful, comfortable"?

Later as one of the last acts of the days I walk through the house turning off each of the lamps which have kept me in the light throughout the day. I put the house to bed before I put myself to bed, trusting that light will follow the darkness. 

And it always does. 

A Gift
                    Turning on the Light

          Without this darkness--no awareness of light.
          Without this light--no awareness of darkness.
           In the flickering of the flame,
           in the delicate filament of the bulb
           is the light that is also the dark,
           the dark that is also the light.

           I shall never understand this mystery.
           Light and dark are somehow the same.
           I want not to prefer one over the other
           but to appreciate their unique
           and simultaneous truth. 

           Now light. Now dark. The switch turns,
           the wick catches fire. In that split second
           dark and light are one
           as is everything in the universe.
                                  Gunilla Norris 
                                  Being Home, A Book of Meditations

An Invitation
How comfortable are you in the dark? How do you create light in the darkness? What are your rituals of light and dark? I look forward to your comments.

Your October Meditation: Halloween and Other Fears

The first Thursday of each month I will offer you a meditation to use during that month. Here is the meditation for October. 

If you are afraid of something, you give it power.
                                        Moroccan Proverb

October is the month of ghosts and goblins. This is the month in which being scared is supposed to be fun, and opportunities to scare someone else are expected.  

I remember my toddler daughter or son holding on to my pant leg when I answered the door on Halloween night. I would move forward with the big graniteware bowl overflowing with candy in my arms, and Kate perhaps in her Wonder Woman pajamas or Geof in his Superman ones would peek around the door. They wanted to see what or who was on the front porch, but did they really? They were fearful, but also, fascinated and attracted to the realm of the scary at the same time. I think they knew real people, perhaps even people they knew, were behind the vampire mask or underneath the flowing white sheet, but at the moment they wanted to experience it from a safe distance. 

The next year, however, they started talking about Halloween costumes in the summer and eventually, they were the ones ringing the doorbell and dashing off to the next house laughing and teasing each other about "being so scared!" 

What happened to their fear? When did the fear become something to conquer? How did they know that being scared need not prevent them from moving forward? 

Fear and You
What about you? When have you been afraid? What have you done to conquer that fear? And was it worth it? 

At some time or another we are all afraid. After all, the human condition is scary. The question is, however, what do we do with the fear we experience? Is it possible to replace fear with faith? What would that look like in your life? 

A Meditation on the Role of Fear In Your Life
I invite you to sit in a quiet place and close your eyes, lightly, not tightly. Take a couple deep cleansing breaths and allow your body to relax into slow, even breathing. 

In this quiet, sacred, and safe place you create for yourself, invite a memory of when you were afraid as a child to appear. That memory is in the distance, outside of your safe place. 

Note the feelings you experienced then without feeling them now. That was then, this is now. You are safe, and there is no need to relive any fear you experienced as a child. Instead, that long ago fear can be your teacher. 

If you feel your body tense, especially in your shoulders, hands, or belly, remember to breathe deeply and fully and remember you are in a sacred and safe place. Remember, too, that you can open your eyes whenever you choose. 

As you continue to breathe steadily and evenly, look at the fear. If that fear is no longer in your life, how did you conquer it? How did conquering that fear teach you to respond to other fears in your life?

As you continue to breathe steadily and evenly, ask your heart to open to the possibility of releasing any fear that has room in your life now. What would that feel like? Be with that awareness and the feelings that surround the desire to live life with less fear. 

What do you need to move beyond and through fear? Imagine yourself with the courage to unlearn fears and the ability to seek help.  Imagine trusting your own inner wisdom. Open to these possibilities. 

Once again, take a couple deep cleansing, breaths and open your eyes, feeling safe and free. 

Take a few minutes to note, perhaps in a journal or by whispering to yourself, what you felt or learned during this brief time of meditation. What will you now bring into your life? 

A Blessing
May you trust your inner courage and wisdom. 

May fears be your teacher and lead you to a life in which you achieve your highest vision of yourself. 

May you feel surrounded by a spirit of growth and mindfulness, recognizing fear as a basic human emotion, which can lead us to the miracle of faith and love. 

Resources For Further Exploration
1.      Radical Acceptance, Embracing Your Life with the Heart of a Buddha by Tara Brach, Ph.D, especially chapter seven, "Opening Our Heart in the Face of Fear." 

2.      The Right Questions, Ten Essential Questions to Guide You to an Extraordinary Life by Debbie Ford, especially chapter twelve, "Is This an Act of Faith or Is It an Act of Fear?"

3.      Healing Through the Dark Emotions, The Wisdom of Grief, Fear, and Despair by Miriam Greenspan, especially chapter seven "From Fear to Joy."

4.      Fear and Other Uninvited Guests, Tackling the Anxiety, Fear, and Shame That Keep us from Optimal Living and Loving by Harriet Lerner, Ph.D.  

An Invitation
I welcome your thoughts about the role of fears in your life and also your comments about the meditation.     

Tuesday's Reflection: Where Would You Rather Be?

One day this summer, when I was feeling a bit blue, I made a list of where I would rather be at that moment. I listed places where I knew I would feel relaxed and content and where I would focus on more than just myself and whatever was bothering me. 

The first item on that list was Door County.

The "Thumb" of Wisconsin
For those of you who aren't familiar with Door County, it is the "thumb" of Wisconsin. Drive beyond Green Bay, home of the Packers and keep going north. The water known as Green Bay is on one side of the peninsula and Lake Michigan on the other side. Some people call it the "Cape Cod of the Midwest," and I understand the comparison, but it is its own unique setting --and is only a few hours away from our Madison home. 

I could do a whole travelogue about Door County--what to see and what to do--but none of that addresses why it is the first place I think of when I feel a need to be some place else. Yes, I know it can be crowded with visitors and you sometimes need to wait for over an hour at our favorite breakfast spot, The White Gull Inn, voted the "best place for breakfast in the United States" on the Today show, and it can be hard to get a last minute reservation for a place to stay, but here's the thing. My breath changes there. 

Recently, my husband and I spent a long weekend in Door County. Part of the reason was to mark Bruce's slight movement towards retirement. Now instead of working eight days a week, he works four. A very good thing. But another reason was to catch up on breathing. 

One shouldn't go too long without breathing. 

Breathing in Door County

The plan was simple: sit on the balcony of our modest hotel where we could see the water, read and nap; wander the back roads of the peninsula where there are few cars; return to favorite galleries, such as Morning Mist Studio, and enjoy leisurely meals. Sleep late. And breathe. 

We didn't just catch our breath, we followed our breath. We became our breath. We emptied and then filled with restorative breath. Before we realized it, we were no longer holding our breath, but we were using our breath to laugh, to share memories and to notice all the beauties around us. 

Sacred Places and Spiritual Practice

When I think of someplace I would rather be at this exact moment, it isn't so much about "escape," or that I yearn for another kind of life. Instead words like "sanctuary" and "sacred" and "spirit" come to mind. The places on my list are places where I feel more like myself, the me I was created to be. They are places where rest and renewal are possible, intentional, and where the inner being meets the vastness of the universe. Most often for me, that means being near water, but not always. Someplace I would rather be is as near now as my front porch, and the garden at our Ohio country home was one of those places for many years. 

I know what a privileged life I lead. I am able to periodically

physically go to one of the "places where I would rather be." Even so, that is not always practically possible, but that's what developing and attending to a spiritual practice is all about. 

Spiritual practices provide sacred space and create a sanctuary where your inner being aligns with the vastness of the universe. When, for example, I write in my journal, letting the pen empty my mind and my heart, I can discover the invitations of spirit. I slow down and breathe and it is on the breath that recognition of the sacred in my life lives. 

Places You Would Rather Be
How about you? Where are the places you would sometimes rather be? Right now, without thinking or setting limits make a list of any place you would rather be when life gets too complicated. 
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
As many places as you want. 
6.
7. 
8.
When you have made your list--and it is ok to add to this list any time you want, take a few minutes to notice what it is about these places that appeal to you. 

What are the feelings that arise simply by thinking about those places or naming them? Do these places have anything in common? How are they sacred for you?

Go beyond the memories or fantasies connected with them and allow the spirit of the place to address your own spirit and notice that conversation. Breathe into what message there may be for you.

Explore these places and their messages for you. 

An Invitation
I would love to know about the places on your list and what they offer and teach you and how they restore you? I invite your comments.