When Spiders Rule
A chill wind blows the yellowing leaves off the trees. They drift down to the ground like giant snowflakes. The air is pregnant with the feel of the coming holidays. Fall has truly come with the sudden drop in temperatures. November appears as a mirror image of March. November is the vibrant color of decay while March is the decaying color of about-to-burst-forth Spring.
The birds are at the bird feeder all the time now. They are not stopped by our presence when we come to fill the feeder or blow leaves under it. Nothing stops them. They swoop around the feeder and the surrounding trees like Kamikaze pilots, darting here and there recklessly. The squirrels are in a frenzy as well, stock piling and burying acorns and walnuts which they will retrieve without fail in a month or so in a snow-covered land.
The trees are most beautiful for me at this time of year, when many of them are bare and a scattering of leaves remain on dark brown branches. The leaves that remain on the trees blow on the limbs with dainty grace in their precarious positions. Yet these are the survivors. The other leaves have fallen and gone the way all living things eventually go. Most trees have lost all their leaves and they stand in stark contrast against the blue sky, the stormy sky, even the night sky. They are perhaps most beautiful at night, like arms reaching up to the darkness trying to grab at the stars twinkling between the branches. Moonlight dances on their limbs.
November is the last glimmer of color and in some places the color seems to be predominantly yellow. A carpet of yellow lines the woods now. And now one can see inside the woods, so dark and impenetrable in summer. Some forests have carpets of oak leaves– dark brown tan in color. Or there are forest paths with variegated colors– vibrant crimsons against yellows and faded greens and tawny tans. The unmown lawns are now taken over by the spiders and, at moments, one can see a world of webs covering fields that only appear in a certain slant of sunlight. It is the silent take over of the spiders before the snows come.
The yellow, the brown, the crimson leaves are complemented by the ubiquitous yellow, brown and crimson mums that appear on the roadside near mail boxes, on porches or along driveways. These tough little flowers withstand frosty chills and stand tall throughout most of November. Hearty souls and so giving in their colorful, velvety splendor.
Soon the season of lights will begin. Autumn, as a season, seems the fastest to come and go. I hold each moment in my hands as a treasure, but the moments all sift through my fingers like grains of sand. Then Christmas comes and fades in a flash, and we are into the Nor’Easter blizzards of January. Another year is gone. The years do go faster as you grow older. We go about living our lives, trying, against our natures, to treasure the good moments. Now in November, at Thanksgiving, it is our time to say thank you. Inspired by the Native Americans let us thank the earth. Let us say thank you to the trees for their constantly changing beauty, to the stars for their piercing presence in the night sky, to the leaves for their beauteous colors, to the sun for its life-giving power, to the Spring for its awakening hope, to the Summer for its warm, thriving growth, to the Fall for its bounty, to the Winter for a time of renewal, to the snow flakes for their hushed, white silence that transforms our world, to the animals for their pure souls, to our families and friends for their love, and, lastly but mostly, to the Higher Power of our belief.
Happy Thanksgiving and may you each be blessed with the all embracing, pervasive Love in nature.
A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream
As twilight falls, as we approach August, the little sparks of light appear nightly… fireflies, lightening bugs, glow worms, whatever one chooses to call them. They start early in July– one sees a few sparks here and there but as July draws to a close, twilights dawn with a display of tiny fireworks. Why do they hold such fascination for young and old alike? Why do they bring us such a sense of wonder as they flicker on and off in some rhythm unknown to us but sparkling in communication with one another?
Of course I remember, like everyone else, catching fireflies. It was a ritual my Sicilian grandfather reenacted with me every summer. Grandma would save me a peanut butter jar, nicely washed with little holes in the top she made with an old-fashioned can opener. Grandpa and I would go out for an after-dinner walk, a treat in itself. It was a journey with a purpose, a hunt to catch those bugs whose tail ends light up, on and off, I learned later, to signal mates.
Grandpa always managed to catch one and we would walk home victorious, with me clutching my precious jar with my favorite kind of bug residing within. There was the exciting story we would tell Grandma and she would give me a lettuce leaf in case the bug should be hungry in the night. Then to bed. And then the real waiting began… lying in the dark with the jar on the bedside table waiting for my captive bug to alight. I would wait and wait but no flickering light appeared and before long I would fall asleep in the arms of disappointment.
It was even worse in the morning. The lightening bug did not look well. His antennae would be damp and sticking to the jar in a bad way. He was not eating the lettuce leaf. And this was my first lesson in the perils of capturing and imprisoning a creature. They did not behave like they did when free. Finally in a child’s form of despair, I would let him go and he would leave so much the worse for wear.
Years later, on my husband’s great aunt’s farm in Ohio, the trees would be filled with lightening bugs mating. It was a sight I had never seen. Whole trees would light up at once and upon close examination one would find hundreds of fireflies. It was a cathedral of flickering lights that brought awe as we beheld the mystery with our hearts.
And now, living in a converted barn which allows many bugs to enter despite window screens, the lightening bugs within are no longer in a jar but free to fly about our house. They bring sheer delight as they light up in the darkness of our bedroom. I am a child again with my beloved grandfather, though now I no longer want to capture the mystery as I stay awake as long as possible, watching the little flickering lights inside the room and outside in the trees. I think of simpler days and after dinner walks with Grandpa. I think a lot of my grandparents, but in the nostalgia, the magic of this tiny bug amazes still. And the magic brings joy as we share it with our children, our grandchildren, our beloved, anyone who can watch with us this Midsummer Night’s dream.
I remember…
Christmases of very long ago, when my parents were just barely out of childhood themselves and we went to my Sicilian grandparents’ house in Larchmont. And there was good cheer, Grandma shouting, “Whoopee, Whoopee!” after a few sips of wine before she disappeared into the kitchen to bring out a sumptuous, Italian meal with foods I no longer eat– bracciole and the ever familiar spaghetti with meatballs. My Grandmother’s meatballs tasted like no others and as many times as my mother asked for the recipe, each time the recipe changed. We children had teeny glasses of wine mixed with water. And after the meal, while the womenfolk were cleaning up in the kitchen, the men sat in the living room on the sofa, hands folded over their stomachs, dozing. Then out came the mandolin when Grandpa woke up and there were festive Italian songs to dance to.
Now Christmases are very quiet. My life with my husband is very contemplative. No more hoopla. No more meatballs or bracciole. No more wine. No more visting with the few relatives still with us. Old friends are mostly gone. A very few of the most precious ones are left, one or two new friends and a couple of lovely neighbors are in our hearts. But I am deeply grateful for the best friend of my life, my husband. Retirement has knit us closer than ever. We do not want hoopla and festivities. Just some music, our little, trusty tree and heart ornaments I bought with my school bestie (long gone) over 50 years ago. Now my husband is the light of my life. He brings the spirit of Christmas to my heart every day. We are grateful to wake up to each other every morning and pain over the thought of the inevitable loss of the other. Life is poignant, precious. Christmas always brought tears. Fears. Underneath all the celebration, even as a child I always felt the vibration of life… and the mystery and nearness of death. Now only more so. Hoopla only goes so far. SPIRIT is underneath all.
A happy Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, Diwali to you all and to all a good life!
“Cool Change”… Fall Upstate in Millbrook, New York
This was one of my brother’s (R.I.P.) favorite songs… “Cool Change” by Little River Band.
Lessons of the Lily
“FEEL THE INFINITE LOVE OF GOD WITHIN YOUR HEART. LET YOUR HEART EMANATE THAT LOVE FOR ALL… THE FORCES OF GOOD ARE HUMBLE AND UNASSUMING.”
Paramahansa Yogananda
(Click to enlarge)
Equanimity
“Calmness is the voice of God speaking to you through the radio of your soul.”— Paramahansa Yogananda
A temple in Khajuraho, India at Dawn
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For contributions and an introduction to the children at Michael’s Makindye Foundation providing a home for street children in Uganda click on the link below. Michael and Angie appear in a photograph below the link.
https://www.gofundme.com/f/sustainability-support-for-the-makindye-foundation
Jeepers Peepers
Above: the vernal pool not yet unfrozen and below: the YouTube video to hear the song of the Spring Peepers
It is late afternoon and it is spring according to the calendar although still quite cool. I have just spent the late afternoon listening to “music.” Some have likened it to the sound to bells. Others to bird song. And still others, with unimaginable disdain, to “some kind of nature noise.” For me it is one of the happiest of sounds. The act of creation transformed into sound decibels for all to hear. A sound that comes from the earth and resounds to the heavens, unwittingly praising the Almighty. I hate to leave, and wish I lived even closer to the pond, so that the sound would surround me totally, filling my ears every evening with the sound of perhaps the single-most highlight of spring for me. The siren song of the Spring Peepers.
How have they cast their spell over so many? I cannot say except that their song is uplifting and filled with hope despite the natural perils they face daily. For, as true of all of us, they may die at any moment– say as a meal for a nearby perching crow or underneath murky waters eaten by a snapping turtle. They call for a mate without ceasing, without fear, single-mindedly, without a thought for their own safety. It is nature at its most elemental, in its most singular scope. They all sing out vying to be heard– so many voices. In some spots, I am told, their song is deafening. How nice to be there; I cannot get enough of their sweet music. It moves me to tears– these tiny creatures singing out their heart’s desire.
As I return home to family “situations” and domestic duties, I yearn for the simplicity of their song. Their total fervor. For if they sing then all is right in that small part of the world. Progress has not paved over their pond. Disdainful humans have not drained a “vernal pool.” David Carroll writes about vernal pools in one of his books on turtles called The Swampwalker’s Journal. As the title suggests, Carroll walks through such places in search of turtles and other amphibians. He defines a vernal pool as a pool of water that fills up in Fall and Winter and freezes, swells in the Spring and often dries up by end of Summer. But a vernal pool is utmost a place of magic, not only where turtles lurk, but also where mating frogs deposit gelatinous eggs, which turn first into tadpoles, and then, later, become frogs. Vernal pool habitats hold a galaxy of small things that come to life the instant ice and snow turn back into water. And after a requisite series of warm days, followed by spring rains, on the first dark night, vernal pools become the site of the “salamander night.” Salamanders leave their hibernacula to go for a night of endless mating and then return to leaf litter in the woods to disappear for the rest of the year. Some people, who know nothing of vernal pools and their function, deem them a nuisance, a “big puddle” to be filled in or drained. Some people know little of spring peepers except that they are “noisy,” “like some sort of insect.” (Poor insects being made out to be the pesky lowest of the low.) The natural symphony of hormonal, harmonic sounds sometimes falls on deaf ears.
And when, after finishing my evening chores, I try to read, I find the haunting sound of the spring peepers deep within my psyche, making me restless and anxious and wishing to be at that pond, surrounded on all sides by their sex song, inebriated by the unbridled joy in the air, immersed in the utter power of nature manifesting in one of her gentler forms. In the song of the Spring Peepers nature celebrates life-to-be rather than taking lives away. For most of all the song of the Spring Peepers is a song of tremendous faith, faith in love, and faith that love will propagate and new life will emerge untouched by the often destructive hand of man.
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To read about and/or give to Michael’s foundation for orphan and street children in Uganda, click on the link below the picture of Michael and Angie:
http://www.gofundme.com/f/sustainability-support-for-the-Makindye-Foundation
Beings of Light
(Click to enlarge)
(Click to enlarge)
December is my favorite time of year. In this month of darkness, in this the darkest month, the light of the human spirit shines forth in a fullness shown by so many, in so many ways. As the days grow shorter in North America, houses and trees are decorated, and snow falls. In the hushed silence of the nights, lights shine in windows, and the beauty is shared by passersby. For this season of giving brings the festivals of lights: Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, Diwali. Each tradition incorporates light in its ceremonies and decorations.
A neighbor friend of mine who lived down the road, a donkey in his stable, reminds me of the story of another manger over 2000 years ago. And seeing him snug in his stable with snow on the ground gave the illusion that all was right in the world. But all is not well. Thousands know no peace in any season. Millions are cold and starving. Racism and religious wars prevail. Climate change advances in leaps and bounds, faster than most predicted.
Those who live closer to the land are especially blessed. They share their lives with animals who are constant reminders of humility and simplicity in this rapid, complex, multi-tasking world. They can drive around on a December night and see houses covered in lights with illuminated trees, houses warmed by fires, filled with laughter and conversation and love, and feel blessed. Blessed to have so much when others have so little. Blessed to be able to celebrate as they wish when others cannot. Yet even those living in the worst conditions show the light of the human spirit and celebrate the season of light in personal ways. For the human spirit is indomitable.
Einstein said: “A human being is part of the whole, called by us the ‘Universe”– a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts, and feelings, as something separated from the rest– a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.” We are all cut from the same cloth and our inner light unites us.
In December’s darkness we light lights. For we are beings of light. A light glows within each one of us. And, at the most basic level, we are beings of light because we are made from stardust. Perhaps that is why the stars hold such majesty for us– we are all—Muslim, Christian, Jew, Hindu, African, whatever– we are all made from star material.
And in this holiday season we behold the night sky as Christians say shepherds did over two thousand years ago on the birth of the holy infant, in a stable like the one down the road where my donkey friend lives. On that night they say a star lit the whole sky to guide the shepherds to the stable of the infant, Jesus, the son of God.
In these deep, long, silent nights as we light our houses, our candles, our trees, let us look inside ourselves and find the glow that may guide us each, alone but akin, to THE Light!
(Click to enlarge)
Blue Hills, Magenta Sky Reflected
(Click to enlarge)
Welcome to samples of my work in various art forms showcasing “Eye-locks and Other Fearsome Things.” “Eye-locks” is a Bipolar/Asperger’s memoir in narrative form that describes the triumph of love over mental illness.
Contrasts… Diamonds are “Forever” Billboard and Old Man in Palayam (Old Market of Calicut), Kerala, India
Beings of Light
December is my favorite time of year. In this month of darkness, in this the darkest month, the light of the human spirit shines forth in a fullness shown by so many, in so many ways. As the days grow shorter, houses and trees are decorated, and snow falls. In the hushed silence of the nights, lights shine in windows, and the beauty is shared by all. For this season of giving brings the festivals of lights: Diwali, Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa. Each tradition incorporates light in its ceremonies and decorations.
A neighbor friend of mine who lives down the road where we used to live, a donkey in his stable, reminds me of the story of another manger 2000 years ago. And seeing him snug in his stable with snow on the ground used to give me the illusion that all is right in the world. But all is not well. Not now, not then. Millions know no peace in any season. A world-wide pandemic rages. Politics that divide us runs rampant.
This year some have no food, no home. Others fret over how to pay bills. Yet even living in darkest of times we can see the light of the human spirit and celebrate the season of light in personal ways. For the human spirit is indomitable.
In December’s darkness we light lights. For we are beings of light. A light glows within each one of us. And, at the most basic level, we are beings of light because we are made from stardust. Perhaps that is why the stars hold such majesty for us– for we are made from star material.
Einstein said: “A human being is part of the whole, called by us the ‘Universe”– a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts, and feelings, as something separated from the rest– a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.” We are all cut from the same cloth and our inner light unites us.
And in this holiday season we behold the night sky as shepherds did two thousand years ago on the birth of the holy infant, in a stable like the one down the road where my donkey friend lives. That night a star (maybe the congruence) lit the whole sky to guide the shepherds, and on these deep, long, silent nights as we light our houses, our candles, our trees, if we are blessed enough to have them, let us look inside ourselves and find the glow that may guide us to The Light.
The Light Within
December is my favorite time of year. In this month of darkness, in this the darkest month, the light of the human spirit shines forth in a fullness shown by so many, in so many ways. As the days grow shorter, houses and trees are decorated, and snow falls. In the hushed silence of the nights, lights shine in windows, and the beauty is shared by all. For this season of giving brings the festivals of lights: Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanza. Each tradition incorporates light in its ceremonies and decorations.
In December’s darkness we light lights. For we are beings of light. A light glows within each one of us. And, at the most basic level, we are beings of light because we are made from stardust. Perhaps that is why the stars hold such majesty for us– we are made from star material.
Einstein said: “A human being is part of the whole, called by us the ‘Universe”– a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts, and feelings, as something separated from the rest– a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.” We are all cut from the same cloth and our inner light unites us.
And in this holiday season we behold the night sky as shepherds did two thousand years ago on the birth of the holy infant, in a stable like the one down the road where my donkey friend lives. That night a star lit the whole sky to guide the shepherds, and on these deep, long, silent nights as we light our houses, our candles, our trees, let us look inside ourselves and find the glow that may guide us to The Light
A holy Hanukkah, a magical Christmas and the ecstasy of Sadhguru to all for the New Year! May we awaken from Maya and realize the wonders we are… for inside each of us burns the Sacred Light of the Universe.
R.I.P. “Rabbit” with Love, Mouse
My friend
My friend with cancer
My friend
My friend who had chemo
Three runs of chemo
Radiation
Two surgeries
My friend who was cured
Whose cancer had gone
My friend who was cured
Who wanted to write a book
Who wrote to me often
Who listened to me with Heart
My friend
Where did he go?
Why did he die?
Why when he was starting anew
With his wife who stood by him
Helped him when he was sick
Why did he die?
I want to know
Where did he go?
I want to know if the chemo
Killed him
Chemo
It did not help my father,
My mother, my brother
My best friend
I thought I was wrong
I thought this time it helped my friend
Yes, it helped him alright
It killed him!
Why did he have to die?
Why?
My friend, “Rabbit,” Rest in Peace
Love forever, Mouse
How Trump Showed Me I was Behind Bars
A letter to my dear friend…Moonset
The hush
of predawn
in which
the moon
silently
surreptitiously
descends
into the black hole
of the tail end
of night
*
A similar moment
years ago
in my arms
as she struggled to breathe
already half the battle
over
one prick of the needle
instantly limp
a hushed end
to a soulmate
our baby
*
Why can’t we
too
go this way
as softly as
a moon setting
in the whisper
of predawn
of a new day?
Who is I?
Mooji makes it all so simple. His gift is to simplify and pare things down to basics. Hoping that the beautiful, short video below may offer a new awareness. Many of you are way beyond this lesson. But for those of us struggling to understand, you don’t need to go to the mountain. Listen to Mooji and “see.”
Nature’s Prayers
Still yourself
and fold your hands
humbly
stand in awe
radiate His light
with eyes upwards
towards
the telephone
to the sky
and comtemplate
the glory that is He
Windows into Worlds: Bike Culture Up Close
A closer look into the biker shop window in Saugerties, NY
Windows into Worlds: Bike Culture
We recently toured Saugerties, NY and I found this interesting window full of biker paraphernalia and decided to play with the subject and the reflections of the town in the window.
MOONSIDE 
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