Later, inside, we sat together in refuge.  We were a random assembly of people of various ages, ethnicities, and gender identities (yes there are more than two here). We sat as individuals on our mats, or on our chairs, as the last golden shafts of sunlight graced the floors and the walls of the room. 

We sat together as a Sangha: a spiritual family, united as one by our common compassion and our desire to give and receive loving kindness to and from each other, and the world round us.  Though we were thankful for the comfort of mats and chairs and the warmth of the room, the building was not our refuge.  The Sangha itself was our refuge. 

A question was raised: “How do you find the sacred?” To be honest, I didn’t have a great answer.

With hindsight, I should have responded that we don’t find the sacred.  The sacred finds us.  We just have to be open to receiving the sacred that surrounds us every day. 

I didn’t seek out that seat on the bench in the garden knowing that the angle and intensity of the sunlight at 10:50 AM would be just right, and that the blue sky would be so perfectly cloudless.  I was open to sitting and shivering for a few moments in the garden (as I’d left both my coat and my phone in the car).  I sat with no expectations and no purpose in mind. Then, the sacred found me. 

This morning I thought about how beautiful those leaves and the sky were yesterday. I considered returning to the garden, with my phone, to try and recreate and photograph a similar sacred moment. But I knew that it would not be possible. Something would be different.

As it turned out, it rained today. As I walked home from class, I found the sidewalk littered with soggy red leaves. If I did return to the garden, I would likely just find wind-blown, barren twigs scratching at the rain-streaked sky.

But, no matter. There will be new wonders and sacred moments to come. Perhaps even in the most unexpected places.

The rain stopped, and a half block closer to home, in a different cluster of leaves, I found droplets of rain glistening like jewels in the flat, grey light. The droplets were so full that they appeared poised, on the verge of rolling off their cushion of leaves, soon to be lost forever to Somerville’s endless concrete desert. To my eye, the droplet’s dazzling magnification of the finest details of the leaves is beautiful and sacred.

The sacred found me again! I have proof of that, and more! The faintest reflection of myself (hooded, with iphone at the ready) offers reassurance that I am on a path that will bring the sacred to me time and again, and that I am prepared to receive it.

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Somedays even the dogs give me that “YOU”VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME” look! LOL

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Impossible bridge?

Impassable bridge?

The mind may travel where the body may not. And the spirit? Even farther!

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Maybe I should have better things to do. But, for me, right now; I need to slow things down, stop looking at my phone, and just look at the world around me.

Yesterday I stood alone in a field and watched what I thought was a butterfly flutter across the field. But, something about its awkward, almost lopsided flight pattern told me that this was either a really old butterfly, or one with half a wing missing, or something else entirely.

I pause for a moment because the thought of a geriatric butterfly makes me laugh, makes me curious (how long do butterflies live?), and makes me think that the story of the last days of a really old butterfly would make a great short story.

I’m certain that if I take the time to look it up on Google I’ll find that this insect is very common and nothing to give a hoot about. Or I might even learn that it is considered a pest and that I should have smooshed it instead of photographing it.

I won’t go on Google. Instead I’ll be amazed and completely, willingly humbled by this creature so much more incredible than myself.

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My brother and I were throwing a plastic throwing disk in the back yard this summer and attempting not to refer to it as a “Frisbee”. The “Frisbee” is a trademarked product of the Wham-O toy company. Our disk was one that the kids got for free with their lunch at Obrien’s pub, and was not an official “Frisbee”.

We were trying to think of other brand names that have become so widely used that we forgot that they were brand names at all. Most of the examples from our youth are no longer applicable. The “Xerox machine” has become the “copier” and a “Kleenex” is now a “tissue”. It was one of those unimportant but pleasing conversations that was interrupted and trailed off, hopefully to be continued another day…..

My kids recently requested that I buy some Popsicles at the grocery store. As I was considering the choices: sugar-free, organic, naturally flavored, artificially flavored….I was delighted to discover that “Popsicle”, the name that I’ve always used to refer to the summer treat generically known as an “Ice Pop”, is one of “those” trademark names. I was even more delighted to learn that Popsicles and Ice Pops are so much more than just frozen fruit juice on a stick. They are “Quiescently Frozen Confections”.

I only hope that I have a suitable platter to serve them upon.

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I shot this photo at Long Point light house in Provincetown Harbor in June of 2022.

It was a perfect day: We had the bluest sky and the brightest sunshine overhead,

It was the kind of day where anyone could take a photo of anything, and with that sky in the background, it would be beautiful. So, I consider myself a lucky photographer, more than a skillful one.

This photograph is not intended to be a commentary on my own spirituality, or on the state of our nation. If anything, it represents a healthy skeptioptimism about……everything.

But, on Independence Day I will say that I consider myself fortunate to have been born here in the United States. Our nation is not perfect, but it provides us with many freedoms and opportunities that are not available to the citizens of much of the rest of the world.

I am also grateful to those who have fought, and continue to fight on battlegrounds, in government, in courtrooms, and in the streets to protect our freedoms and opportunities. May we progress to a time when those freedoms and opportunities will be afforded equally, without bias or discrimination, to all citizens of our nation, and the world.

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While walking our dog Archie earlier this winter I saw this little leftover pumpkin sitting on a bench. I thought that the pumpkin with the melting snow around it could be a “beautiful representation of the juxtaposition of three seasons”, or some such malarkey.
So, I attempted to capture the scene in just the right lighting conditions and from the best angle, all while holding the dog leash.

Eventually, Archie grew tired of my artistic endeavor. He came over to see what was so damn interesting about the pumpkin, and to remind me of the true purpose of our outing. As he investigated in his own, uniquely canine way (with his mouth), I realized that even the dog is teaching me to be more mindful. Come to think of it, animals are the best teachers of mindfulness. They always live in the moment!

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Guess who’s in charge of making the holiday cookie dough!

Admittedly, I have been promoted to Chief Baker status out out of necessity, not because of any great culinary achievements on my part.

I am fully capable of reading and following a recipe. But, I know nothing about coaching my 9 year-old daughter’s soccer team.

Come to think of it; it is nice and quiet and peaceful here in the kitchen.

But, is it really supposed to look like that?

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My poem is, of course based on the classic poem “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” by Clement Clarke Moore (1822)

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