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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The tiniest of toads at Mount Auburn Cemetery

So, be warned:  If I’m out walking and I see a toad, I will chase it down, catch it (surprisingly easy to do), then hold it in the palm of my hand for a few moments. 

Toads don’t particularly like getting caught.  But, I’ve found that once you do catch a toad, if you hold it in the palm of one hand, then cup the other hand over the top, the toad will settle down very quickly. There’s something strangely pleasing about the feeling of the cool, smooth underbelly of the toad against the palm of my hand. 

There’s something endearing and admirable about the way that a toad can instantly switch from “DANGER, DANGER, HOP AWAY, HOP AWAY” survival mode to a chill, zen-like calm. 

HOP AWAY! HOP AWAY!

If you’re like 95% of the human population, your next question will likely be: “Don’t toads cause warts?”  It’s the number one Google inquiry regarding toads by the way.

I’m no batrachologist (amphibian expert).  But, based on my own very unscientific research conducted over the past five decades, I can confidently say that touching a toad will not give you warts.   I wouldn’t go so far as to rub a toad all over my face (that would be toadally weird).  But, picking one up and holding in my hand for a minute or two has worked out just fine for me.

And now, thanks to Google, I can tell you that The Cleveland Zoological Society agrees with my findings.  Their website definitively states: “Warts on humans occur when a (human) virus comes in contact with skin and causes an infection. Warts are not caused by touching toads”.

Grace holds a tiny toad

I wish I could say, “Touch a toad today,” and be on my way.  But, the danger of Google is that, while searching for one piece of knowledge, we might learn more than we want to learn.  In my quest to dispel the myth that toads cause warts, I exposed my own naivete.  I stumbled across an article titled “Is Toad Licking Dangerous?”  I had to read it.  Who could resist?

It turns out that, though toads do not cause warts, nearly all toads secrete poison from glands on their bodies.  Fortunately for me the secretions of the Mount Auburn toads are harmless.  It’s likely that they have little harmful effect, other than tasting really, really bad.  I can’t say for sure, as I’ve never tasted a toad.  But, apparently, many other people have.  According to the article, certain folks (I am not one of them) are quite fond of licking toads, as the poison causes hallucinations.

I don’t want to be judgmental, so I won’t.  I’ll be grateful instead.  I’m grateful that the reality of my life isn’t so bad that I feel compelled to lick toads to escape it.

With all of the above in mind, I have to wonder about those old fairy tales that we’ve all read:  Princess kisses a frog, the frog becomes a prince, and they live happily ever after.  Maybe the princess kissed a toad and hallucinated that the toad became a prince.  This I find totally believable.  But, how could they possibly have lived happily ever after?  It’s certainly something to ponder when you can’t sleep some night.  I know I will.

But, back to my brief relationship with this particular toad:  I opened my hands, it hopped back to the safety of the grass, hopped a foot or two, then stopped.  That’s when I got down on the ground, looked into the little toad’s eyes.  I chuckled and said, “Silly toad.  You know I can still see you, right?”

Now I realize that the toad isn’t silly.  The toad is confident. 

From the toad’s perspective: I didn’t hold it gently in my hands; I tried to eat it.  I didn’t willingly free it; I spit it out when I realized how bad it tasted.  The toad knows that it tastes bad, and the toad knows that it’s pretty darn good at camouflaging itself.  The toad is confident that even if I can see it, I’d be stupid to try to eat it again.  All it has to do is wait me out.  Then, it can be on its way. 

And, that’s exactly what happened.

Still, I can’t help but see a little twinkle in the toad’s eye and a little smirk on its lips.  I smile and  wonder if maybe there really is a little prince or princess in there. 

Or, maybe I should have washed my hands before eating our picnic lunch that day.

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Just a cluster of leaves?

Something in that clump of leaves caught my eye. 

“No!  Damn it!  I have work to do! Not today!” 

I prepared for the satisfying pop and crunch of dry leaves underfoot. 

But, these days I’m trying to treat everyone and everything that I encounter with at least a little kindness. Why should a cluster of dead leaves be the exception? So, I slowed my pace and considered the value of the cluster of leaves, for just a moment or two.  What could be the harm?

Though the cluster of leaves were positioned in the way of my day’s progress by no effort or fault of their own, the manner and sound of their movement gave them the personification, (or animalification?) of an angry crab blocking my path and raising a toothy claw in defiance, or defense.  This would not be my first encounter with an angry crab.  But, certainly it was my first such encounter so far from the sea.     

My pace slowed nearly to a stop, and a smile raised the corners of my lips, as I allowed myself the unearned luxury of sliding into a pleasant memory. 

If the productive day that I had planned when I climbed out of bed was a train on a journey, my train had just been derailed twice within a few moments, by a clump of leaves.  Horribly derailed? Or delightfully derailed?   I can’t decide.  That’s the question at the core of this writing, and the accompanying artwork. 

I no longer stood in autumn, on the sidewalk, or on Hancock street in Somerville.  I was standing in summertime, on the fishing pier at Castle Island in Boston, with my son Zachary and our friend Alex. 

Our afternoon of fishing had been uneventful due to a conflict between our busy schedules, the desire to hook a big “striper”, and the laws of nature.  In other words: We were fishing at low tide.  The chances of catching anything at all were quite slim.  Our chances of hooking one of those 20 pound striped bass that we dreamed about, were near zero. 

All afternoon the sudden excitement of a perceived tug of “the big one” on the line gave way immediately to disappointment as we realized that instead of hooking a ”Monster Bass”, we had hooked the ocean floor.  I spent most of the afternoon cutting snagged fishing lines and optimistically installing new hooks, sinkers, and hunks of squid.  Determinedly, the two boys continued to hurl said hooks, sinkers and squid into the shallower and shallower water alongside the pier. 

We were just about to concede defeat, and call it a day, when suddenly, Zachary shouted, “I caught something!” And, he yanked a shiny, thrashing sea creature out of the water, and up onto the pier. 

“What is it!?” “What is it!?”

One of my favorite aspects of salt water fishing are those first few moments when you know that you’ve caught something, but you’re not quite sure what. On this particular afternoon, Zachary had hooked a small, but extremely feisty crab!

Cranky crab

As we scrambled to find a bucket or net to contain the little guy so we could study him (or her) for a minute or two, the crab had plans of its own. It freed itself, and began to make a hasty retreat across the pier. We surrounded the crab and tried to soothe it with words like: “Calm down little guy. We just want to take your picture.”

The crab was having none of that! It turned to face each one of us, looking us straight in the eye with it’s beady little crab eyes. When it was certain that it had our undivided attention, the crab raised its largest claw into the air and opened and closed it slowly, menacingly. Cint Eastwood’s famous line: “Do you feel lucky punk?…..Well?….Do ya?” came to mind, as the little crab held us at bay.

Honestly, I can’t blame the crab. If I were camping, and a grizzly bear dragged me out of my tent by my lip; and tried to explain to me in bear language (which sounds a lot like angry, or perhaps hungry, growling); that he just wanted to take my photograph; I would use any tactic at my disposal (including those employed by “Dirty Harry”) to get away.

Apparently, we were not “feeling lucky”. The crab’s tactic caused us to hesitate just long enough for it to back all of the way to the edge of the pier. Then, with one last victorious wave of it’s raised claw, the crab said, “So long suckers!” in crab language, and hopped off the pier, back into the frothy ocean below.

Back on Hancock street in Somerville: I didn’t realize it yet, but I was the curious and hungry crab. The clump of leaves were the fisherman’s lure, and I was about to be hooked by my own creativity and artistic curiosity. I gently picked up the leaves and took them into the house.

How would the leaves look under incandescent light? Fluorescent light? Bright sunlight? How would they look with alternating bands of sunlight and shadow from my venetian blind?

They remind me of the birds with which they shared the trees

Funny. They almost look like a bird from this angle, don’t they?

What about an extreme closeup, with the color balance adjusted a bit? I’m not a purest, and I’m not purely a photographer. So, Photoshop is not “cheating” in my book.

Lingering signs of life

The leaves look so bright and alive in the above image. What if I go the other way, and accentuate the fact that they are dead, and spotted with the first signs of decay?

First hints of decay

You might think that I’ve exhausted the possibilities. But, this is just the beginning. What if I modify the images above? What if I cut them into pieces and rearrange the pieces? What if I overlay those pieces on top of one another in layers, then modify the transparency, color balance, and contrast of the individual layers? What kind of completely new images start to emerge from this process? What kind of meaning could these new images have? What do these images tell me about the leaves, about myself?

A portrait of the sun?

And I repeat the process, and I repeat it again,

The flowering tree of springtime

and again, and again.

With each step I see something different emerge: Faces, flowers, animals, symbols…….. I wonder if this “art” would look good printed on fabric, like a tapestry? I realize that I’m exhausted. I brought the leaves in just after dropping the kids off at school, just before I was going to eat breakfast. It’s 2:00 PM. I missed breakfast. I missed lunch. I haven’t done any work. “For what?” I ask myself.

Then, just like the feisty little crab, I set myself free. I slammed my palm down hard on the cluster of leaves, then brushed the pieces into the trash. I closed all of the photoshop files and made myself a bowl of oatmeal. I’ll just have to work late tonight to make up for…… whatever it is that I did today.

But, there is a better ending to this story. I promise!

I was recently invited to submit artwork to be considered for inclusion in the ArtsMedford exhibit titled “2023 Autumnal Equinox” to be held at the Medford Public Library (111 High Street Medford Massachusetts) from September 11 – October 26, 2023.

It occurred to me that maybe I was a bit too hasty in casting the leaves aside.

I could look at the leaf cluster incident as a lost day of work, as described above. Or, I could (and I will) look at it as the adventure that it was, and continues to be.

Is there an activity that you enjoy so much that you lose yourself in it completely for an hour or two? Suddenly, you look up and say, “Wow, where did the time go?” It’s a time warp of sorts. It’s a very pleasing and therapeutic time warp.

The cluster of leaves was / is just such a time warp for me. And, it came with a bonus! I’m pretty sure that I had filed away the day of the feisty crab as a “bad day of fishing” in my brain. But now, thanks to the cluster of leaves, it has been transformed into the joyful memory that it always should have been.

I transformed the cluster of leaves, and they transformed me.

I am pleased to announce that the artwork above, as well as two of my photographs will be featured in the ArtsMedford “2023 Autumnal Equinox” exhibit.

“First Hints of Autumn”

“Autumnal Wreath”

CLICK HERE TO SEE THE WORK OF ALL OF THE TALENTED ARTISTS EXHIBITING THEIR WORK IN THE ARTSMEDFORD AUTUMNAL EQUINOX EXHIBIT!

Please click below if you would like to download a printable flyer for the exhibit.

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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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