life as a forsythia leaf

Midsummer, midlife, imbibing beauty on my little corner

Good morning, muses

I have been wanting to bring you outside with me for a while now, maybe since it got warm for the summer, because I am so in love with the way our little corner is this time of year

So much to touch, so much to be part of

And I'll admit I have hesitated because, I don't know, it feels maybe a little embarrassing to record a video in the grass on a busy corner with cars rushing by

Sometimes cars or motorcycles will go by that are very noisy and I guess I was conscious of that may be interrupting a video, but if that happens I'll just pause and we can make a deal where you can take a deep breath … and I'll do the same

But the real reason I chose today to make this recording outside is because I was thinking about the encounter I had with our little forsythia bush back in early spring when the blossoms were new and I imagined what it would mean to live one lifetime as a forsythia blossom

And of course now the blossoms are long gone and the leaves have been sturdy, slightly jagged for months …

Far less heralded, the forsythia leaf, than the forsythia blossom

But here we are, so soft and sturdy:

both at the same time

I've been thinking about how life, in midlife, the phase I'm at, feels a little bit like being a forsythia leaf:

there is a quality of forever to it, where you get a sense that you'll always be fairly sturdy, fairly soft, getting things done, being in the world

And even now, there are leaves that are turning yellow or brown:

falling

changing;

both for the forsythia bush and the Birch,

these two beings that I commune with on the regular

I guess at this time, Midsummer, which also has a quality of forever to it:

a feeling of warmth and length of days that stretch out and feel like they'll just keep going forever

I want to honor both the energy of sturdy suppleness that I feel in my phase of life and that I relish in this time of year,

but I also want to honor

(I'm honoring passing neighbors at the moment )…

I want to honor the foreshadowings of change that are present in every season

In this case, yellowing/browning leaves

The places where the leaves have been torn by insects or wind

I want to honor the ways in which death is present even in the midst of vital vibrant life

And I want to honor that essential parts of the cycles and seasons are still to come…

So yes, holding a certain quality of ache, because I love what I am now:

I love my capacities and my ways of moving and being:

On this very little patch of lawn I have been practicing qi gong each morning of late,

feeling my bare feet on the grass, which is largely brown at this time of year,

but feeling so planted in the earth at moments,

and also feeling my mobility,

feeling what this body can do…

And not feeling an energy of pushing like I did in younger years, which maybe is more of that springtime energy, that vitality that pushes forth…

No, in this season my movement has much more to do with awe and delight at what's possible…

And feeling into the micro movements that connect one opening into a moment of closing

(I’ll link the YouTube qi gong woman that I like)

Because there’s something about the movement,

something about the opening and

the gazing upward

the contemplating downward

earth

sky

all these pieces that are so enlivening and real

(I’m trying to find some angle for myself where you don't have to watch all the different cars going by)

Francis of Assisi said, Our hands imbibe like roots, so I use them to touch what is beautiful in the world

(that's my loose approximation of the quote)

And I put my feet on the earth and I think my feet soak up like roots as well,

but I find myself touching so much around me:

from tiny, tiny luminous golden weeds in the grass

to Birch bark and beach roses…

I'm a little obsessed with sticking my face into beach roses these days

Yesterday I brought a towel out here, a beach towel, and just lay in the grass and stared up at the leaves of the Birch so gently jostled by the wind

If you bring yourself into close communion with one little patch of earth,

one small corner of life that is not human,

there's no end to the marvels that will acquaint themselves with you

And if you have the good fortune of being someone who enjoys memorizing poetry,

the things that will bubble up that you memorized many years ago but are still lurking there somewhere…

Yesterday, as I lay here I looked up at the leaves of the Birch and I remembered a snippet of Wendell Berry, the phrase is “a simple wakefulness filling perfectly the spaces among the leaves” [here’s the whole poem]

I thought about how many millions, billions, kazillions of leaves there are in the neighborhood like mine

I thought about how there's plenty of space for each and every one of them and somehow oodles of room for wakefulness to fill the space between them,

In this case, my wakefulness, of course,

this Birch and me

I hope that despite the strange and potentially distracting camera angles,

you are noticing birdsong more than the sound of the traffic,

and I pray that that may even be a metaphor for your week to come,

my precious muses,

that even if you have many responsibilities, many concerns and plans, and much to juggle and balance,

that those many matters will be like the leaves of your Birch tree,

and that you will have the grace to cultivate a wakefulness that fills the spaces between all the concerns, all the responsibilities,

and I wish for you that however much traffic may whoosh by (in this case the traffic represents the concerns of humankind, the mechanistic concerns, and the driving forward energies)

even if there are many whooshes of that kind of energy passing by you,

in a given hour, in a given day/morning,

I wish for you a sense of immense attunement to the grass beneath your feet,

to the birdsong that is present,

May there be space enough for all of it in you,

and if you find yourself overloaded with any kind of input

(As I see at this moment a convergence of multiple garbage trucks) …

When you find yourself at the convergence of multiple garbage trucks in the week to come, may you take a deep breath, even if it’s a stinky breath,

(there goes the other one)

May you breathe, may you find your sense of humor,

(yet another large truck passing by)

May you touch what is beautiful…

I’ve had my fingers on this grass all this time…

In qi gong, I often put a hand on my heart

So even if there is no grass no forsythia leaf Birch bark to touch

You always have you

So, a hand on your own precious beauty…

May you live fully in the gorgeous mess of it all, precious muses,

May you be the forsythia leaf and blossom, all in one,

Ready for the seasons still ahead even while enjoying the full, forever-quality of the summer that is at hand…

And for those of you who are not summering

(I’m thinking of my muse Jess in Australia)

For those of you in winter,

there is a quality of forever to winter, too,

And there's always another side on its way

Ohh, blessings…

I’ve rambled long enough for one morning.

I hope that

I know that

I trust that

one or two or three of you will reach out to remind me of the beauty in your corner of the world,

or murmur some words of wonderment in any variety

Blessings on you all