At the end of my allotted quiet time, I ran an errand and came home to find piles of feathers in the yard. Not the scatter of a sparrow or a blue jay (or one of my ducks, thank goodness); something bigger, different, something I don’t quite recognize. I kept going out to visit these remains, trying to imagine what, who, when, how. Was I asleep in my bed when it happened? At the grocery store? Eating dinner? The thought disturbs me unreasonably: life - or rather, death - occurring right out in the yard where I might have seen it, but didn’t. It tangles up with the week’s earlier feelings of regret: what else have I not seen? Have I missed what’s important? Am I a part of the real world or only the manufactured one?
For the rest of the day I felt the weight of these questions. How much am I shaped by what I truly value - the sacredness of earth and her creatures, my relationships with others - and how much am I shaped by the noise and expectations of a world that dismays me?
I went out at twilight, doubt clinging to my heels, and was startled by a deer, my old familiar, grazing on the pasture. She stood gently, her neck bent to the earth, entirely undisturbed by my presence. Deer have always arrived for me in moments like these; I read her like I once read scriptures. She was there for herself, but in another way she had come to comfort me, to remind me I cannot be ejected from my belonging. It was a grace, and I felt it as such. I called to her, she flicked an ear, we shared the last of the day’s light and then I went back to the house unburdened for a while, determined to stay a few more days in the quiet. I feel a spark of hope that there is something more inside, something else that might arise if I just give it the time - and silence - it needs.
We all know how to turn off screens, at least in theory; here are some other quiet practices to try:
Carry a book of poetry with you for waiting times. Or just look around, observing what other people are doing.
Don’t check news headlines.
In conversation, listen and encourage other people to talk while you say less.
Turn down the lights and sit in the semi-dark.
Welcome boredom and stay with it.
Doze off any time you can.
Sing to yourself.
Practice pranayama.
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Gathered this week:
~ A friend sent me this lovely little dance clip.
~ Your Bubble Is Not the Culture // Even though this article is about popular culture, there’s a lot to take note of in regards to how we perceive the world around us.
~ My family is practicing yoga with Tim these days. He’s got loads of free videos on youtube. He focuses a lot on correct form and building strength, which is just what I need. Plus he’s corny and sweet. (His subscription service is also amazing and well-worth the money - especially if you don’t go to the gym anymore, like us.)
~ I am happy living simply
“I am happy living simply:
like a clock, or a calendar.
Worldly pilgrim, thin,
wise - as any creature. To know
the spirit is my beloved. To come to things - swift
as a ray of light, or a look.
To live as I write: spare - the way
God asks me - and friends do not.”
(Marina Tsvetaeva, 1919, HT: Holly Wren Spaulding)
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