Still, I breathe with my heart, earthen and cosmic oxygen rising from conduits hewn of shadow, light, water. If it is a new entrance before us, also an exodus that carries us to beginnings. A labyrinth, a journey with pilgrims come round from afar. You and I.
I say, remand our treasures to the fire of life, of loss. Plant random bits in good places where springs quench deeper thirst. Move among trees and mossy rocks, hollow and peak, greet sea’s leviathans, guardians of earth, winged messengers. We can recall such language; God recalls our names. See, evening is seeded with starlight and the heavens shed grace: mercy and knowledge given with no falsity.
I hope for a miracle of start overs. Righteous indignations and angers loosed to be upended, disbanded.
For the poverty of fear and shame with their failed assumptions, viperous words to be relinquished.
For the superfluous to fall away so ears hear and eyes see each moment now with the best expectancy.
And fissures and fractures that divert us from transformation to be healed, and lives that strain from pressures of the world to be reinforced.
I call for a shepherding of our errant stories, each one born of blood and bone, erupting with a capacity for love: let us carry them to country and town. And reimagine shards of beauty, breakage of sorrows to remake and brace our living, a creation amid the harrowing.
This labyrinth of prayer is a minor strand of our tapestry. We hail from a fathomless universe, crisscross earth in designs of tender bodies. This is what is given us. We are not ever quite lost as imagined. Nor alone in our cocoons of flesh.
A new time, the talk goes. A chance for reclamation, reaffirmation.
I give it credence, my face tilted to sky, then street.
May we grant favor to one another, and hoist compassion, a torch from dawn to dark. Greet peace upon entering and leaving each door, feet casting off the chains of futility.
Meditative view of kayakers taking a pause before gliding down the waterway…though I didn’t go to the river (for once) today but to a Pacific Coast beach. I needed a time out from the cacophonous world. I had every intention of getting to my list of tasks and working on my Monday WP post this morning. But a twitch or two in body and mind emphasized a growing nervousness about this coming week as political fomentation increases by the hour.
So, when Marc was all set to go to the beach, it was easy to change my mind — despite a forecast of cloudy and chilly. No problem, it’s natural theater, the Pacific Ocean.
The past two weeks I’ve been getting in a lot of day trips with good walkabouts and satisfying (easy to moderate) hikes. By Wednesday I will have sorted out tons of new photos, and then will offer my usual “Monday’s Meander” post. Until then, keep your hats on and chins up–we have to ride these greater waves of discontent, cope with the pandemic and still maintain or create balance and cozy ways. One of mine is right here, writing and sharing a life like you fellow bloggers and readers.
There is still such beauty and wonder to find and savor. Take care out there.
We started on the west side of the Columbia River in Washington State one hot afternoon. We had headed to a nature preserve but found it closed, so when we went on, seeking a different area. We found a small parking lot that with access to a walkway by the river. Since we’d not been on this southern part of the the river walk, we checked it out.
There is a reason why we hadn’t intended to stop there. The Captain William Clark Park (of Corps of Discovery, 1806–though we know Native Americans resided there…) is by a small city, Camas, so lots of people traverse that part of a very long, winding walkway. And we enjoy nature with far less people. But any river calls to me–I’ll stop at small or big ones, with or without parks or any path. Columbia River is one I deeply admire, am fascinated by–no matter how many times I visit it. At 1240 miles, starting in British Columbia and emptying into Pacific Ocean after flowing through seven U.S. states… mammoth. It also holds one third of our potential hydropower, so what a resource.
The photos attempt to share its softer nature that afternoon, and how people were enjoying it. We came to Cottonwood Beach which I did not photograph much; it was packed, to our surprise in this pandemic, and we avoided huge groups of friend and family gatherings–but they were having a pleasant time in the unusually warm sunshine.
It is hard to describe how big and deep and restless this river is. The often strong winds were were rather still; the water surface fairly calm. But when I see the boats out there with fisher persons, I wonder if they ever feel intimidated by the mighty currents that occur, the breadth and width and depth of it. It is one of the biggest rivers in the U.S. flowing by Portland as well as Vancouver, WA. metro. There has been. alas, flooding occasionally…
An imperturbable demeanor comes from perfect patience. Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened, but go on in fortune and misfortune at their own private pace like a clock during a thunderstorm.—Robert Louis Stevenson