12.27.15 Thick soup days

Today is a welcome quiet day , of a kid visit , of his carpentry, of quiet reflection by the broad expanse of the living room window ; the thick fog arrived and settled into the neighborhood when we woke , and then uncharacteristically remaining still.

When my kids were small, we'd wake to these funny warming winter days now and then . And on Sundays we went outside trumping through the woods anyway. 

So I'd tell them it was a thick soup day.

We'd put on coats and boots, grab sandwiches and apples and water to stuff in my backpack, and then happily release ourselves.

To the soft focus of tree limbs and trunks. To the sense of mystery and unknown .

They'd walk further away, ask asking me if I could still see them now? And now? Til, fascinated and laughing, we'd find the distance where the fog would obscure them to my sight.
I never had to say a word about keeping up or keeping together, which I wondered at sometime . Til I realized we were a bonded band of humans . A pack, a flock, a tribe, a clan. Moving together , calling out to call attention . To this bright notch in the stream. To that smallest miniature tree nestled into that stone wall, far far out here. 

So I'd stop, look around. And say "I wonder who was standing here 100 years ago? Lugging rocks to clear a field here?" 
And we 'd all stop and wonder , looking about at the new growth forest , certainly older than any of us.

Til something would catch our eye, and off we'd go once again. 

Filled to the brim with the pleasure . Of wandering about, together .

12.27.15 A song to root us to actuality.

 A song to sing to ourselves. 

To root us to actuality. 

To nestle us in what is possible. 

'May I be safe and protected and free from inner and outer harm. 
May I be happy and contented .
May I be healthy and whole to whatever degree possible.
May I experience ease of well being.'
                                                              Jon Kabat Zinn

http://wn.com/Jon_Kabat_Zinn_Soundscape_Guided_Meditation

12.26.15 Pulled along by the tide

     We were insular, the six of us that were born so far. Sure, had friends, but hung out all together, solemnly, or crazed, racing through the woods in the darkness. 
     Except when just my older brother and I were 15 and 17,  and  I got to go out with him, and leave all the little ones behind, because it was allowed, and we picked up some friends with the family boat station wagon, and all hung out in the tiny town park, which actually was a log nailed between two tall Pines, with swings hung from it. 
     So we smoked and laughed and sat on cushioned fragrant needles, til the mosquitoes drove us off, drove us down to the river not too far from there, where we’d shut off the car lights and coast down the rooted dirt driveway of various neighbors with their nice homes leaning up against the riversides, and we’d slide from the car, pulling off t shirts and things, til , laughing, snorting, stumbling, we’d reach the thick sand of riverbank with our bare feet sinking in slowly, and the cold wet hemming in our toes. 
     We’d step quietly into the waters, and immerse ourselves up to our noses, til we laughed and sputtered and choked, and waiting for that one magic moment, when the tide turned, some of us too toasted to remember what it was that was so compelling about coming at this time, til we tasted the powerful salt tart on our tongues, and there- the tide had turned, the ocean was seeping up into the lands all around us, in the darkness, as we stood by each other,pulled along by  the tide.

12.26.15 I was laughing that hard

My older brother was everything to me, for a long long time. So i have that many memories of that many times, even just in adolescence. He taught me to drive, by bringing me out in our VW bug at night, on curvy back roads in the forest, while he was driving and I was steering from the passenger seat, and he was going fast. I mean, fast. So that no matter my protestations, I was laughing that hard, game to steer or lose it or die like that on that day.