Thursday, March 21, 2024
Walking / O California (the landscape of my younger days)
Wednesday, July 6, 2022
Home / The beauty and the terrible realities we face / Finding balance
I think that’s true. And when you asked that question, what comes to mind is kind of a map of where most of my childhood took place. I wrote somewhere that I had an inside-out childhood, because every place was safe but home. If you went just on the other side of the backyard fence was a quarter horse stud farm and then dairy farms and open space. And the landscape and the animals, domestic and wild, were this huge refuge, and really fed encouraged me, and there was a sense of community with the non-human. And so that was if you went north, even just to the other side of the fence and beyond, just endless open space, and oak trees, and grasslands, and wildlife.
And then if you went south, there was a really great public library. And the minute I learned how to read, it was as though I’d been given this huge treasure. Every book was a box I suddenly knew how to open, and in it, I could meet people, go to other worlds, go deep in all kinds of ways. And I spent my childhood in the hills and in the books. So that was not maybe what people think of conventionally as spirituality, but that was my company, my encouragement, my teaching, my community.
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I want better metaphors. I want better stories. I want more openness. I want better questions. All these things feel like they give us tools that are a little more commensurate with the amazing possibilities and the terrible realities that we face.
Sunday, July 3, 2022
Meditation: Imagining Interdependence Day
Wednesday, June 22, 2022
Extended Meditation on Fathers and Missing Fathers and The Orchardist, by Amanda Coplin / Update with additional relevant photos added / And now an update when a relevant quote appeared
1. My father during World War II. There was something about my father that was missing, although he was present.
2. My father's father in the early 1900s. First child in the family to be born in the United States, his two older brothers having been born in Norway. Two of his younger siblings died during a smallpox epidemic when my grandfather was a young boy. The family had a farm on what had recently been Dakota land in Western Minnesota.
3. My father's mother's father and grandfather (first on the left in the top row and on the far right). My great grandfather was born in the United States. My great great grandfather was born in Norway. They had a farm on what had recently been Dakota land south and east of Minneapolis.
My great grandmother is the second person from the right in the top row. Her mother came with her family from Norway when she was a young woman. A few years after their arrival in Iowa, she became pregnant while working as a domestic servant for a family in Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin. There is a record of the birth and christening of my great grandmother and the name of her father who disappeared from her life. He was said to be German. My research shows that his mother was either English, Irish, Welsh or Scottish (I have recently found a distant cousin on Ancestry.com who looks very much like me and my first cousins on my father's side). My great grandmother's mother died when she was 6 years old. She was raised by her grandparents and then her mother's brother and his wife. She went to college and became a teacher. She met my great grandfather at St. Olaf College in Minnesota.
4. My fatherless great grandmother, a few years after her mother died.
5. I have no photo of the younger sister of the great great grandfather who settled on Dakota land south and east of Minneapolis and have often wondered about her life. That sister remained in Norway and, at age 30, gave birth to a daughter whom she raised alone, working as a laborer on a farm near where she was born.
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1. My mother during the years her father was serving as a doctor in the U.S. Army in World War I in France. She was two years old when he left for war and 3 years old when he returned.
2. My mother's father as a boy soon after his father disappeared in the 1870s. He had a younger sibling who died as an infant in a cholera epidemic in Boston some years before my grandfather was born there. My grandfather's parents were both young people from Germany -- his mother from the Achern in the Black Forest and his father from Stadtlengsfeld.
3. My mother's father in his Army uniform in 1918.
4. My mother's father arriving home from war in 1919. Before returning to the United States, he had spent a short time in England and Ireland. My grandmother brought my uncle and my mother to Boston to meet him. I just noticed how my mother is holding my grandfather's finger and how lost my uncle looks. I wonder who took the photo. Could it be my mother's grandfather, seen in the following photo?
5. My mother's mother's father who had roots in London in the 1700s, with the family leaving England for Canada and then leaving Canada for Boston. At one time my great grandfather was the president of the Theosophical Society in Boston.
Boston was built on what had been the land of the Massachusett tribe.
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When I visited a friend last week, she had three books that she was giving away. She said that The Orchardist was the best of the three and so I took it home with me. Something prompted me to begin reading it immediately. It wasn't long before I wondered if I should keep reading. The story was becoming disturbing to me on a deep level, but then I remembered how many times I started reading Beloved before I was able to read beyond about the same place in that book. I kept reading The Orchardist and, at times, felt that there was much about the story that reminded me of Beloved. There was also something of the beauty and melancholy of Richard Brautigan's writing and that of his daughter Ianthe, something universal, archetypal, unsettling and yet filled with an odd clarity about missing fathers, shattered families, hard-won healing in later generations, and strong families that can be formed by people unrelated by blood.
It turns out the young woman who wrote The Orchardist was strongly influenced by Beloved.
One of the main characters in The Orchardist, Clee, is Nez Perce and a childhood and lifelong friend of Talmadge who, along with a woman friend of his, steps forward in the role of parent to two young girls who are alone in the world. The fruit orchard he tends so lovingly is on Wenatchi land, about 300 miles from where the Nez Perce live today. The story begins with the death of Talmadge's father. His mother brings him and his younger sister to live and work in an apple orchard near the Columbia River in Eastern Washington State.
The story takes place in the years that my fatherless great grandmother was growing up on her grandparent's farm in Iowa, where Winnebago, Sauk, Fox, and Oneota people had once lived and brings into focus so many family histories of settlers and indigenous people. So many missing fathers, along with men who step forward to father the children of other men.
The Orchard, like Beloved, is a book I will read again. Not immediately but eventually. I first read Beloved in the 1980s and then again in this past year. I don't have time to wait that long to re-read The Orchardist.
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Synchronicity? Just now I was given more to meditate on via Beth at Alive On All Channels:
Sometimes when you are devastated you want not a reprieve but a mirror of your condition or a reminder that you are not alone in it. Other times it is not the propaganda or the political art that helps you face a crisis but whatever gives you respite from it.
Friday, June 18, 2021
Stream of consciousness while walking from my mind to my heart
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Thursday, March 30, 2017
"15,000 Years Later"
1. Nikki McClure's paper cut: 15,000 Years Later.
2. Coast Redwood seedling on my porch. Ordered on-line from Trees of Mystery in Klamath, California. Arrived in my mailbox on St. Patrick's Day. Planted in memory of my father who died on St. Patrick's Day in 2003. I hope that my seedling lives 2,000 years, if not 50,000. The three redwood seeds that I planted in December did not sprout, but I have followed my intuition as did the man in my dream from last December.
3. "Another, more beautiful America is arising ..." (Rebecca Solnit)
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
When finding my way is not getting my way / Getting out of my own way
― Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
Taking place now
“Eduardo Galeano notes that America was conquered, but not discovered, that the men who arrived with a religion to impose and dreams of gold never really knew where they were, and that this discovery is still taking place in our time.”
― Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost
Saturday, May 9, 2015
I'm lost, and it's okay
“For me, childhood roaming was what developed self-reliance, a sense of direction and adventure, imagination, a will to explore, to be able to get a little lost and then figure out the way back.”
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Wild Blue Sky of Day Meditation
Rebecca Solnit
In reading The Faraway Nearby, I learned about the Library of Water where Rebecca Solnit was a Writer in Residence in 2008. If you have time, read three of her essays that can be found at the Library of Water website.
Ever since I changed this blog's URL recently, the traffic to my blog is now pretty much limited to people whose blogs I read. There are a few mysterious readers whose locations still show up regularly on my ClusterMap. Thank you, mysterious readers, for continuing to stop by. It's just like starting over, as John Lennon once remarked. Things are pretty quiet around here. The Amaryllis on my porch is about to bloom.
("The Wild Blue Sky of Day" is a pastel drawing on paper from the early 1980s by am)













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