Not quite finished with Mandala #22, when I looked up and saw the full moon.
This morning when I was walking in the woods before I started editing medical reports, I heard the voices of very young children singing on the trail, out of sight, just ahead of me. I soon caught up with them, a preschool class of tiny children and two teachers who appeared to be in their early 20s. They were making their way down the trail in twos, happily singing "The Ants Go Marching" with the same enthusiasm as these children:
The day lilies on my porch and a person with a bike on the trail across the cattail pond:
The Shasta daisies on my porch (reminding me of palm trees on what was a hot summer evening) and the full moon rising:
Buffy Sainte-Marie saying that life is precious, diverse and worth protecting and saying so many other heartening things I needed to hear this morning:
Aretha Franklin recorded Sam Cooke's "A Change is Gonna Come" in tribute. This is for my nephew today. I haven't seen him since he was 10 years old.
My nephew could have been born in 1992 on Christmas Day, but he waited to be born early in the afternoon on the 12th day of Christmas, also known as Epiphany -- January 6, 1993. I remember that my brother-in-law was wondering if their boy was going to share his birthday with Elvis Presley on January 8. On the day my nephew was born there was snow on the ground and clear skies. A full moon rose in the evening of his first day, and the stars came out as bright as can be. After his mother and father were asleep, I held him in the moonlight that lit the hospital room. Around midnight, I drove north through the almost desert-like snow-covered landscape. I remember seeing Orion. I remember how amazed and grateful I was to have spent time with my newborn nephew.
And this was after all the wise people and animals had arrived before dawn:
jarvenpa from Outside The Windows had a good question that I'm going to use for my nephew's 16th birthday and the 12th day of Christmas:
"It's a complicated thing, this life.
Oh, my dears, wherever you are--comfort and joy to you. Maybe the loving crazy energy of Dr. Quill--of our childish imaginings and hopes and dreams--could really heal us all.
How can I be useful, of what service can I be? There is something inside me, what can it be? -- Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890)
Welcome to "37TH DREAM (RUMORS OF PEACE)".
The photograph currently at the top of my blog was taken from my porch before sunrise on October 29, 2023.
"OLD GIRL OF THE NORTH COUNTRY" (the earliest name for my blog -- http://oldgirlfromthenorthcountry.blogspot.com
) came to life in early December of 2006 so that I could post a 42-year retrospective of my paintings and drawings and through that action, create a new relationship with the day the man I loved returned from Vietnam in December 1970. For a while (sometime after spring of 2008, which is when he died) my blog was "TALKING 37TH DREAM WITH RAINBOW (RUMORS OF PEACE)". For a number of years, it's been "TALKING 37TH DREAM (RUMORS OF PEACE)." As of April 12, 2017 my blog was titled "37TH DREAM / TALKING 37TH DREAM (RUMORS OF PEACE/LOOKING UP)". Somewhere along the way it became 37TH DREAM (RUMORS OF PEACE).
To begin viewing the retrospective with narrative, scroll down to December 8, 2006, on this page:
I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. -- Martin Luther King, Jr. (1929-1968)
All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. -- Martin Buber (1878-1965)
It is only a little planet, but how beautiful it is.
-- Robinson Jeffers
The true end of a war is the rebirth of life; the right to die peacefully in your own bed. The true end of war is the end of fear; the true end of war is the return of laughter.
-- Alfred Molano
Enjoy every sandwich -- Warren Zevon (1947-2003)
Not in God's wilds will you ever hear the sad moan, "All is vanity." No, we are paid a thousand times for all our toil, and after a single day spent outdoors in their atmosphere of strength and beauty, one could still say, should death come — even without any hope of another life — "Thank you for this most glorious gift!" and pass on.
-- John Muir (1838-1914)
Philip Henslowe: Mr. Fennyman, allow me to explain about the theatre business. The natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster. Hugh Fennyman: So what do we do? Philip Henslowe: Nothing. Strangely enough, it all turns out well. Hugh Fennyman: How? Philip Henslowe: I don't know. It's a mystery.
