Almost 50 years ago

Deven's sister found this photo in one of Deven's old photo albums and emailed it to me.  My R took this photo of me when we were on the island of Oahu during the week of the 4th of July 1970.  I flew to Oahu from San Francisco.  He flew to Oahu from the war in Vietnam.  It was a bittersweet week.  My overflowing happiness at being with him in that moment was innocent of what he had already been through in Vietnam and of what was to unfold for both of us (all of us) in the years to come.



From "The Hours"

And...and I remember  thinking to myself:



"So this is the beginning  of happiness..."



"This is where it starts!"





"And, of course,  there'll always be more."



Never occurred to me



it wasn't the beginning,



It was happiness.



It was the moment...

Just Because

"This Land Is Your Land" sung by Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings

With gratitude to our friend at 37 Paddington who recommended the Netflix documentary, "Knock Down The House."  A friend of mine who subscribes to Netflix had already watched it and was more than happy to watch it a second time with me this morning.  Both of us were moved to tears and gratitude for this documentary.  The above version of "This Land Is Your Land" is sung during the credits.

Here's another version of "This Land Is Your Land," by Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings:

Mandala #42: For Deven (Affirmative!)

"... Those crazy crows always making a commotion ..." (from "This Place," by Joni Mitchell)

Back in 1967, as we became friends while attending University of California at Irvine, Deven introduced me to the music of Joni Mitchell.  "This Place," released in 2007, is a good accompaniment to the mandala for Deven.



Deven and her beloved Kevin (who also created mandalas) making music in the 1980s, and that's their dog, Star:

A rediscovered source of inspiration / Mandalas completed since August 2018

The husband of my friend who died in February died of ALS in 1991.  He was an artist who created large mandalas at the end of his life.  While looking through my photos of my friend, I found newspaper photos of him, along with this mandala:

With her in mind, I started a mandala soon after my friend died but have not found time or energy to work on it since then.  Any day now, I hope to sit down at my work table and see how Mandala #42 unfolds.

I am grateful to my friend's sister who called me shortly after my friend died.  Being able to communicate by email with her during our time of confusion and grief and loss and celebration of my friend's life has meant the world to me.

Viola da Gamba / The mystery bird is a male bushtit / "Mountain!" / Night sky

My dear friend who died in late February was musically gifted.  As a small child, she learned to play the accordion. She taught herself to play the gamba in the early part of this century.  Music sustained her.

Here is a note I received yesterday from an Audubon Society member who identifies birds:

That is a BUSHTIT, male.  The female has a pale eye, the male's eye is dark as in your photo.

My sister, in Santa Maria, had a pair of nesting Bushtits in her backyard. They kept pecking at their reflections in her windows: a territorial behavior.

In non-breeding season you will see them, in flocks of 20 or more, moving quickly thru bushes and willows, foraging as they go.  I also live in Cambria and have had flocks coming to my suet feeder, almost covering both sides!

Here is a photo of my friend in 1993 on one of her many walks in search of birds to photograph:

Below is a photo of her as a small child, growing up in Southern California.  Notice the duckling standing next to her in the first photo.  Her story that went with these photos is that as she was busy drawing, one of her parents asked her what she was drawing.

She pointed emphatically in the direction of a mountain and said, "Mountain!"

My friend struggled with depression throughout her life.  In the last few years, she diagnosed herself as having Asperger's and felt some relief experiencing herself in that light.  That explained many of the difficulties that had plagued her throughout her life. 

Beginning in the 1990s, she suffered from arthritis.  She seemed relatively healthy when I visited in 2008, although she was noticeably underweight and admitted to eating very little due to digestive upsets.  She had not been to a doctor in the Western tradition of medicine in years, although she occasionally sought help from alternative sources, including the use of medical marijuana.  In the last month of her life when with extreme reluctance she turned to Western medicine for help, the doctors and nurses were baffled to find that there were absolutely no medical records that could be found for her. 

In the last years of her life, her passions were for astronomy and caring for her beloved disabled pigeons as she had been doing since the early 1990s.  She sent me an article written by a man with Asperger's who found solace in looking deep into the night sky.  My friend studied star charts and searched for obscure stars and delighted in finding them.  As has been the case for many years, whenever I look into the night sky, I think of her. 

This morning I woke up at 3 a.m. so that I could experience the darkness before the dawn and then the gradually building chorus of birds and frogs.  In the days before and after the Summer Solstice, I feel uneasy here in what is the northernmost part of the U.S. except for Alaska.  I am grateful that my father's ancestors left Norway in the 1800s, as I would have had a harder time living with months of daylight than living with months of darkness.  The long hours of daylight at this latitude begin to feel exhausting and oppressive to me.  I need the respite of darkness and starlight and moonlight.  This year especially.

My friend got to know and appreciate those of you who have been visiting my blog since 2007 and enjoyed reading your comments and occasionally visited your blogs.  Although she never commented on my blog, she visited here intermittently.  She did not particularly like using computers.  I'm not sure if she had visited my blog anytime recently.

Calling all birders (this is part of the story I will be telling mostly in pictures)

A dear friend I have known for 52 years died unexpectedly in late February in Cambria, California.  While accomplishing the major task of settling her estate, her sister and brother-in-law have been staying at the lovely dream house she had bought not far from where she had owned a home in Cambria in recent years.  She was all ready to move in when her death came.  Yesterday a bird began flying at two windows, seemingly trying to get in the house.  Her sister sent me these three videos.  Do any of you have any idea what kind of bird this is?  I am wondering if it is a type of flycatcher.

Three days after my mother died in 1994, a Black Phoebe appeared in a similar manner at my parents' house in Gualala, California.

Before and since then I have heard story after story of a bird appearing after the death of a loved one.  When the husband of my friend of 52 years was dying of ALS in 1989, he told her that he would appear to her as a Baltimore oriole after his death.  A pair of Baltimore orioles appeared in her yard after his death and built a nest and soon there were fledglings.

Here I am, finding that I do have something to write.  I am still gathering photos to celebrate the life of my friend whose death shook me to the core and whose friendship I have treasured since we met in college in 1967.

Here is the view of the backyard of her dream house:

She loved the music of Laura Nyro and Nina Simone:

Update:  Here is a screen shot of a just-received video of the mystery bird:

Richie Havens and George Harrison with more "Ahí viene el sol"

That's Oboe and K-9 in the past week.  It's part of a long story that I don't know how to write about yet.  Maybe that story will be told in pictures.  I can say that K-9 arrived in a large box last week thanks to the sister of one of my oldest friends.

The View From Here When The Sun Is Shining

It's not that I have so little to say currently, it's that there is so much to say that I haven't been able figure out how to say it.

Today I do want to say that if my mother, Josephine (Jo), were still alive, she would be 103 years old today.  Here is a photo of her at age 19 in 1935 at a gathering of family and friends at Little Bird Lake in Minnesota.  Her mother died at home in 1936 of cancer.  By 1937, her father, her brother, her sister-in-law, and her 3-year-old niece had left Minnesota for a new life in Southern California.  Until she was 50 years old, my mother wrote poetry and short stories.  She let go of her dream of being a writer in 1966 and turned her creative energy to the visual arts. 

Si, Se Puede!

This tribute is from 2013:



Today, Tuesday, April 23, marks 26 years since Cesar Chavez passed. We're sure that you, like all of us, deeply miss his presence. The best way to remember him is to recommit ourselves to what he dedicated his life to:  Bringing a measure of justice to farm workers. (from ufw.org)

Real

Too much to process has kept me from posting much at 37th Dream in the past weeks.  Our blogging community is never far from my mind.

I don't listen to music constantly as I once did or even very often and am grateful for a local young friend who told me that "Real" is one of her favorite songs.

Music and lyrics written by my dear friend, Deven, after her husband's death from ALS in 1990:

"Na ana mana sezu"

A friend I have known since 1963 (we saw the final Beatles concert at Candlestick Park when we were 16 in 1966) emailed these videos of the Northern California coast.

2009-2010 (253 deaths)

TUCSON SECTOR 2009-2010 (253 deaths), made by Verni Greenfield of Portland, Oregon


"Perhaps it is difficult to imagine that something as humble as a quilt could change the world — but witnessing the humanity drawn together, in known and unknown names, in personal artifacts, and in the abiding effort to salvage something beautiful from staggering loss, it seems harder to imagine that it could not, at least, change someone’s heart." (Sarah Rose Sharp -- February 12, 2019)

The Sioux Chef: Talking About The War On Indigenous Food-ways

It was through reading The Heartbeat of Wounded Knee, by David Treuer that I learned about Sean Sherman, Oglala Lakota, born in Pine Ridge, South Dakota.

Nooksack Falls painted from memory / The sight of trees / The Solace of Fierce Landscapes

"... The marvels of technology did nothing to impress the Arabs.  They wept, however, at the sight of trees.  These Arab bedouins had never seen a waterfall, a river, a rose.  The only natural world they had ever known was flagrantly stingy with its gifts.  Years of desert attentiveness had trained them to expect only shortfall and subtlety.  Back home, where water was precious, they might walk for days on end in search of a tiny spring, maybe a handful of palms.  So when they stood in a high alpine meadow beside an enormous waterfall in the French Alps, its water roaring out of the mountain in a huge braided column, they had no way of comprehending such lavishness.

'They stood in silence.  Mute, solemn ... gazing at the unfolding of a ceremonial mystery.  That which came roaring out of the belly of the mountain was life itself, was the life-blood of man.  The flow of a single second would have resuscitated whole caravans that, mad with thirst, had pressed on into the eternity of salt lakes and mirages.  Here God was manifesting Himself:  It would not do to turn one's back on Him.' 

(am's note:  This is a quote from Antoine de Saint-Exupery's Wind, Sand and Stars, pp. 138-144, used by Belden C. Lane as he writes about Saint-Exupery's North African desert reflections)

They refused to leave, adamantly declaring to their French guide that honor required their waiting ... waiting for the end.  Knowing the water could not last much longer, they awaited the moment "when God would grow weary of His madness," when this wild extravagance would suddenly and finally exhaust itself.  Resolutely, they stood their ground.  "But, you see," the guide at last proclaimed, "this water has been running here for a thousand years!"

Having known the depths of desert thirst, these men could scarcely fathom a surging torrent of water, rushing forever from the rock.  Nothing had prepared them for it -- other than desire itself.  Their hearts set aflame by longing, they had learned through the years an indifference to everything less than love.  Apatheia had taught them that purity of heart is to will one thing.  Hence, they could fiercely say no to locomotives and Gallic conquerors of the sky.  But they must stand in silent awe before a raging cataract, beholding in wet-eyed wonder the unwearying madness of their God."

Perhaps this is where we all eventually stand, held attentive by what we cannot understand but vehemently love.  The heart trained in poverty lives perpetually in hope of wonder.

(transcribed from pages 203 and 204 of The Solace of Fierce Landscapes:  Exploring Desert and Mountain Spirituality, by Belden C. Lane, 1998)

My painting from 2007 in gouache and watercolor is "Nooksack Falls Painted From Memory."  If I get in my car and drive east toward the Cascade Mountains for one hour, I can visit Nooksack Falls.  For some reason, it is rare for me to be drawn toward the mountains.  My instinct is usually to go in the direction of the Pacific Ocean, which to me is a fierce desert-like landscape which has given me solace for much of my life.

"... before the last revolving year is through..."

Thank you to Sabine for bringing this heartening photo to my attention:

"...There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty ..."

Birds singing in the early morning darkness:

Varieties Of February Experience: An Extended Morning Meditation and Celebration of Life Lived to the Fullest

The previous photos were taken from February 12 through February 15, 2019.

The following photos and videos were taken on February 16, 2019, throughout the day that a dear friend of mine had died peacefully early in the morning at age 78 in her senior living apartment, surrounded by her loving family.  In the early afternoon of February 16, her three daughters emailed her friends to let us know that she had died and to let us know about the memorial gathering planned for February 23.

Listen for red-winged blackbirds and robins and crows, among others.

Joyce loved animals.  Her last job was as a professional petsitter.  After surviving several recurrences of cancer, she continued petsitting until the last year of her life.  She was fond of my cat, Oboe.  When I looked up from the yoga mat this morning, Oboe appeared to have a "halo."  Saint Oboe? When I tried using a flash to brighten up the scene, the result was comical and would have delighted Joyce who had a wonderful sense of humor.  It delighted me.

The slide show of Joyce's life at the memorial gathering was accompanied by the music of Keb'Mo' and Taj Mahal, including:



When her daughters asked the roomful of gathered friends, most of them sober members of Alcoholics Anonymous, if they would like to share an experience they had with Joyce, a sober alcoholic woman in her 70s in fragile health said that she and Joyce shared a love of the blues, and that she would like to sing one of Joyce's favorite songs.  That tiny woman proceeded to sing out loud and clear, as if channeling Janis Joplin, even to the cackling laugh at the end of the song, this:



When she got to the part where Janis asks everyone to sing along, the entire room sang the rest of the song with her!

Below is a photo Joyce shared from the last month of her life, walking with one of her daughters.  She walked into and out of the Grand Canyon several times in the latter part of her life.  Her ashes will be scattered there along with the ashes of notes written by friends and family at the memorial gathering.

Below is another photo, taken as she sat in her hospice bed in her senior living apartment a few days before she took that walk in the sunshine on one of those in-between-snow-and-ice days we've experienced this February:

This morning I read this:

You don't have to do anything to keep the mind calm.  Just leave it alone.  Let it be.  That's the song you sing.  Let it be.  So be it.  Amen.  (Sri Swami Satchidananda)

Joyce did not belong to any religion and neither do I, but she was able to let her mind be and that was the song she sang.  I can still hear her silent song of unconditional love, humor, and gratitude for life.

Still Snowing Here / Birds Still Singing / "... C the ocean ..."

If you have time, listen to the nephew of one of my oldest friends from college days:



"... C the ocean ..." (Matthew Cohen)

Near the end the winter of 2019 (mostly taken through my window due to the cold weather) / Teach Your Children / My Father's 105th Birthday

(video inspired by the link on roger's post)



























In order to open my porch door this morning, I had to push against a few inches of snow.  I love seeing bird tracks in the snow on my porch.



If my father were still alive, he would be celebrating his 105th birthday today.  He was born at home in Minneapolis, Minnesota, a few months before World War I started.  He was the third of five siblings.  His youngest sister is alive and well at 96 years old.  Here is my father in his first year of life:

Birds singing on a cold day / The Endless Further / David Riley, Dharma Teacher

David Riley endeared himself to me when he posted the above composite photo on his blog with the words "Whitman and Dylan, together again."

Yesterday this Facebook post was brought to my attention: 

For those who followed David Riley and his blog, I wanted to let you know that he passed away 9-7-18 peacefully in his sleep. Thank you for following his blog and I will leave this site here for the time being.

His stepbrother Bill

Although I knew that David Riley had Stage 4 cancer and looked forward to his always enlightening posts, when no posts appeared after last April, it never occurred to me that he had died.  A local friend of mine was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer, and it has since gone into remission.

David Riley's blog, The Endless Further, is no longer accessible.  His was a blog that I discovered while looking for information about St. Francis of Assissi.  David Riley was a dharma teacher and his Facebook page shows that he lived the last words of the Buddha:

"Behold, O monks, this is my last advice to you. All component things in the world are changeable. They are not lasting. Work hard to gain your own salvation."

Our blog friends are dear to us.  I hope that some of you can see what he posted on his Facebook page.  It gives a good idea of what he posted on his blog.

This is what I read when I first found David Riley's blog a little over 2 years ago: 

“Remember that when you leave this earth, you can take with you nothing that have received--only what you have given.”
― Francis of Assisi

Here is his Facebook profile picture: