Into the Day

04-28-2020 The Day…

To confront being vector being transmitter, being receptor… To confront all of the personal responsibilities of that set of triad. In the rule of three, the stool which stands, as it has three legs… the rule of communication… for it hears, it engages and it speaks… or listens or … is a tube through which sound passes… with some recognition of the sound.

In a social setting… sitting at distance… still a vector, a transmitter and a receptor… all three, all three legs…

And when the signal, that darling signal of contagion, when that has no more stools to jump between… what then? For then, then we have set a new standard… and in that standard… the contagion for which we modified … it now has left an imprint. What then?

How funny. To speak of that then… we are in this now. The panic of contagion. The cacophony of contagion. The peace of contagion. What peace?

For certain, a new method of triage. For certain some method or best practice to make a layer between the vector and the rest… To have a place of care become a point of contagion… the calm voice of practice… And, that moment of wanting to be over there when we are here.

A voice, saying loudly, what do we do now? Or, follow me, I am going to lead a contagion parade. Another voice calling out in pain and exhaustion. Yet another singing a quiet song of lullaby. All in the same symphony of … requiem of…

The sea tide. The waves crashing. The great squall roaring across the lake. The wide river, rising higher and higher… all of these, the water that has tumbled down from high mountain or fallen in storms upon the face of the open surface… all of these… voices of this contagion. For, as vector… we dance in this storm.

The many locks to doors in the body… in the living organism. What locks does this particular key fit and turn? What doors of mechanism and shift do open? What doors, lock tried, resist the entry or turn the visitor to another place and time? The idea of point of entry… in through the front door? In through a small mouse hole? Carried with an ant… investigating the kitchen after the rain has pushed the whole trail inside? Or born on the gentle airs… sprayed and then carried as a note on the airs… carried as a note on the airs. If I can hear, then the contagion has come to me also…

Transmission and contagion… not the same. One is a cacophony. The other… it is a communication. In this moment, sitting with the still small voice… hearing that quiet focus in the dawning… the sacred touch of all dawn… there is a place to quiet the contagion… at distance, connected still… a lesson of the desert mothers and fathers. In this time of great learning… when the old saws have dulled in the practice of just running them across the stone… Dulled in the automatic script… Dulled in the speaking that has unhooked from the moment. That speaking that meets not a moment but a spin…

When the tide rises and the docks rise also, the sudden rush of … into this rising tide… speaking of the wane… the wane to come… it is the … wait, that moment is not now.

So again. The dawn has kissed this moment on this place on the planet. The contagion of cacophony is stilled for the rise… and now, into the day. The voices of all creation, speaking in and at and through… From this set of speaking comes a symphony. For the moment it may be a requiem. Or, a transition into new form. Certainly a song of creation. A gift. A wonder and a gift.

03-15-19 Increase and decrease.

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Lent 10

“For this reason my joy has been fulfilled. He must increase, but I must decrease.” (from John 3:22-36)

To declare a certain set of moments… In that declaration, that observing, that describing; those moments take on scope, scale and context. They live beyond the moment of coming into being, passing through being and spinning on and away. Even in the taking time to describe, to observe, to muse… the moment lives beyond its arc.

The breath. The beat of the heart. The whole of the heart beat. The whole of the breathing cycle.

When a moment is judged in the context of a larger wave, that moment may be living far beyond its ripple.

Into the dark of this lenten moment, a light is shining. That which would grab and hold moment is given free rein to stand far beyond the moment of existing. Defended as special in the face of the wave of next moment. Held against the rushing tide and wave of time… In that defense, a different ripple comes.

In John being clear that the passage of moment is to allow the breaking wave … the breaking wave and the receding wave … in harmonic dance. When one holds the longer… the rip is inevitable. As with each life… to celebrate arc in place …

So, invited to be in moment. Clear in arc. Celebrating each and all in arc. The link of tide, wave, pulse of breath, beating of heart… these are each the more and the less. Room in pattern for each. Celebration in pattern of each. To hold up one is to hold up the whole of the arc. In gratitude, it is enough. In celebration, it is the small wonder of dawning as the lenten cave invites the breathing, the pulse, the dance of all creation; the dance of all creation.

Strike a match…

Walking in the world this morning. Started to think through this idea of resilience and disaster. The walk … a beautiful day on the eve of Christmas.

First there is Scope. Then comes Scale. Finally Context.

Disaster comes in all shapes and sizes. All contexts. All scopes. All scales. Full stop.

When the walk eases away that set and rigid form to hold disaster in a certain frame… there is room to find paths beyond a disaster.

May this full on day be blessed with moving beyond and remembering scope, scale and context. Framing each in congruent response. With congruent expectation. In congruent available bandwidth.

This morning, while walking, it was clear that each breath was enough for the moment. Breathe and step. Pump the arms and then turn for home. Enough on this eve of Christmas. A blessing.

How is that possible…?

As we move from one place to another, so many little processes, taken for granted, suddenly don’t work in the new space. How is that possible?

As a child grows… those clothes that were so comfortable … suddenly no longer fit. How is that possible?

The tree, planted a mere 70 years ago is suddenly breaking down, losing limbs, falling from the ground. His is that possible?

The need to preserve, to hold constant, to always have a thing in a certain way… that brittle moment of; on no, it broke and now it is lost. How is that possible?

What does a vital, fostering, dynamic, system look like? All of those aspects. When one starts to break down, to shift, to move… is there room to continue to foster and be in connection or, do we need to cut it away? Or, is there a larger play? What is possible?

They dynamics of living in dynamic systems is a wonderful challenge. The creation, gestation, birth, growing, reaching a peak, moving to mastery, moving to elder wisdom… the cycling gift of and wonder of this place that we live. What is possible?

From What to What…? All in the possibility.