Two dolphins, sleek and strong as steel,
slip in and out of their world,
and in and out of mine
at the low-tide shoreline.
They’re close enough for me
to wade out and greet,
but I stay on the rocks to watch them
dipping and diving,
dipping and diving.
What effort is required to move
from world to world!
What energy shudders
beneath their skin and even deeper!
What a gift
to be exactly what we are,
to have this work of living to do.
And it is all work.
It is all a labour of Love.
We have been enjoying a few picnic teas recently and the top photo is from a pre-dinner walk along the river this week. The smallest one of us always falls (or jumps? It always happens in that moment I look away…) into water bodies and this time was no exception. The other picture is of our much-loved beach that you might recognise from previous posts.
My project this weekend is to transform some otherwise undesired vegetables (daikon radishes in particular) into kimchi. A few months ago, the only Korean red pepper flakes for kimchi I could buy were in a 1 kilogram bag and were significantly reduced in price due to their imminent expiry date… which is now long past. But I am sure most of my spices in the cupboard are out of date and I am still alive, so I am determined to use this bag! Perhaps if you would like some yourself and live nearby, let me know and I will drop some around. Like 750 grams or so. ❤
We’re in the process of making decisions that feel big and like all decisions there is the consideration of what we will inevitably lose. So this poem is coming to mind a lot. Although, perhaps not one to give to the recently bereaved, I do find that it is an encouraging one to read before loss and way after the fact.
One Art, by Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
Nineteen degrees and
I shiver. But it is just
blossom snow falling.
Springtime has bought with it warmer days, beautiful sunsets, tender-leaved trees, and the possibility of bare feet every day. I received an order of plants this week, some of which you can see in the second picture. I have planted as many trees and shrubs as I can squeeze into my garden, and now I am concentrating on filling gaps with perennials. I am especially excited about the Azure Walking Onion and hoping that the sweet woodruff finds its dry and shady spot to be comfortable but not too comfortable so as to become thuggish. Do you remember the coriander we grew last year? At the beginning of winter I cut the dried plants down and left them in a corner of the flat to stay dry. This week the kids and I have been picking the seeds off. I should have done it earlier so that they tasted good enough to use in cooking, but they are a bit faded and stale now. However, they are still fine for growing. They self-seeded well through my garden, so I have seed to share if you live near!
I try not to go on about it, but I really am a fan of the Enneagram. I have just started listening to ‘Typology‘ which is a podcast that dovetails onto the end of another that I have mentioned before, called ‘The Road Back To You’. The thing that distinguishes the Enneagram from other personality tests is that there is a breadth and a movement to it, so even though you type as one number, it doesn’t restrict you to that ‘box’. I am a Four–sometimes called the Individualist or the Romantic–which means all sorts of things… including things I do not want to read about myself (ugh) let alone tell you about! Fours can be ruled by their emotions, and it is their life-long struggle to find equanimity or a kind of detachment from their emotions. I really liked this Buddhist conceptualization reminding me that ‘I am not my emotions’:
you are not the waves, you are the ocean
you are not the clouds, you are the sky
you are not the weather, you are the mountain
Today I listened to this episode of the aforementioned podcast. It finished with a rendition of Bob Dylan’s ‘The Times They Are A-Changin’… which bought the count of how many times I heard this song randomly today up to three! One in a shop, the second from a busker. Conincidence? I think not! (but that is probably because I am a 4-on-the-Enneagram and manage to find meaning in everything, including coincidences ;^p ) Here’s another good version to bring the song count up to four…
Clouds unravel in
the sky, leafy shade across
your back. All will pass.
slow growing 