It’s hard to take anything personally from this perspective! This image is from The Atlantic’s 2025 Space Telescope Advent Calendar. This is Day 3’s offering, showing more than a hundred galaxies in Galaxy Cluster Abell 209, about 2.8 billion light-years away from my tiny speck of a life. Refreshing! I’ve always loved sparkles.
“Peace isn’t found in perfect conditions. Peace is found in how we care for one another, in the bonds we share, in the kindness we extend to all beings. Even in winter, love keeps us warm.”
Today was the first day I remembered to check in first thing with the Venerable Monks on their Walk for Peace. It’s been cold and rainy as they wend their way through Louisiana, some of them barefoot, some in socks and sandals, some with canes, walking to spread peace on earth. Between these macro and micro perspectives, I feel humbly grateful for this precious day that will never come again.
Today it snowed at least five inches, which gave me a chance to catch up inside, and review photos from the last weeks of this mild and gorgeous autumn. Most days I woke Topaz from her mid-morning nap on the sunroom table to invite her out for a walk. She’s going a little deaf, so a gentle touch on the side of the basket and she startles awake with a little mrrrp!
It takes her awhile to get going once she steps outside. She rolls on the flagstones and stretches, while Wren and I zigzag through the woods close to the yard, noticing details. I call to her occasionally: sometimes she hops through the gate and runs to catch up, but most of the time we’re well on our way before she shows herself.
Some days she doesn’t join us at all. Yesterday I thought was one of those days, so after awhile I gave up on her and we ambled eastward, from one lovely view, one magnificent tree, to another.
I’ve been practicing a meditation instruction I heard a few days ago, to remember, just for a moment now and then, the felt sense of being “without a care in the world.” The woods is the best place to do that. I don’t think of myself as stressed until I realize how that feeling used to be much easier to find.
It’s healthy to now and then shrug off worries about health, mortality, money, the collapse of democracy, and recall that carefree feeling. I was immersed in it. We had wandered on deer trails for half an hour and were pretty far from the house, the canyon in sight. I sat on a log for a short meditation. A quiet mrrrp interrupted my reverie, and Topaz jumped up next to me. I was delighted to see her. She’d been stalking us all along.
Once she had gotten enough appreciation she wandered away and that was my cue to get up and move again. I let her and Wren dictate our route.
There’s an avenue of ancients near the southeast corner that came to my heart to visit, so I steered us in that general direction. The junipers are evenly spaced down a gentle slope to the canyon rim. A couple of them appear to be around the same age, five or six hundred years or older, and some younger, just a couple hundred. The series below shows more than one angle on each of the trees.
I got to the bottom of the avenue and realized there was another tree in the line that I had not once in thirty years understood. It was just below a rocky ledge, at the top of the scree that angles down to Ice Canyon. As I considered the whole slope, I experienced the feeling of this next tree slowly sliding down the edge as rock eroded over centuries. Its powerful roots kept it anchored and it reached upward even as the earth carried it downhill.
I turned, and for the first time followed the sight line uphill from that tree along the avenue…
… and then I turned again and followed it farther downhill, to another tree I had failed to recognize as the last in line, barely hanging on above the drop into Ice Canyon. I wallowed in awe for a long while without a care in the world.
This post’s title might have been Small Mercies. The hawk in this picture flew away apparently uninjured. But the story is amazing. It happened over at the Bad Dog Ranch a couple of days ago. As told to me by the Head Bitch, who provided photos: There was that loud sickening THUNK that signifies a bird has crashed into a window, and it was a REALLY big thunk. She hurried outside to investigate and found this sharp-shinned hawk spread on the patio, alive, and a collared dove, dead, in the gravel. Because she knows what to do in a situation like this, she left the scene to give the hawk a chance to recover. After awhile it picked itself up and flew away, without its prey. Had it not, she would have gathered it gently into a box and delivered it to the closest raptor rescue or veterinarian qualified for raptor repair.
The most amazing part of the story is that the hawk left a perfect imprint on the window where it crashed. (That’s one benefit to a dusty window; another is that fewer birds tend to crash into it.) You can see the faint line of the leading edges of its spread wings to either side of the center splash, which probably represents the dove’s impact. Zoomed in a little, you can even see the outline of the hawk’s face. Look closely and you can discern its beak and even one of its eyes.
Just below the beak, there seems to be the impression of a talon, which supports my theory of what happened. The hawk’s attack feet would have been stretched out almost directly in front of its face as it caught its prey. I believe the hawk caught the dove as they smashed into the window simultaneously, the soft dove body cushioning the impact on the hawk thereby saving its life.
The last leaf has dropped from the apricot tree. I practice inner peace. It’s a choice, and it’s within reach. A hawk preying on a dove follows natural law. A rogue regime murdering civilians of other countries and preying on its own citizens is unnatural and illegal. Even as the mad dictator darkens his threats against democracy with even more reckless unconstitutional overreach, and escalates his assault on free speech with calls to muzzle media critics and execute elected representatives, it is possible to practice equanimity and compassion in one’s personal life.
Our neighbor who died recently loved to serve chocolate chip+M&M cookies, I was told, so I volunteered to bake some for her celebration of life tomorrow. There were a lot of recipe options but I chose this one from I Heart Naptime – which I also do.
Recipe for Inner Peace: Slow down. Do something kind for someone else. Allocate your attention budget wisely. Take time to nurture your heart and soul. Know what’s happening in the world but don’t drown in speculation. Choose your news sources carefully and limit daily consumption. Take action to alleviate anxiety, and remember that you don’t have to do it all, just do your small part to support the resistance. Savor joy and awe in the many ways they offer themselves. Find gratefulness in the details, and in the simple gift of waking up alive every day. Show appreciation to others every chance you get. Get enough sleep. Make time to meditate.
After four years of practicing gratefulness, knowing at the time I began that it was in response to overwhelming grief, I’m beginning to understand how these two feelings dance together.
Grief and gratitude are kindred souls, each pointing to the beauty of what is transient and given to us by grace.
Patricia Campbell Carlson
It’s been a tumultuous week. Some weeks are just like that. Equanimity was shaken, largely from inside, but I’ve gotten good practice in letting go and letting be, in beginning again. Exquisite autumn weather has enabled me to be outside a lot with the animals and the trees, which is always soul soothing. We visited the Ancient One a few times and sheltered in her embrace for some meditations.
A nice man came to plant a couple of free trees, a river birch and a Fremont cottonwood, and Wren was very helpful. Afterward she thanked him profusely. What a pleasure it’s been over the past year to see this little dog blossoming into a joyful outgoing creature, from the suspicious, frightened little rescue she was when she came here three years ago.
Despite my internal turmoil, Wren enjoyed a very good week. We had planned since spring to upgrade the patio area on the west side of the pond, and that work finally happened under her capable supervision.
The ‘trail mix’ gravel was spread, edged, and raked all in the nick of time before a good day’s rain left snow low in the mountains and frost on the pumpkin down here. Now this portion of the yarden will be safer for me and my aging friends to access, and more welcoming for mindfulness or purely social gatherings.
Wren also inspected the woodpile after a new addition. A friend was sad to have to cut down a dying aspen in her yarden, but happy to give me half of it, for which I’m very grateful. And I’m grateful that my little aspen thrives still, twenty years after hitchhiking here hidden in the soil of a potentilla shrub I transplanted from a friend’s garden.
The little blueberry bush which didn’t even bloom this year nevertheless grew under its protective netting, and then turned this stunning red. I’m grateful this week for nature’s beauty, bounty, and resilience, and for my own growing capacity to turn mistakes into lessons, to cultivate resilience, and to open my heart over and over. A phrase a friend quoted last week keeps coming back to me: “Your people are the ones who make your heart feel seen and your nervous system feel calm.” Intentionally connecting with ‘my people’, a profound acupuncture treatment, and allowing everyone to be my teacher have all helped restore balance. And this excerpt from a lesson by Sam Harris in the introductory course on his app Waking Up really shook some sense into me:
“The truth is, you know exactly what it’s like to feel overwhelming gratitude for your life. And if you have the freedom and the free attention to listen to this lesson right now, you are in an unusual situation. There are at least a billion people on Earth at this moment who would consider their prayers answered if they could trade places with you. There are at least a billion people who are suffering debilitating pain, or political oppression, or the acute stages of bereavement. To have your health, even just sort of; to have friends, even only a few; to have hobbies or interests and the freedom to pursue them; to have spent this day free from some terrifying encounter with chaos, is to be lucky. Just look around you and take a moment to feel how lucky you are. You get another day to live on this earth. Enjoy it.”
After another busy day delivering oxytocin to me and herding the sparrows, Wren finally rests. She is silently encouraging me to knit faster so she can show off her new sweater that matches her beautiful blue eye.
A million years ago from a house at the base of Needle Rock, I sort of saw the northern lights. So faint. But tonight, the lights came bright, and amplified by the miracle of the iPhone camera.
The quotidian delights have been adding up the past few days, and I’ve been moving too fast and ending the day too tired to share them. Kind people, new trees, cheese sandwiches, fall colors… Tonight I was prepared to knuckle down and sort some photos, and offer gratitude for all the moments and for the gift of another grateful gathering.
But then, thanks to two friends who separately alerted me to the powerful geomagnetic storm lighting up the sky, I spent an hour freezing on my deck watching, savoring, in awe and wonder. The photo above is a standard automatic iPhone shot, 1/15s, f1.78, ISO 12500, and reflects more or less what I saw with the naked eye.
The rest of the pictures were shot with the three-second exposure feature at various zooms over the course of the hour. I ducked inside to grab a blanket and sat in silence with the tiny dingo wrapped up in my lap. It was a perfect opportunity to practice sensation without interpretation: simply being. But it was too cold, and once the colors faded some we came back inside.
The Aurora forecast map for tonight and tomorrow night doesn’t show much likelihood of seeing it as far south as central Colorado, but I don’t trust those government websites anymore anyway. I can only imagine the stunning photos from farther north that will populate the media tomorrow.
I’m grateful for and content with the magnificent gift of being alive on this November night. And I’ll sure be paying closer attention to the sky tomorrow at sunset.
Wren made a new little friend this evening when a neighbor spontaneously stopped by to check out a potential job upgrading the pond patio. Oddly, I had dreamt last night about her playing with a visiting chihuahua.
He and his little dog left just before the supermoon rose and we hurried up to the balcony to watch. Astrologically, I’m told, it’s a very special full moon in Taurus, giving us the opportunity to bring clarity and tenderness to our spirit and heart, and reflect on what we really want.
I’m grateful that Americans in many elections yesterday voted for what I really want, which is compassionate leadership. May clarity and tenderness prevail!
I mentioned the sweater awhile ago, how I bought the pattern somewhere between fifteen and twenty years ago but could never muster the motivation to find the perfect yarn, or tackle the complicated pattern; and how I finally did both this summer. I started knitting sometime in June.
By mid-September I had knitted the back, front panels, and sleeves. I had to rip out many inches of the second sleeve after I suspected I’d gone off the pattern by one stitch. I thought, “How can it possibly matter if I purl two – knit one instead of knit one – purl two” but it turns out it gave the sleeve a distinctly different look. But it was worth doing right, so I patiently ripped out six inches back to the cuff and did it right. I learned so much about knitting as I picked up dropped stitches, corrected mistakes, figured out how to tie a secure vanishing knot to connect skeins, weave in loose ends, and unknit complicated stitches when I realized I’d missed one. I learned a new and more refined way to cast on, and several ways to bind off. I took my time assembling the panels and sleeves, and learned different ways to sew knitted pieces together depending if they were vertical to vertical, or vertical to horizontal, or on increasing or decreasing edges. It was really fun! I was grateful for my new skill of patience.
I learned to knit buttonholes when I knitted the two front bands, but here the directions failed me. There was no explanation of why the front bands were shorter than the front panels, so I knitted them long enough to experiment with when I got them sewn on. I had blocked the front bands with special pins and special blocking foam, but they felt very loose when I attached them. I sewed those two seams just as I’d sewn all the others, and the long bands fit the front panels perfectly. Something was wrong.
I went ahead and knitted the neck band anyway, and the whole sweater just felt floppy. I spent one whole day undoing a week’s work, but hey, I had patience! And it was worth doing it right. I ripped out the neck band, unsewed the front bands and shortened them, learning how to sew a short band to a longer panel and make it come out even, and then reknitted the neck band but made it a size smaller. Finally finished! I was sure I had six silver buttons of the correct size in my button jar or button box, but I did not. The best I could come up with were these brown leather-covered buttons, and I kind of like the contrast. One day one of them will fall off, and then I’ll go buy some silver buttons.
I stumbled into accidental cocktails this evening when I delivered a yard sign to dear friends, and since I was wearing the sweater I asked my captive audience which included three crafty women, how can I make these bands less wobbly? They all shrugged. None of them knit. But the retired park superintendent spoke up softly suggesting I block the sweater. I giggle just to think of it. His mom used to knit, and he dug into some memory strands and recalled she laid it out on the kitchen table, put a towel under and a towel over, but he wasn’t quite sure what she did after that. It was all I needed. The vast resource of YouTube knitting tutorials taught me from there. Tomorrow I’ll steam block the sweater and we’ll see what happens.
On the way to accidental cocktails…
The retired park superintendent mentioned a new group that he’d joined, and when I looked it up I realized that I also can join it! It felt great to sign up to join them, and to set up an automatic monthly donation. Only three dollars a month, but if every former seasonal employee like me, or everyone who ever volunteered at a national park, or worked there for a career did that, what a resource we’d be together.
As I was leaving accidental cocktails I savored the view of my friends’ garden with the tentative storm beyond. A small flock of sandhill cranes had just flown overhead seeking their evening roost. I felt their ancient voices keenly.
Arriving home again shortly before sunset.
Looking west from the top of the driveway, a sundog; a few minutes later, looking east, a fraction of a rainbow.
Grief is an acknowledgement of loss, an emotional state in which we exist between what we once understood or knew to be true, and an uncertain future where someone or something we cared about no longer exists with us. For me, acknowledging grief and allowing myself to dwell in this open space, this bardo, is a relief, and a step up from the paralysis of Despair. So I’ve spent a joyful day connecting with people as I ran errands and received assistance at a couple of healthcare appointments, relishing the feelings of simultaneous grief and gratitude, instead of bouncing between the opposites of gratitude and despair.
We walked to the west fence after sunset to see what the clouds would do. But the lone horse in the neighbor’s pasture to the south looked longingly at us. The rescue horses to the west had all gone in, and this sweet mare’s interest in us was compelling, so we strolled the fenceline down to greet her. Turns out, she wasn’t the least bit interested in me: she was fascinated by Wren. The two grazed together placidly for awhile as I watched clouds. But after awhile she snuffled my hand and let me caress her velvet nose, and we communed in silence til the color left the clouds.
Tomatoes, onion and garlic from the garden, along with a few Penzeys spices, made a nice sauce for an impromptu chili relleno casserole for lunch yesterday.
The roasted poblano chilis came from the Delta farmers’ market where I stopped last week. Five dollars for a bag of roasted chilis and five more for four big fresh peppers and two tomatoes.
I based it on the Chili Pepper Madness recipe, and added a splash of milk to the eggs based on some other recipes. So simple, so delicious!
Last night I slipped out of a zoom meeting for a few minutes to catch the full moon rising. It occurred to me that this could be the last October full moon I’ll ever see. Not to be morbid, but just realistic. Anything can happen at any time. Age doesn’t guarantee longevity, nor does genetics, nor anything else.
It also occurred to me that grief is an equally valid response to life as gratitude. Gratitude and grief go hand in hand. I attended a webinar this afternoon on how to help grieving people. It was perfect timing. I’d been thinking about grief a lot this past week, after helping a dear friend navigate a sudden, freak death in her family.
There’s also the grief that I’ve felt since childhood about the madness of humans destroying the planet, and now the exacerbating grief of a regime that’s trying to turn back time in all the wrong ways while accelerating the unbridled pillaging of the natural world for corporate profit. I’m grateful for meditation, for mindful introspection, for compassionate and wise teachers from many traditions around the world available to any of us with a few keystrokes. I’m grateful for sleep, for friendships, for the moon and the sun, for water, wild birds, golden leaves, an open heart, for the ten thousand joys and the ten thousand sorrows of being human, and for this breath.
Wren helped get the yurt ready for our staycation guest.
Naturally, since it was Captain Amphibian who visited, we spent some time down at the pond to enjoy the big froglets.
It’s mind-boggling to realize that of the thousands of tadpoles who hatched, only about a dozen froglets remain visible around the pond. There could be many more I’m not seeing, deep in the rushes or out in the garden nearby, but most of them have dispersed or been eaten by snakes or birds. We counted three or four tadpoles remaining in the water, which may well overwinter there.
Much good food was enjoyed, including deep dish Dutch oven lasagna, waffles with blueberries, and tomato sandwiches.
We weren’t the only ones who dined well. Much nature was observed in rich and comfortable hours spent outside in the yarden, garden, and woods. As we repaired a garden gate we watched this praying mantis polish off a meal and then rest afterward on an old onion stalk.
One of the more fascinating occurrences was this Cooper’s hawk hunting the house sparrows who spend a lot of time in this fernbush just beyond the patio.
We walked daily, usually to the canyon rim, always with Wren, and often with Topaz along too.
Giving the Ancient One a hug, I spooked a couple of sagebrush lizards.
Two introverts conversing at a small cocktail party at the Black Canyon.
Wren napping on the warm rocks.
I was grateful for one cold, rainy day, so we could build a fire in the wood stove and pull out a puzzle. He chose one of the hardest, “The Hunt,” which kept us occupied off and on throughout the rest of the visit.
That little cold snap started the colors turning in earnest.
Poison Fish accompanied several sunsets on the deck, and some great movie nights. We enjoyed an Australian film fest all week, including “Priscilla Queen of the Desert” and several featuring aboriginal actor David Gulpilil: “Walkabout,” “Rabbit-Proof Fence,” and “The Tracker,” all extraordinary, thought provoking movies.
One afternoon we drove along the Black Canyon south to Blue Mesa Reservoir, the largest body of water in the state. Dramatic scenery all along the way no matter which way we looked, up down left right.
Of the many potential activities I had lined up, we managed to accomplish quite a few, including a stroll along the North Fork of the Gunnison River at the Paonia River Park, and lunch at Nido in town, where he enjoyed chicken quesadillas and I ate the best tacos ever, bubblegum plum carnitas.
We played with the GPS feature in Photos to mark and locate this special tree, so we could return and hide a little treasure inside.
It was a marvelous vacation and a most harmonious visit. I’m grateful that my friend made the trip, and adapted to all my conditions and particularities with ease and good cheer. It did me good to stretch a little. We were both a little melancholy to see it end. However, similar to when you return home from a wonderful vacation away you savor the coming home, after my staycation I am once again savoring the contentment of my routine solitude.
I’m tuning out the world at large for the next ten days, and tuning in close to home with a dear friend coming to visit tomorrow. No politics, no meetings, no work except for teaching the first two classes in Mindfulness Foundations Course; just eating, walking the woods, sitting by the pond, talking, laughing, maybe a short road trip or some other wilderness adventure, relaxing… and savoring this life on earth, one precious day at a time.
Meals and a few outings are mostly planned and subject to spontaneous revision, but tomorrow night is a birthday party! Not for me or for him, but for my new titanium hip which will be one years old. To celebrate I’ve baked this chocolate mayonnaise cake, slathered with chocolate cream cheese frosting. Utter decadence. I can’t find the recipe link for the frosting so here it is:
In a large bowl using a handheld or stand mixer fitted with a paddle or whisk attachment, beat the cream cheese for 1 minute on high speed until completely smooth and creamy. Beat in the butter until combined. Add the confectioners’ sugar, cocoa powder, vanilla extract, 1 Tablespoon milk, and salt and beat on medium-high speed until combined and creamy. Add 1 more Tablespoon of milk to slightly thin out, if desired. Taste, then add another pinch of salt if desired.
This is Topaz, refusing to come inside again last night at dusk. Since her long night out recently she’s been sure to be inside before dark, but last night she just sat there six feet from the door, looking defiantly at me holding it open, inviting her sweetly inside. When I took the photo I said, “This may be the last picture I ever get to take of you, if you don’t come in now.” It was true, it could have been, and I’m grateful that I have this awareness: death is certain, for everyone, and time of death is uncertain. And so I savored that moment of her stubborn determination, and loved her all the more for it. I was also grateful that she came in a couple hours later, and that she came inside tonight before dark.
There was another spectacular sunset this evening which distracted me from last minute preparations, but I paused my endeavors to savor it anyway; and the dishes still got done. It’s time now to lay down my sleepy head, my aching teeth, and my grateful heart.
May we all abide in equanimity, meeting each other as equals, free of bias, attachment, and anger…
May we all have genuine happiness and its causes, and open our hearts with loving kindness to all beings…
May we all be free from suffering, and grow in compassion for all beings…
And may we all remember to be grateful, every living moment of every day.
