Tag Archive | present moment

The Last Solstice

Dec21
The ‘red lime’ is a cultivar which seemingly arrived on the citrus scene in 2006, and is described as possibly “a cross of Rangpur lime and a kumquat.” There’s not much more about it online. I’m grateful for this bounty that was given, and I squeezed all these to freeze juice while letting a few more ripen in the fridge. Orange appears to be the color of the day this solstice.

I’m grateful for every element of this morning’s latte and biscotti, and all the lives that contributed to this experience: coffee beans, milk, chocolate, almonds, orange zest, flour, sugar, vanilla orchid seeds, tree sap distilled into syrup, running water, tools and technology, and the last crumbs of maple sugar candy sprinkled on top with cinnamon. How many plants, animals, and human hands made this brief moment in my sunroom possible? Feeling the truth of intrabeing.

“When doing something for the last time, we almost never know that it is, in fact, the last time; and everything you will do today, pleasant and unpleasant, you will do a finite number of times. So why not give each thing your full attention?”

Sam Harris

I’ve thought a lot about this since I heard it the other day. In the same reflection, he points out that children grow up, and suddenly they’re too big to be picked up; a recent trend on Instagram shows mothers trying to lift up their teenage sons. I remember the last time I picked up Stellar as he grew from a puppy into a big dog.

I’m pretty sure this was it: he weighed about thirty pounds, and he was getting hard to lift when someone took this picture. I remember thinking, this is probably the last time I’ll pick him up. I remember the last time I made love with my ex-fiancé, and knowing it was the last time. And I know there are a million things I’ve already done for the last time and never realized it.

I wasn’t going to make that mistake today. This was definitely the last solstice of 2025, and I was going to mark the occasion by watching the sunset from the west fence. It wasn’t too dramatic when I got there, but the clouds have been exceptional recently and the fan of grey and deep blue stratocumulus (looking south, above) and altocumulus (looking north, below) quickly brightened as the earth spun away from the sun.

The color dimmed in the north and east, but deepened to the south. Soon the clouds to the west were on fire. I felt keenly the fleeting beauty, the one-timeness of this sunset, the one and only time the sky will look exactly like this. The next moment it looked different, and the next moment.

And who knows, this might be the last solstice sunset I’ll ever see, not just the last this year. All we ever have for certain is this moment, right now. It can be exhausting knowing this all the time, until with enough practice it becomes an effortless habit that enhances experience.

This is what’s meant by the phrase “Death is an ally.” When I’m aware that this could be the last time I see the sunset I really drink it in; when I remember that this is the last time I might see or speak with a friend, I can bring loving kindness into that moment and let grudges, judgements, and other distancing thoughts or feelings fade.

Everything changes, all the time. Let me remember to be grateful, every living moment of every day.

Being Here, Now

Sep11

I’m grateful today simply for being here. Here, as opposed to anywhere else I might have been on this date, this anniversary.

NPR reported today that a sizable number of people who witnessed the Twin Towers attack continue to suffer PTSD, depression, and other mental health issues. The report mentioned human resilience, also, but what struck me was the limited scope of the research, which surveyed only people in the vicinity of New York City. There must be millions more people across the country, and the world, who still suffer mental health impacts from witnessing that horror. Not to mention those millions suffering the global fallout of the forever wars that started that morning.

I reflected this morning, from the serenity of my garden, that so many of the choices I’ve made over the last twenty years are a direct result of being near the Pentagon on 9/11/01, and watching live both on TV and from the back porch, the explosive birth pangs of this new world disorder. I thought about how far I’ve come, how much I’ve changed, and how long it took afterwards to even begin to claw my way out of the despair that seized me on that day. There were a few hours that morning that I feared I could die there, and never see home again; an interlude of terror when no one knew what might happen next.

My parents lived next to an Army Air Base, and sometime that morning, even as I stood on their back patio watching smoke from the Pentagon darken the sky, the roar of jets and helicopters began just beyond beyond the woods, and continued nonstop 24-7 for the next week as I remained grounded there. I felt I had just experienced the beginning of World War III, or as it’s now more aptly referred to, ‘the Forever Wars.’ The ramifications also took a surprising turn into domestic discord as well. 9/11 is the trauma that keeps on triggering.

Eventually I made it home. I was numb for many years. Eventually, my life took a turn toward toward the mindfulness and gratitude I find myself practicing today, but it wasn’t easy and there were many detours along the way. In this place, on this day, I am keenly aware of how loss and suffering lay the groundwork for kindness and compassion. I am grateful for being here, now, and not anywhere else.

This Peaceful Day

Aug29
I’m grateful for hanging out this evening on the patio with a relaxed cat and dog, in relative silence, punctuated by the scrub jays’ racket in the trees.

Here, between the inferno to the west and the deluge to the southeast, weather extremes swirling in ever more intense waves through the atmosphere, here in this little yarden on this high, dry mesa, it’s a calm, balmy day. I dwell in a near-constant state of overwhelm when awareness extends from coast to coast, monitoring weather. So much is happening all the time; so many lives changing, souls suffering, not only humans but other beings: insects, trees, bears and fawns, predators, prey; birds of all feathers fleeing fire. Snakes, rodents, roaches, great floating orbs of fire ants, all uprooted by rain, and mammals drowned; alligators climbing to higher ground, and houses washed away, some with people in them. Hurricanes today stay twice as strong for twice as long after landfall as they did fifty years ago.

I am grateful for this one peaceful day that I got to experience here in this one little yard in this vast plateau between extremes. I’m grateful for contentment and equanimity.

I’m grateful for this peach, the sum total of this year’s peach crop. The single peach and the robust greenery speak to the resilience of this little tree whose prognosis in spring wasn’t promising. I’m grateful the peach tree survived last autumn’s killing frost, and practically thrived with some extra TLC.

I’m grateful for this recipe, Creamy Corn Pasta with Basil. I spiralized the first garden zucchini and tossed it in the pan instead of pasta. The sauce involves blended corn, scallions, parmesan, and oodles of fresh basil. So simple, so delicious! Grateful for homegrown food, and the conditions of this life at this moment that allow for all the luxuries of this peaceful day, this spot of stillness here, amidst the uncontrollable atmosphere.