EVERYDAY SPIRITUALITY: Seeing the Math.

{For those unacquainted with the blog: on rare occasions I post a non-anomalies short entry about what I consider to be our direct experience with the Spiritual through Creation. And I always warn those who cannot tolerate overt familiarity with such that this is happening, so that they can pass up this entry. So done.}
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The day of the picture was an odd weather day. Here in Michigan, Kalamazoo was having a narrow 30-degree window tightly flanked by two sub-zero days. ... odd stuff ... great for snow.

I was sitting out in front of my garage as is the norm, saying morning prayers. .........and, I go into my mindspace of two days ago :

" It's Snow World today. Loaded everywhere. You can see the simplistic math of humanity overlain on the complex Math of God. Those straight technological things ... and the trees, stretching thick to thin in their fractal construction.

It was one of the great "wow's" of mathematics, when the Mandelbrot sets and all the fractals begin to be seen --- they seem to be part of the mathematical basis of created forms.

.... a mathematics so powerfully applicable that its discoverers have nicknamed the most famous expression "The Thumbprint of God". And here I am looking at it snow-decorated in the trees.

A noiseless day. Fractals everywhere. Just bird sound and the antics of squirrels doing things un-understandable on such a day. The birds, a small flock of chickadees just in the bush nearby, a cawing crow, a pair of resolutely faithful cardinals, a whacky woodpecker who has decided that ramming his head into a telephone pole repeatedly is proper action --- but it's all LIFE --- LIFE right in the depths of winter snow.

So a semi-crazy squirrel treats me to a wild circus act jumping and falling and scrambling around in the snow-filled tree --- to absolutely no identifiable end, except maybe joie de vive. It then runs into the bush scattering the chickadees, one of which flies a display three feet in front of my face, then goes on to a confrontation with a tufted titmouse claiming priority on a tree limb nearby.

It's just LIFE reveling even now. And it's math --- deep inside me, and the squirrel, and the chickadees, our fractal branching bloodvessel systems carry LIFE around in each of us.

How deep ... how universal ... these creative Words of God??

How much of what we see, what we are, are those words still being spoken?

.... ah. Snowblowers starting up. The humans are awake. Time to retreat and contemplate the snowshovel, and that foot deep layer of fractals that arrays before me.

Blessings to us all, and may your fractals be functional ones all your days.

Everyday Spirituality

LIFE .....................................  again.

Everyday Spirituality: Consciousness and Nature.

{normal caveat: this is not an ordinary entry for this site; no evaluation of anomalies are presented this day}.

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To start with something far less beautiful than the painting above:

I was looking out of my bathroom window into the back yard, when I saw a very large and very ugly white "rat" crawling through the wildflowers that cover the ground. It wasn't a rat of course, but a female opossum . Shortly, waddling purposively after, came a much larger male opossum, who obviously did not share my opinions of her beauty. Across the whole back lawn she went and then took a right turn towards the house.

I altered my viewing point to watch. She was quite ragged looking and he quite nicely kempt [for an opossum]. He looked like he could serve as a cute dumb-looking pet if you could ignore the rat-tail, but she was horrid. He disagreed. She would walk about, while he patiently crept several feet behind. If he'd get too close, she'd let him know, tooth and snarl. He was bigger but fighting was not what he had in mind.

But fight he ultimately did, because along came another male opossum to gaze lecherously at the Belle of the Ball. When the second fellow aggressed a bit, the first suitor violently attacked and routed him, while she looked on with interest. She returned then to her own grooming, and he to his patient hopeful state. I left them to their ways...............

We can anthropomorphize all we want, but the opossums were operating on rather low "animal instincts". He is, by almost any definition, stalking her. She, however, seems at her level of instinct, a fairly willing stalkee. She bides her time, and at some moment, she chooses. Then, it is my understanding, he walks away and she deals with the results. It is obvious that part of our own brain is opossum.

The birds are less spectacular and overt about this, but most of them [after mama makes the eggs] are the same way. Some guys hang around; some don't. We love the Cardinals because they stay together and share the parenting duty for the long haul. And we like the Robins, because while she is making eggs, he sits in the nearby tree while she feeds on the ground, and instantly routs any other Robin who comes into her feeding area.

Though we have Opossums, Robins, and Cardinals in us, there is something else which tries to raise us up, and do more genuine caring than just procreating the species. On my walk that day, I came across a middle-aged couple. They had stayed together far past procreating time. They'd dealt with their "opossum" and gotten on to something greater, something MORE conscious, something higher. They worked together side-by-side at their landscaping, and happily smiled and said hello to this stranger, myself. Along the path of my walk, there were, at two different times, WMU coeds jogging along, their ponytails flying. My own opossum was instinctively interested in all that, but my real conscious thought was: how good for them; free to choose their own paths, their personal growth, the quality of their lives. My backyard opossums, even my cardinals, would never have thought that.

But, while the instinctive individual may not manifest such consciousness, I wonder if Nature Herself does not do so. This second part of this entry comes from an experience of the singing of the coyotes, sent to SITU. The correspondent wrote:

".... we were living in an old adobe house .... A very old mesquite tree had grown up and through the living room ceiling, its branches covering most of the roof. Wonderful setting, on the edge of the desert, beyond which ran the Papago Hills.

" It must have been the July full Moon of the year 1949. A lovely night. I had dropped into a calm wholesome sleep. Suddenly ... I was awakened by a strange chanting, half-gay, half heart-rending sound, a chant out of eerie tales.

"I crept out of bed .... once on the terrace, I was held motionless because what I saw seemed unreal. Then I bumped my toe on a lawnchair and knew I was not dreaming.

"Out in the middle of the desert, the full Moon illuminated a large circle of golden sand in the strip between the arroyo and the foothills of Tumacacori, Arizona. All around the circle there were some ten-to-twenty coyotes --- I did not count them. At first they sat just inside the moonlight, howling low and soft at the Moon, their heads held high.

" Then their moan became an intense off-beat chant. By twos, by threes and fours, crossing each other, circling one another, they literally danced. As if the Master of the Ballet had drawn the most precise yet fantastic, chaste yet erotic, square dance that might have been danced at the Court of Louis XV.

" I was spellbound. My body writhed in sorrow and stretched in joy in turn, as I watched what seemed to be an endless .. grave ..  lilting ..  betrothal dance.

"And then a cloud darkened the Moon. The coyotes hurled their bodies to and fro with their usual dismal cries. .... and disappeared."

.... sometimes it seems, Nature has more to say.

And those times are Magick.

The area of the correspondent is one one several traditional Native American areas which have a legend of the Spirit who [like Prometheus of the Greeks] did humanity the great service of stealing Fire from the gods. In the Navaho myth, the thief is Coyote; the thieved are the Moon and the Wind.

Maybe some rare days, Old Coyote still likes to dance and sing and manifest beyond your average opossum.

Peace and Wonder, folks.

Everyday Spirituality: The Language of the Birds

[ yep. it's one of these things again. For those who know the style, there is no need to say anything, but for newcomer readers, this is where I say a friendly caution. These posts are not about anomalies in any usual sense of the word. If you are looking for anomalies today, and you do not care particularly for the spiritual, then this is not the day. Just skip until the next post, and welcome back then.]

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This active "being with" occurred a few days ago, but I wanted to give the blog a little more temporal distance for the discussion that was developing on the Internet effects and the future to have its say. So I kept it close to the heart, and with the daily morning prayers, and the help of the birds, I believe that it has mostly survived. With humility, then....



The morning was cold, but the birds seem oblivious. "Everyone" seems on the move. And shouting about it. You can hear the squawk of Jays, the musical flute of Cardinals, the twitter of elevating Doves, the slurpy songs of Robins. A huge squabble goes up right next in the evergreen bushes. That's almost always Sparrows, but today the Towhees were having at it. A woodpecker furiously hammered at a tree. It was the Language of the Birds.

The Language of the Birds is the language which our ancient ancestors believed contained the secret wisdom of the world. I can't speak it. But I listened........... but...No, no mystic I.

But there is something there. Listen.... listen.... "we are....  we are alive....  We Are Alive!!"

Yes. Not much one might say, not much wisdom to impart. But I wonder? They are alive. The whole around me is alive. I too.

This aliveness is now. This is the moment ... what will it become?

Streaking past high above, a Hawk startles me. It is making a lightning pass at a Dove. I didn't actually see the strike, but I felt it. The part of this whole called Hawk, did what the part called Hawk does. Something complicated just happened. And something simple.

I sat there meditating, the Hawk long gone. A big Buzzard cruised effortlessly over the house and beyond. A little Robin came out right next to me as a surprise once it passed. I said: "Pretty scary, eh?" The Robin blinked but didn't fly. A plane droned over. ..... no one cared. Human simplicity. Nature's complexity.

Then, a welcome human sight: as happens, thankfully, so often, along came the old black man and his old black dog. He walked along with her, more labored than usual, but carrying his extra burden of the pooper scooper as a good neighbor. "Hallo!! How are you today!!", his always full-of-gusto way. "I'm fine. And how are you and your good companion doing?" And as he labored past, "We're getting along."

And they were. She, happy to be with someone who makes her feel comfortable, and he ... too. They were getting along... with one another, and on the path of Life. Even the years were not stopping them, nor their happiness.

The old man is neither Hawk nor Dove. He, the Good Neighbor, is instead the consummate civilized community man. Simplicity is beautiful. And, Complexity can be too.

I wish that I understood the Language of the Birds, but at times maybe we can understand enough.

The morning Sun was high enough now and warming the tips of the tree branches. It had been an unusual night --- just enough moisture to lightly coat the tips with frost. The Sun was melting that frost now .... and the most delightful thing: as each tip melted it became a glorious Prism of dancing light.

Mouth-opened wonder. I, a child again, waited for the Fairies "that just must be there behind this", to break away and fly over.

But, of course, they weren't there. Just The Sun, the Frost, God's amazing Prismatic design for Light....

I guess that is wonder enough.

Simplicity. Simplicity can be beautiful.

.... and we are alive.

Blessings everyone, till next we meet on the Path ... listening to The Language of the Birds.

Everyday Spirituality: Cycles and Lines.

---------- [Fair Warning: I know that not everyone who occasionally reads the blog is interested in things Spiritual. It has been a long time since I have posted one of these. These posts are not about any of the famous anomalies. They are closenesses to Nature and closenesses to what is for me the Spiritual. If such matters have no meaning for you, you will miss nothing by skipping this post and waiting for the next. This is an awake meditation, and a "communion". It has meaning to me. And for me, it IS related to many of the things that are discussed on this site] ----------

My street ... my city ... my home.

Sitting outside this morning for meditative prayer, the world seems just about as it should. The humans are doing pretty well for a change. All up and down the edges of the streets my neighbors are putting out the recycle bins and caring a little for the Earth. The recycling program that twenty+ years ago, I helped get started --- one of the three things in my life of which I am proud. My good neighbors... doing their parts.

Nature seems to like it. Sun today after a week of gloom and weeping rain. Nature has decided to show off instead today with her colors. Hidden in those colors is the great cycle of Life itself. Nature is saying something important.

To the birds this is just fine. A pair of Blue Jays come to visit --- still very interested in one another after all the months of their year. They take turns searching the ground and standing watch. They fly off so astoundingly close and precisely that their wings seem to touch, almost as one being. Overhead a flock of geese travels away from the local cornfields long harvested. They too are eerily one as they fly. A young couple walks their dog --- she is talking and he is actually paying attention to her and smiling. She is happy. Something in the air.

My own walk today is full of its own happiness. The Sun is hitting the tops of the trees and it is a leaf-fall day. Showers regularly happen. I pass under a brilliant cathedral just as one begins... letting the golden magic drift by from the sky. Are the trees weeping? or are they rather shedding unneeded burdens? Do they know that this will all happen again in time?

Beneath these cathedrals Stars have fallen from the Skies. They fall so that other stars will shine in their turn. It isn't sad, it's Life.

Stars fall. Great glorious brilliant beautiful Stars. Dad fell long ago. Mom is hanging to her branch awaiting her call. She will fall... in the body... like the leaves. That is the Cycle. But she will go to Dad and the Spiritual World in the Soul.

It is the Cycle of the World and the linear life of the Soul. The old Irish knew this. That is why their Waycrosses are the Circle-and-The-Cross. It is sad to be the one left behind, but they will wait for me.

Back home, sitting looking out to Nature and God's Presence just beneath, my paper birch gives me another shower of gold. She is not concerned. She knows the Cycle is there ready to be energized by the linear Light. Things are right with the Universe.

The shadow of the neighbor's house just moves away from the nearby grass and trees. There is the dew. There is the Light shining within it.

A whole world is in that dew, that light, ready to explode into beauty and life again. And God is there maintaining it all, and waiting for us to come home.

Everyday Spirituality: Cycles

Morning prayers, outside...the crows are making a racket, sitting up in separate trees hollering at one another. One of the local squirrels is sawing away at a walnut in a nearby maple ...breaking the night's fast. Another runs across the street with its own walnut. When the humans cut the four big walnut trees down last summer, most of the winter bounty went with them. I hope the few left were filled this year or it will be a longer winter for these furry critters. I'm not sure exactly why I care, but I do. A girl Cardinal sits in her tree peeping at her boy. He's a good fellow and immediately peeps back from the one he's sitting in. As he flies further off, she's not happy with him and peeps more loudly and insistently ["what's that meathead doing now?"]. Finally she flies over to the roof he's perched on and off they go together. Ah, romance... ... I just miss seeing a leaf detach from the nearest maple. It was one of the last five...a yellow-gold star fluttering to Earth. Once I saw such a happening exactly as I was staring at the leaf. It was a bit of a shock to see the actual, permanent change that had, just that microsecond, occurred in the universe. Something had happened that would never be the same. Something had ended. I suppose that it is a matter of ones perspective. Do I personalize the leaf or the tree? The tree "wants" to shed her leaves, to get ready for the cycle of life. The leaf...is it a "death", or, like a post-teenager, a release? It feels like a death, though, and I can't help a little sadness. Some leaves are obviously tougher than others and hang on against all odds, but "there is a time and a purpose for every season". ... I need to take my morning walk so that this old leaf won't fall any sooner than it has to. Up ahead the old couple and their old black dog are doing the same. Are we the leaves or the trees? Either way we have our cycle.
About a calendar week ago, and many, many years, the universe welcomed me into its glories and I began my grateful cycle. What a privilege to be here. As the fine Minneapolis folk singer and story teller, Peter Mayer, sings: "This year in space together has been fun. What say we make another circle round the Sun?". Blessings on Thanksgiving and all year to you all.

Everyday Spirituality: take a breath; take a break.

Anomalies tomorrow. Today, just nomalies. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Sunday morning outside saying morning prayers and staring at the creation. Mixture of fog and sunlight today. Nice. Birds and squirrels--no people [now you be nice about that]. No insects--now that's really nice. I guess that I have a ways to go to become the Dalai Lama. Actually I saw him swat an insect once while being interviewed by Bill Moyers. Moyers, who himself was happy to swat the mosquito, was still surprised that the Dalai Lama did. But Moyers [the "grass-hopper" in this wisdom play] was told: "The first time I give a little blood. The second time I shoo it away. The third time 'WHACK'." Forgive me my Buddhist friends, but that was the moment that I had greatest appreciation for the Dalai Lama's wisdom. Today, I have no need to struggle with the conundrum. Microcosmic vampirism isn't on Mother Nature's agenda, at least as far as I am concerned. The dew from the fog is lighting up the grass like diamonds ...but no colors yet. A red-breasted bird comes and sits on the branch of the paper-birch tree not twenty feet away. Ok, prayers are over, but I won't get up yet and disturb you. I'll sit here until you decide to fly on your own. As Freeman Dyson said: do I have the right to disturb the universe? The Olde People didn't think so, at least as far as Robins were concerned. The Robins, it was said, contained a drop of the blood of the Lord, and were not to be harried. Alright, Sir Robin, no harrying. For that I was rewarded with a dewdrop turning to a fabulous blue-green jewel. Far at the end of the street a couple was coming. I don't know them, but as they say hello everytime they pass, I do. It was time to go in but Sir Robin didn't think so. Down the street they came, walking their old black dog, taking his time to sniff every possible item along the way. They were patient with him, as they had apparently been patient with each other, still walking together after what was probably 40 years of marriage. They passed by, again with the cheery hello and have a good day. When I looked up, the Robin was gone. Goodness, peace, unspoken togetherness had been served, and it was on its way. GOD bless and peace on this Sunday and all days that we are privileged to participate in this reality of wonders. Take a breath.