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Krista Tippett is an interviewer of remarkable people on many topics attached to spirituality and belief. She has been on PBS since 2001 and on her website every show in the last thirteen years is available for listening, or download to hear at a future time. I enthusiastically recommend taking a look and hearing whatever interests you - this is a wonderful offering of ideas both good, and sometimes controversial.
Here is the link: http://onbeing.org/programs/latest
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Winter has finally settled in, which is to say I have finally accepted that it is Winter. We have had almost thirty inches of snow and an ice storm to boot here in Down East Maine. Everyone who forecasts the weather including the NOAA have said that we are in for a mild Winter - all except the Farmers Almanac who said this will be a tough season - one of the most severe. Who can say that they are right as after looking on the internet I did not find any accurate proof or disproof, only a bunch of naysayers who said not to trust their predictions without offering anything other than their opinion. In the end it will be what it will be but I do like the idea of the almanac as something that influenced the planting of Spring crops for a few centuries, and may be reliable overall.
This week's offerings are of Winter as seen this past week along with a few meanderings into the mystical side of the Season. Everything is somehow a metaphor which applies to probably all images ever produced. This is just a thought as I sense there is more truth in the statement than anything else.
Fall ended last week in Acadia.
It just said enough, and offered a goodbye -
The wind picked up and the temperature dropped,
as I took one last photo of the Season.
When ice covers everything here and snow falls and falls,
this will help memory until I can go outdoors again
without layers, without a warm hat .
Fall just up and quit!
Can you imagine?
Next came the snow,
perhaps to cover up the sins of the world.
A showing of the tranquility of white woods and fields.
as God tries constantly to delight us -
A wonder-filled Gift.
Late for lunch
Looking under the ice beauty is still to be found,
just beneath the surface life continues to be bold -
keeping its loveliness safe until the thaw,
even if Winter becomes another ice age.
This is the inward look, finding ourselves to be alive,
in spite of what the manufactured crisis oriented world
throws at us with the endless barrage of news and ads -
seeming to say, "Now that you feel bad, go buy something."
Beauty was planted in everyone by a Loving God
who remembers us, and wants us to be happy.
It is us who throw away the Gifts
and embrace the negative.
The trumpets of God's Light announce the Good News of another day.
Let us rejoice and be glad in it no matter the weather.
Even in the dimmest of days,
a little color can be found.
This does require searching outdoors,
away from the electronic screens
that want to rule our life.
The following photos taken on the grayest day I have seen in awhile still have a bit of color somewhere, a ray of hope, even in air speaking of depression and the loneliness of Winter. Look closely.
Grey the Day
Gray the day, all the year is cold,
Across the empty land the swallows' cry
Marks the south flown spring. Naught is bowled
Save winter, in the sky.
O sorry earth, when this bleak bitter sleep
Stirs and turns and time once more is green,
In empty path and lane and grass will creep
With none to tread it clean.
April and May and June, and all the dearth
Of heart to green it for, to hurt and wake;
What good is budding, gray November earth?
No need to break your sleep for greening's sake.
The hushed plaint of wind in stricken trees
Shivers the grass in path and lane
And Grief and Time are tideless golden seas.
William Faulkner
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Some humor:
Peace until next week,
Bill Lagerstrom
Bill,
ReplyDeleteThere really is beauty in starkness, isn't there? There's something about the bleakness of a cold road outlined in snow banks that, in a way, speaks peace. Do you have to grow up in Maine to feel this way? Thanks.
Back in the mid-sixties when my family first moved to Maine my older brother, who lives in New Jersey, and I went up through the fields behind the house and into the woods to cut our Christmas Tree. When we returned home, about a half mile walk, it was snowing so hard that we couldn't see the far end of each field as we crossed. Photos like the second one in this blog will forever remind me of that adventure. I'll call him as soon as I finish this comment.
Peace,
John