I miss the birdsong in the mornings now.
I wake up in the dark cold; The fire is out. I move softly in the kitchen, thick wool socks gliding on linoleum. The dog listens at the top of the stairs for the sound of dry food hitting metal dish.
The coffee smells good, warms me. I choose the most beautiful white birch log because the bark catches fire best.
Outside the garden is covered in a light frost. I hear a flock of geese, high overhead, telegraphing their departure in staccato voices.
I am not in Charleston today.
Today is a brilliant fall day. The leaves have all pretty much come off the trees, but the sky is bright blue. I can see the river across the street again; in summer, the foliage blocks the view. The frosty nights have not yet completely decimated the garden. Sure, the morning glories and zinnias are gone but the roses are thriving and the calendula are having one last mad fling. I love to sit on the front steps in the autumn sun and enjoy these last glorious moments.
“Everything dies, baby, that’s a fact. But maybe everything that dies will some day come back.”
This weekend will be given over to house cleaning and getting my life back under control, but for now I’m going to soak up the sun.
We were down in Hartford, Connecticut this weekend for the Bar Mitzvah of the son of our client there. It was wonderful to be included in the celebration. I was inspired by the knowledge that four generations of the family have worshiped at the synagogue where the Bar Mitzvah was held, and I was struck by the fundamental similarities between Judaism and Christianity.
This morning I’ve been reading a book by American Buddhist nun, Pema Chodron, and am again noticing similarities. I suppose all religions draw from the same well–that principally we are here to love god and to love one another. It sounds good, but how did on earth did we get from that to things like the Inquisition and suicide bombing?
I’ve always been deeply uncomfortable with religious talk, but I’m learning to relax about it. I think this must be part of what Chodron means when she talks about softening our hearts. It seems logicial to me that most of the world’s problems are rooted in how we harden our hearts toward one another.
“We always have a choice. We can let the circumstances of our lives harden us and make us increasingly resentful and afraid, or we can let them soften us and make us kinder.”
I have trouble with that choice, but I’m working on it. It’s the best I can do.