The rabbi and the provacateaur

I've had a bit of a summer flu the past few days - not enough to really knock me off my feet - just enough to slow me down, muddle my thinking a bit, and keep me a bit more quiet and contained.

I've been thinking about being more quiet and contained anyway ... well, maybe not actually contained - maybe a bit more focused on refining / redefining where, how, and with who (whom?) I spend my time.

It's been a whirlwind of a year (and a bit more) since I settled myself into Butte. I've had the great joy of befriending many - some who've become integral to my life, and others who've fallen by the wayside. And, it seems that each week there are more who enter onto the stage of my life - bit players, leading men, supporting ladies - we play together for a time - and for that time - it's good. Some have left the stage too soon for me ... others have overstayed their welcome ... and on the whole, the stage is full and rich and interesting. My days are full from when I wake in the morning til I finally sleep at night, and most of it is fascinating to me - my work, my studies, my friends.

But ... I miss me. I miss the long hours rolling by when I can write and dream and walk and contemplate and simply be. I have images and poems in my mind that want to come out, stroll around, and find a place to live together. I have songs that want to be written, played, sung aloud. I feel the pull toward solitary spots where I can watch the river or the clouds flow by me and my mind can follow along.

I read an article in the NYTimes yesterday on six reasons to grow old. It's written by a 90-year old rabbi. Now, he's got 40 years on me - so there are things I agree with ... and things I don't (yet?). Gratitude and tranquility are both states of mind and being that I enter into more easily and freely than I have ever before. There is so much in my life to be grateful for - and - those moments of tranquility are what allow me to enter into the experiences of my life more freely and passionately.

He writes of the "cooling of passion" which I don't see as a benefit. I find that the older I get, the more passionate I feel about being engaged with the process of living ... of being awake and alive in the world. In this world.

In the Sunday book review I came across an article about "The Vindication of Love" where the author speaks about how failure can be more sumptuous than success ... where success is seen as drifting along in a dull, safe life and failure are those moments where we engage in the blaze of passion that may not last ... but those moments change us forever.

There is - I know - a balance between the rabbi and the provacateaur. Maybe that will be my summer journey.

Legacy

(you can click to enlarge)

Marbles

It was one of those unexpectedly perfect days that that ease into life when you're not looking.

I headed over to the Farmers Market a little later than usual and found some beautiful kale at the Hmong vegetable stand and then headed over to the 'new' Venus for tea, a chat with Dan, and to sit out on Main Street to listen to Marko and write.

For a small time, the corner of Park and Main was the picture of a small, vibrant city - with music, arts, crafts, eager and hopeful vendors, happy customers and browsers moving through the area. The sun was warm, the air was cool, and I was entirely content.

I walked home, packed up my knapsack with water and cd's and headed over to Divide to pick up Jeanne and then down to Melrose to visit a while with the folks from the Big Hole River Foundation. I sat at the river's side chatting with Michelle and Alyse, Hans and Steve, Sheila, Mike, and Corky. We ate bbq venison and drank home-brewed beer and shared stories and jibes, laughter and silence, and I let the sound of the water carry my cares downstream.

At one point, Sheila handed a lovely blue marble to Jeanne and Michelle handed one to me. It's part of a celebration of those who 'live like they love our blue planet'. (you can check it out at bluemarbles.org) Here in Montana, I've been privileged to befriend and work with many who live this way - loving our planet - doing what they can in small and large ways to contribute to the ongoing creation of a better place for us all.

Jeanne and I headed out after a while to visit with Linda at the Wise River Club to set up lunch for an event later this month, and then back to Jeanne's place. It was wonderful to sit with her on the deck, listening to the river rushing by, chatting about this and that. Her husband and son headed off to float down to Melrose - and we declined - not wanting to be caught in the possible rainstorms that were hovering nearby.

This morning, I ran into a friend I hadn't seen in months. When I told her about the busy semester I'd had - the commitments I'd made - I could see the judgement flowing across her face. "I would never take that much on" she said. And I understood. I might have said something similar a few years ago. I would have said it believing that "that much" was somehow separate from me, apart from me. Now, I understand that its all me. Expressing myself.

I can choose to commit to weeks like this past one where I worked most of the day and late into the wee hours of the night/morning - and yet found time to take breaks for chatting with friends, long walks, going out for a beer. I worked because it was interesting - it was fun - it was my way of contributing to my love for this planet ... in the ways that I'm able. Work ... school ... volunteering ... playing ... its all me. I'm not taking on too much ... I'm just living my life.

Sometime in the next day or so, I'll run into the next person who will claim this little blue marble sitting in my pocket. I don't know who's hands it's passed through - or who it will go to - but I know it will be moving among those who truly care. I like being part of that community.

Beauty

Yesterday evening I was out on the trail - the sunset was gorgeous - the colors rich, the clouds reflecting light and shadow - the air was cool ... almost chill ... and the birds were calling out their evening songs. It was ... beautiful.

I spent the weekend at Yellowstone - almost three full days driving through the park, stopping often to witness the wildlife, the landscape, the sun .. rain .. snow. It was ... beautiful.

Monday, I spent most of the day touring the lower Big Hole River - I drove through stunning landscapes with the river high and wild below and beside me. It was ... beautiful.

So last night I wondered, as I watched the sunset over the Pintlers and soaked in the experience as fully as possible - can there be so much beauty in my life that it becomes ... common? So that it no longer moves me?

I don't think so. What I came to understand was that this is how it 'should' be. For me, anyway. Surrounded by beauty - bathed in beauty - open and enjoying beauty each and every day. The grand beauty of mountains and rivers ... the tiny beauty of desert wildflowers ... the intimate beauty of a handclasp ... the commonplace beauty of the sparrow.

Here is a segment of the Navajo Night Chant that we've seen so often:

In beauty may I walk.
All day long may I walk.
Through the returning seasons may I walk.
On the trailed marked with pollen may I walk.
With grasshoppers about my feet may I walk.
With dew about my feet may I walk.
With beauty may I walk.
With beauty before me, may I walk.
With beauty behind me, may I walk.
With beauty above me, may I walk.
With beauty below me, may I walk.
With beauty all around me, may I walk.
In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, lively, may I walk.
In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, living again, may I walk.
It is finished in beauty.
It is finished in beauty.

And here are a very few of the photos that I took on Sunday morning as the snow fell heavily around us.