Monday, February 4, 2013

It never stops


For days snow has been falling lightly, enough to soften the ground and everything that rises up. The shape of what falls changes, sometimes small dandelion bundles of interlocked flakes, sometimes bigger rags of discarded gauze, sometimes not snow at all but glimmering crystals floating in sunlight. Out one window they are a cloud. Out another through slats of blinds they are bobbing flames, or moths drawn to flames. Like news items they never stop arriving, no two exactly alike. You could never begin to pay attention to each one, but the ones that fall on your coat or the cat are enough to fill the mind with their pellucid spokes and crosses visible to the naked eye.

I can’t tell if birds are distressed by so much litter in the air. Cardinals, blue jays, juncos and chickadees drop and rise in steady repetition to the seeds on the ground, like the cycle of water that starts in the ocean, rises to the atmosphere and falls again to earth. They must be quick, to keep after the seeds, which are continually being covered over by white. After thirty minutes of this cycle the birds are gone. Guards of bamboo wait, leaves hanging down like fingers in white gloves. Now that the birds have fled to their nubby perches invisible to me, there is no focus in the falling snow. Seeds lie scattered and still under white felt, invisible. Maybe the birds will return in an hour. Should I throw more seed? Shall I call them back to show me how to sift through the confetti of this parade and get at the point of the world?

27 comments:

  1. A very nice piece of writing, Ruth, and, for what it's worth, I think you are already getting "the point of the world." Have you read much of Annie Dillard? This piece reminds me of her intimacy with every detail of nature.

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    1. Thank you, my friend. I have been immersed somewhat in Virginia Woolf, in very small doses, and her attention to details is both intricate and sweeping. I can't hope to eat the crumbs from her writing floor, but she is the one I've been admiring. I have not read Annie Dillard, though I get so many recommendations for her I don't know why not.

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  2. Oh, this is indeed an attentive piece. Makes me notice that I am unsettled and inattentive. Thank you for the reminder.

    Wendy

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    1. Hello, and thank you, Wendy. This comes and goes for me too. Writing helps me pay close attention, it's the reason for it for me. I can only pay attention to one thing, now. What is it? I love the response someone gave to the question, "What is Zen?" He said, "When I eat, I eat. When I walk, I walk. When I sleep, I sleep."

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    2. :) I also like the modern come-back (heard in a Zendo somewhere in the US).. upon being chided for apparent lack of mindfulness, the practitioner replied "and when I read while I eat, I read while I eat."

      In other news, we had what I can only call a snurricane today - one moment sunny with drifting clouds, the next a maelstrom of snowgusted blowingness and dragon ripples dashing between houses. Weather is simply amazing.

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  3. I like not only your observations but also your attentiveness to our fellow creatures. I treasure your voice.

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    1. Thank you, dear Mary. It feels so good for you to say that. What is a voice? I wonder sometimes if voice matters. But it does, of course it does! If I am not attracted to a voice, I will not read or listen to it. Then what really matters, what that soul wants to say, won't be heard by me! But of course we cannot attend to every voice.

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  4. how gently you take us into the last line, "Shall I call them back to show me how to sift through the confetti of this parade and get at the point of the world?" oh, how i love you in this, not that it is a clever device employed, but that it is you)))

    attention. connectedness. i laugh at us just a little for it takes such work for us to arrive at the doorstep of what is obvious. we are all such children. but thank god we have grown enough to graduate to this state of childhood.

    yesterday james and i took a trip to a nearby island, for us the island. there were three deer not far from the road. we stopped, put our windows down and called to them. my god, they are such formidable creatures and so much meat on their bones, such bodies! it has been a hard winter, very cold and so much snow. how on earth can they maintain such bodies in this environment and yet they do. i was reminded of them through your birds here. they know their bodies as connected to the environment and the environment as connected to their bodies. it is a relationship.

    and then i came across the gift of the video i sent to you through a friend's site, eve ensler, suddenly my body http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bHLgTUV0XWI
    everyone should take the time to watch this and then we should 1) celebrate this and then 2) begin the make the necessary changes.

    xo
    erin

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    1. Oh Erin, I love the connections you make here (and in the end, Eve's performance is about connection with all creatures, with all the world). Your statement about how we are children who have to work so hard to discover the obvious is so true, so funny. But our minds are as formidable as the deer and their forceful bodies. Truly the mind can be such an obstacle. Submitting to our bodies and to the air, the ground, the things that surround us, in a truly physical way connects spiritually too, if only we can let go of thoughts and voices in our heads.

      The video has been playing and replaying in my head (an important one of those voices) since I watched it. Celebrating it is easy (for me, though not for many, if you read the comments under it ... very sad to me), but making the necessary changes is difficult. I believe this must start with the world in my own head. And I pray I might know what else I can do, though I am also afraid of asking the universe to show me.

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  5. Such a lovely essay on the delights of snow which has been so sadly
    absent in New York.
    I miss observing it as you do.
    The discarded gauze image was so pleasing and fresh I think.
    Alison Laurie compared lilac buds to pepper corns once and I've always remembered that.
    Greetings from NYC

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    1. Hello, dear Elizabeth. I am grateful for the snow; I was prepared not to have it this winter, with the big upheaval in our climate. I'm sorry it has been absent for you. Oh the lilac buds as pepper corns is wonderful; it will stick with me now too. Thank you.

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  6. there is something very satisfying about your image of birds sharing the air with falling snow. what do they think about, as you say, this litter in the air?

    yes. throw some more seed and make it all happen again.

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    1. Thank you, Amanda. There is something about the cycles, watching them and knowing the return will come, that is satisfying. I wonder if this is what you sense too.

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  7. A lovely piece about the snow (wish we had some here) and birds. We have 5 bird feeders and it is strange to notice that many birds can come at the same time then they all disappear. Later they will all come again. Yesterday I counted 15 sparrows under one bird feeder. Another one had every perch taken by a variety of tufted titmice, black cap chickadee; other little birds were fluttering around trying to get to the perches then had to resign themselves and wait for their turn on nearby branches. On the ground were doves, Baltimore orioles and blue jays. Squirrels and chipmunks were running around. Cardinals came to the larger feeders and wood peckers were picking at the suet blogs – the back yard was alive. Geese were honking above on their way to the lake nearby. Then 30 minutes later they were all gone and all was calm. Just then an hawk came sweeping down – maybe they had sensed his arrival?

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    1. Wow, Vagabonde, sounds like a cacophony! I bet you are right, that they sensed the hawk. Bird seed has gotten expensive, hasn't it? It's really a commitment to keep the feeders going. Thanks for sharing from your bird world in Atlanta!

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  8. Being aware. Seeing the gift of everyday small things. Perhaps that is the point. With the mention of "small", your photography and insight there is beautiful (seems such an inadequate word). Really enjoyed "No need to sparkle". Obviously it goes quite well with this post.

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    1. Thanks so much, Margaret. I was shocked and happy to see that little snowflake in the view finder. And what a great quote from Virginia Woolf, isn't it? It has been a snowy winter, which makes me happy.

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  9. Oh Ruth, I have missed you and your marvelous mastery of the written word! I have just discovered your new blogspot and bookmarked it for further perusal and contemplation. I will be back!

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    1. How sweet to welcome you here to this space, Caroldiane. Thank you for such kind things said, and for reading. I look forward to hearing from you any time you get the chance. I warn you though, I have slowed to a snail's pace.

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  10. Beautiful piece of writing, Ruth. (I think you would like Dillard, as George says.)

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    1. Thank you, Robert. I just ordered Dillard's The Pilgrim at Tinker Creek for my Kindle.

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  11. Imagining bird vision during flight. Thanks

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  12. Sitting here in the mist and gloom of northern England I have been missing the old New England winters and the mystical falling of snow ... So imagine my surprise and delight at being transported 'mystically' to my past and the present -- by your words and imagery. Many thanks, my friend...

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    1. Thank you, Kathie. It seems that you were transported more than mystically since this posting. I hope that you fared safely through the snow storm.

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  13. Having just been through a parade with confetti, Ruth, this is just that much more poignant for me. Also, I am one of the lucky ones who can look out your windows and see what you're seeing. I'd love to be there again with your snow...and maybe catch what you're thinking and feeling!

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    1. Boots, these birds are certainly dressed up as colorfully as if they were in a Carnaval parade! :-)

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All responses are welcome.