Every morning I wake to the same trees. Day after day, the familiar shape of their branches and needles greets me, and every day it is new. This morning the dawn light was blueish and the fog, which often bathes the forest below, had crawled up the hillside to thread among the trees beside the house.
Some mornings the sky is a riot of color splayed over heavy clouds. Some dawns are a riot of color shining up into the clear sky from behind the mountains. The mountains are often hidden by the marine layer; when they are visible we say, “The mountains are out today” – the whole Cascade range riding the horizon. Some mornings are entirely shades of gray, but even those have so much shape and texture.
Dawn, dawn, moonbathing, (that is my hp and my hand in the foreground, nothing racy)
Most mornings the trees are full of birds. For half the year the bedroom door is open and the dawn chorus is a waking blessing. In summer the Swainson’s thrushes visit and their songs echo the forest in magical ways I do not hear from other birds and cannot find in recordings by others or capture myself, though I have tried, so that I might share them with you. My favorite are the owl nights. A pair of great horned owls sometimes sit in the trees and call to each other. For half the year the door is closed and the house hisses like a breathing giant, warm air running through the walls: a miracle, a blessing.
The ecliptic plane wraps the bedroom windows. When our solar system began to form, gravity condensed the stuff farther from the sun into planets, mostly along a flattish plane. This is why the sun and the planets travel a similar line through the sky; that line is the plane of the ecliptic. (Wikipedia has a much better explanation and some cool animations.) This plane rises behind our house, arcing around the back of it; everything sets across the street into the forest beyond. In summer the sun rises high enough to shine through the skylights. In summer when the sun is higher, the moon is lower, and the full moon arcs right across the windows, visible throughout the night. Some nights I lie and moonbathe – as much as I can, because even in summer here it is rarely warm enough to sleep without blankets.
From my bed I feel the life of the Earth. With my neighbors the trees and birds I feel the light of the Earth, the moisture of her breath. It has rained every day for most of a week. Today dawns dry. The sunlight is a joy, but the forest loves the rain so vividly, so verdantly, meets it with such green exuberance that at the end of my third year here I don't feel resistance to rainfall. Rain in the forest is just another flavor of beauty, another glorious day in the life of the Earth, the life of the cosmos.
My job wraps around other jobs; my work falls early and late, so most days I rise early and tumble into the temple to roll on the ground and spout poetry or guide people softly in stillness. I am writing this on a Friday, a day I keep for slow rising. I have lain in bed to feel the day dawn, slowly, for hours, as my beloved sleeps and breathes, as the oxygen the trees exhale at night flows into him and becomes blood and bone and tender flesh. The carbon dioxide he and I exhale becomes the trees, the blackberry vines, the sword ferns, the grasses. We co-respire, we inter-are. We are the life of the forest, too.
I lie in bed and – in my mind because James sleeps – I sing my prayersong; it resonates through the halls of my being, the universes i contain, my cells; my blood sings
i am loving awareness
i am loving awareness
i am the life of the universe
all is the life of the universe
all of this
is the life of the universe
dancing
Resources
Nourishment
It's mushroom season in lots of places now, including my home, and this year I've set about trying to learn a bit more. Above is my first spore print, made with a false chanterelle found among the trees in the front grove. When a mushroom is mature, it releases spores for propagation. When foraging mushrooms, you can cut them and lie them on paper so that the spores are visible, which helps to identify them. I was pretty sure this was a false chanterelle, so I laid it over a mix of black and white papers in expectation of the white-colored spores. My foraging so far simply consists of identification efforts; learning! For eating, I trust the forage and farming of others at this point.
I've shared this before and I may share it again: mushrooms are astonishingly good for us. A 2021 study showed that people who ate 1/8-1/4 cup of mushrooms daily had a 45% lower risk of cancer compared to people who did not eat mushrooms. I'll be sauteeing some up for lunch today!
“Mushrooms are the highest dietary source of ergothioneine, which is a unique and potent antioxidant and cellular protector,” said Djibril M. Ba, a graduate student in epidemiology at Penn State College of Medicine. “Replenishing antioxidants in the body may help protect against oxidative stress and lower the risk of cancer.”
Faith, Love and What the World Is
I love to read the NY Times' Modern Love column, in which different people simply write on the topic of love. Mara Chadnick's recent piece both made me cry and gave me hope. It contains a ghost, big loss, and profound hope and resilience in love. I read it, in fact, just before writing the prose poem/essay/thing that opens the newletter today, then again that night, aloud to James, as we took a long car drive. That kinda powerful. Trigger warning: pregnancy loss. NYT gift link
Updating our Inner Dialogue
Last weekend at the Gathering for my Workshop for Living, someone mentioned this Instagram reel of a woman speaking to herself in the way of gentle parenting and I watched folks across my screen light up making silent gestures that said "Oh I saw that too! Yes!" Since our topic is lovingkindness for the self and the link had come across my feed, too, I already had it saved to share. Have you seen it? It's powerful stuff. What if we spoke to ourselves like we speak to our children? Don't we deserve that kind of love and care?
Inspiration
Last weekend James and I and a dear old friend who I went to undergrad with checked out a local book fair of indie publishers. We knew it would be good because the organizer was Winter Texts, aka Connor Bouchard-Roberts, our local poet laureate, whose versions of Ursula LeGuin I have mentioned here before. We got a new one at the fair! Our favorite artist there turned out to be the woman we run into most days when we do the 1.5 walk to the mailbox. She's walking her dog one way while we head the other way. Anna Moore, we were delighted to discover, is a brilliant artist. We were delighted to buy her book Bats of Washington State, and then I sent her fangirling email and she told me about her website, where you can see things like her incredible Apollo Puzzle . I wish I could point you to a place to buy her work to support her, but it sounds like signing up for her newsletter to hear what she's up to next is the best way to go! If you come by, you'll find the Bats book on the coffee table in the parlor.
Anna Moore's Bats of Washington State is a gem!
Resistance is Love in Action
This Sunday, November 16, I'll be offering a partner Thai Yoga Massage workshop at the Hive, 10632 Rhody Drive, Port Hadlock-Irondale, WA. 1-4pm. All proceeds will be donated to the Jefferson County Food Bank.
9% of the folks in my rural county usually have SNAP benefits, and we have a whole lot of federal employees here who aren't getting paid, too. The shutdown may be nearing an end, but food insecurity isn't over and every organization that supports folks in eating is in need of help. If you want to help, our Food Bank is fantastic, and you can step up here.
Thai Yoga Massage is a sweet, approachable form of bodywork. Based on yogic movements, energetic awareness, and Buddhist lovingkindness practices, this healing art is performed on the ground, fully clothed. I will lead you through the gentle movements just as you would be led in a yoga session. Each person in your pair will have a turn to give and to receive. Please come with a friend to partner with, or let me know if you're looking for one – I've currently got one lovely friend looking for a partner. No special knowledge or skill is required. You do need to be able to get down on the padded floor on your hands and knees.
Come and pay what you can. Every penny paid will go to the food bank. I’m paying the rent for the space and donating my time. Let's feed our neighbors and support our community! Just reach out to let me know if you'd like to come.
Supporting Me in Supporting You
I invest half of a day in the creation of this newsletter each week, for which I earn less than I'd get paid if I spent that time working at McDonald's. I want to keep this up! I want to continue to offer it freely for widest access. That will only be possible if folks who can support my work choose to do so. Feeling grateful for me today? You can make a one-time donation of thanks of any size right here. Thanks to Kathy, Susie and Jordan for your kind support last week. Want to support my work in an ongoing way? You can upgrade to a paid subscription for as little as $5/month.
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