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activity…there are several hopping around outside this second floor window. I didn’t realize that this elevated perspective
(12 feet above the ground) allows me to see them so well. From the ground they would be hidden in the
brush. Another wonderful metaphor for
how our perspective can totally change the way we see, what we see, and how we interpret the same
site de rencontre gens riches And this terrific
perspective on the ocotillo that is growing out of what appears to be solid
rock (it is just above the fossil I’ve posted in the past, in the same massive piece of ancient limestone). It looks as if it got chewed off
at some point and is resprouting. What a
survivor! I love the way you can see it
in the foreground and at the same time get an idea of the context or background
that it is in. It reminds me of zooming
in and zooming out and the importance of that in my life, especially when
things are feeling rough. Usually,
zooming out takes a bunch of pressure off of me immediately.
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of the seemingly important stories of my early life right now and it is very
interesting how, from this distance in time, I can see them from so many
different perspectives, making them seem more like dreams than reality….hmmmm. Appreciating multiple angles and varied
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Just two days after the biggest snow fall in decades, I spotted the first signs of spring. This hyacinth bloom was right in the middle of our path. The other fuzzy flower, don’t know what it is, was down in the wash in a sandy section. I wonder if we start at the ultraviolet end of the spectrum for first blooms?
This is the first ocotillo sign from one in our yard that is in a particularly ideal condition. I love how the normally grey ‘branch’ has ‘splits’ of green bursting along with the leaves.
Was watching my DVD of John O’Donohue’s ‘Celtic Pilgrimage’ yesterday and he talks about winter/spring in a lovely way…”at the heart of the stripped down, arrested cold stillness of winter there is huge movement secretly at work…” and so we see the first signs of spring on the coattails of the unbelievable snow…
So lovely, Gale. That was an unbelievable snow!
During our recent snow ‘storms’ my curiosity was
piqued by the lack of snow in the paths around here even though there was a
solid 3-4 inches everywhere else. The
area has small mine shafts scattered all over and these were originally mule
trails used by miners in the 1890s. You
can actually see them on the old mining claim maps I was able to retrieve from
the archives. Over the century they were widened by the use of four wheel drive
vehicles for hunting or hiking and my husband (he grew up at the beginning of
Sweetwater Drive, 7 miles ‘down’ the road, now we live at the end of Sweetwater
Drive…) remembers mini biking up here with the neighborhood guys in the early 60s. Once we ‘planted’ the house, that cut off
vehicular traffic uphill from here and now the trails are narrow footpaths for
us, the dogs, and the local fauna.
I wonder how it is that the path stays snow
free? Has there been enough attention
paid to it, enough subtle energy left behind, that it is more energetic and ‘hotter’ there? Or is it just that the dirt is compacted,
dense, and holds heat better? Then why
doesn’t the entire old road remain snow free? I like the poetic first
I am liking to think this is a dream sign
that the path is becoming clear in front of me.
I’ve been unemployed for 6 years now, not knowing which path to take for this next
phase of my life; it has been a constant wrestling match with the unknown.
It could be that I had to unravel my planning/managing mind in order to
allow the flow, let things unfold, and only then would the path appear. Not knowing is important. Mystery is necessary.
One of my dream jobs would be making articles
for National Geographic magazine. I like
pretending that I am doing a form of that with my daily jaunts and reporting back to you
through this blog. ahhhhhh…dream on….feliz
paseos (happy trails)…
Friend, Robert, gave me this picture to use with
this article. I think it captures the
essence quite well.
Stunning! You have an amazing way of capturing and relaying all things ethereal!
Awesome seems a lame word for the big snow yesterday/today.
Feeling of heaven
the pure untouched
a connection to the
Sun lifts through
the thin veils in the skye,
godly rays perform
frozen to fluid, asleep
to awake, silence to rhythm.
clusters of slush
the heavy load.
Eat pieces that are
gushes of ocean,
into my face.
take in ever so
deeply and quenchingly
tingles my cells.
Absolutely divine – your words and the pictures, both. christine
between total silence and the voice of wind today. A blessing of this valley is that I can hear
it when it is a half mile or more away. Coming
& going, coming & going. Today
it is particularly marvelous because it is coming from ALL directions across
the desert hills in no discernible pattern.
Some time I can see it on the rise across the wash, wriggling the plants,
especially the ocotillo. Shrubs dance,
grasses wave, but the Sahuaro barely moves.
They are the humans of the desert plants- rigid, arrogantly standing
against the swift moving aire.
My house seems to
breathe today. Inhale when the wind
blows from the north, sucking in motes of dust I can see in the sun’s
rays. Exhale when the wind blows from
the south, expelling out the same motes that just got sucked in…it just cussed
at me and tore the lid off the metal ashe can and flung it like a Frisbee into
that ocotillo….then silence again. Now
it blows ashes out of the top of the can; they escape and become motes to travel
far & wide.
This morning’s sparkling
You will be in wildflower heaven this season. I can’t wait to see photos of bees doing their job creating the splendor awaiting your camera. Zoom, zoom! Beautiful!
I love, love to find the remarkable, that which pulls appreciation naturally from
our hearts, in things that at first glance seem unremarkable. There are these 1-2 foot wide patches of green
sprouts strewn across the desert right now, thanks to some winter rains. It
is easy to just take them as part of the whole and not look closer, witness
them, “S”ee them. Well…I got down on my
knees again, to look deeper (this on-the-knees seems to be a fruitful position
for me, hahaha). There were these teeny,
tiny blooms, no more than an eighth inch wide, so fresh, so lovely. Such a wonderful reward for having an
intention of Seeing.
This little bunch of moss also holds a surprise
when I am able to ‘zoom in’ on it with the computer. Me thinks zooming in and out and Seeing are
Grateful to practice Seeing.
Grateful to take
in these tiny wonders that are easily overlooked.
Call me crazy, but I happen to think spiders are really cute. Many are furry and have funny ‘faces’ and seem to play out a fractal pattern of Teddy Bear. Mythologically/symbolically, spiders are weavers of stories and written language. They stay very present to what unfolds in their web, waiting patiently. They have a deep connection to their personal environment, any movement in the web, a kind of radar or second vision, of what is going on. I am a bit obsessed with photographing webs and have several hundred pics of them in many configurations.
In the East Indian culture, spiders are associated with Maya who weaves the illusory nature of all appearances, helping us to understanding that not all things are as they appear to be. This helps me to realize my own proclivity to constantly make up stories (weave a web) about what conocer al hombre como ser holistico might happen; contingency planning for as many of the angles as possible, like the radials of a well built web. I personally am WAY into the plan/build part of this, I guess cuz I spent decades ‘making a living’ (what a crazy, revealing phrase that is!) planning and building. Can I shift to being present, now, to the now? Wait for the unfolding, to catch the juicy stuff that DOES happen/unfold/enfold into the web of my particular life? I’m going to practice…
This cuddly beauty was ‘out’ on the window above my computer. She is usually waiting in the compact web there. Check out her reflection, below her, on the window that she is hanging on. You can see the small scale of all this by the screw head next to her web.
That is one lucky spider, and that is one of the coolest pictures I’ve ever seen. Holy crap! What kind of camera do you have, Gail?