Community, Blessings, and Generosity

About a month ago I received an email from my friend Jeanne with a link to 20 books about trees. The NPR recommended books honored Arbor Day.  I celebrated the holiday as a youngster at Polandi, the one room school, about two miles from our family farm. Under the direction of our teacher, Ms. Falkowski, we planted a tree near the school. A small class jar with my name and the names of my fellow classmates was buried with the tree. The jar full of names represented our shared connections as a community.

I plan on reading one of the books on the NPR list and learn more about how trees support and communicate with each other. In other words, trees are communities rather than solitary beings. A book by Suzanne Simard, a professor of forest ecology at the University of British Columbia, is intriguing. In "The Mother Tree", Simard writes about how trees in a forest are linked to each other through older trees, she calls a "mother" or "hub" tree. Seedlings link into the network of the old trees and benefit from shared resources. Furthermore, the old trees, according to Simard, " pass a little bit of carbon and nutrients and water to the little seedlings, at crucial times in their lives, that actually help them survive." Here's the link to the NPR list 

Here's a picture of the canopy of a huge old tree that toppled over in a storm a few years ago. The once soaring canopy is close to the ground and within an easy touch. The old tree lies horizontally with its massive trunk just above the water line of Lake Wingra. Some of outer roots of the old timer are exposed but many are encapsulated into a large vertical ball of soil that is at least 5 feet tall .  

What amazes me is that the tree is still alive and producing seeds. Maybe this is one of Simard's "mother" trees that keeps on supporting its community despite being injured. The tree is a lesson for me: keep on contributing despite the challenges of aging. 

Rituals and ceremonies are important community builders. Our church, First Unitarian Society, held the annual Flower Communion on Sunday, May 19th. Originally created in 1923 by Unitarian minister Norbert Čapek of Prague, Czechoslovakia, the Flower Ceremony was introduced to the United States by Rev. Mája Čapek, Norbert's widow in 1940. 

  

In this ceremony, everyone brings a flower and places it in a shared vase. The congregation and minister bless the flowers, and they're redistributed. Each person takes home a different flower than the one they brought. Bringing and exchanging flowers increased my sense of belonging to FUS while affirming that each of us is unique, and yet together our diversity benefits FUS and our society. 

On May 11th,  I walked across the street for the 8 o'clock blessing of  Lake Wingra. The ceremony is also Wingra Boats' season opener. Thomas Redbird and his family led the ceremony which included the Little Thunder Singers. 

The Redbird Family are members of the Water Spirit Clan of the Ho-Chunk Nation. The day was already warm with a blue clear sky. In his opening remarks, Thomas commented that on a day like we were having, water spirits come out of the lake to play on the beaches and you can see them. 

 Thomas led us in a tobacco ceremony and conducted a lake blessing to honor and practice respect for the natural world. Tobacco, for the Ho-Chunk, has sacred qualities. I lined up with other members of the audience and slowly approached Thomas. With my left hand I took a pinch of tobacco from Thomas' extended left hand and put my offering into a bowl held by another man. After everybody made an offering, the two men took the bowl to the end of the pier and scattered the tobacco into the lake while offering a blessing. We remained in respectful silence. The ceremony ended with the Little Thunders Singers singing about friendship to the beat of the ceremonial drum. 

The blessing of the Lake Wingra reminds us that our communities extend into and are part of the natural world. Joy Harjo's  poem "Remember", stresses this point. Joy Harjo is a member of the Mvskoke Nation and a poet, musician, and playwright.

Remember 

Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star’s stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is.
Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother’s, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life, also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
are you.
Remember you are this universe and this
universe is you.
Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember language comes from this.
Remember the dance language is, that life is.
Remember.

On May 18th, the spirit of community, blessings, and generosity  continued as 13 volunteers plus Ann and I tended Prospect Gardens. Volunteers, some for the first time, gave of their time and without expecting anything in return. According to Buddha's teaching, generosity freely given without expecting a return is the highest form of generosity; earning much merit and a lot of good karma.

Pictured ( starting on the left, bottom row) are Peggy, a first timer, and Madeline, a West High Leo Club member and a returnee. Bruce is sitting on the third step and he is a newbie. Behind Bruce is Gregory, a veteran volunteer and to his left is Meg, another first timer. Sitting next to Meg is Laura who has volunteered since the start of Prospect Gardens. Top row is me and next to me is Gaon and then Rajeev. Gaon and Rajeev are West High Leo Club members and are faithful returnees. 

Coming later were Ann N., Cindy, Jim, Alice, and Sheila. Cindy recently moved to Madison from Nashville and is a first time volunteer. Ann N., Jim, Alice and Sheila are veteran volunteers. Ann B., my wife took the picture. She once again provided the treat and made sure we took a break. I have a tendency to forget about time as I get engrossed with the task at hand.

I extend a hearty "thanks" to you all. Blessings to you. You all will be welcomed upon your return.

Bruce, Gaon, and Rajeev share some moments during a break. Thank you Bruce for offering to return and trim back that one bush planted 15 years ago when the Gardens were started. Its been overdue for a trim. 

Gaon and Rajeev... take note that the area with day lilies you two so diligently worked on has been replanted. A few days after the work session, Percy, another veteran volunteer, and I replanted the area with a variety of native plants that Percy provided. Thank you very much  Percy. 

Cindy, Shelia, and Alice weeding the raspberry patch and preparing it for mulching. Cindy and her husband are busy revitalizing the flower beds of their recently purchased home. 

Shelia has a wonderful flower garden in the space between the sidewalk in front of her house and the street. Sheila came with a clump of  bee balm for the Garden-- thanks a lot.

Meg, Madeline, and Peggy working on the ever challenging and persistent Bishops Weed. Unfortunately the Gardens have an abundance of Bishops Weed. At least it provides ground cover. I'm trying to be positive.

Pulling Bishops Weed keeps it from seeding. We need a longer term approach. Percy mentioned putting in native plants that can out compete Bishops Weed. 

Gregory caught in the action of weeding. That's quite an handful!

I couldn't resist including this being who greeted me on a visit to the Gardens after our work session. She/he appeared walking softly (as only cats can do) through a patch of plants, sauntered onto the steps, laid down in front of me, and insisted on a belly rub. The result was a relaxed cat and for me a reminder to pause and savor the moment. 

Here's three plants that grace the Gardens as spring transitions into summer. The plants are at their peak. 

A native columbine that continues to propagate itself. Last week I transplanted a columbine from Giri's front yard. His yard has many splendid columbine. Giri offered one as an experiment. A Google search revealed transplanting columbine is risky and seeding is a much better method. Thanks Giri for the offering and for potting up the plant. 

The spiderwort, easy to grow, always returns in the spring, and is pleasant to the eye.  A near perfect plant.

I realize that the daisy is an aggressive plant and is considered by many as an invasive. So far the daisies, you could say, are behaving themselves while adding a feeling of lightness to Prospect Gardens. Plus I like the way they sway in the wind.

The summer solstice is approaching and Memorial Day has  officially marked the start of  the season. Summer with all its potential blessings await. In the spirit of community, I share this poem by Ronald Wallace, Emeritus Professor of Poetry, UW Madison.

 Prayer for Flowers 

Show me the disguises of coral root 

That I may go unnoticed among enemies.

the tenacity of columbine

that might thrive in the unlikely place.

Teach me to climb higher than envy,

to trust my own colorful seasons. 

Let the wind move me; let me keep my roots.

Like a pitcher plant, let me store up rain against

the dry season, surviving with patience 

whatever comes along. 

Show me the wind's song through lupine

that my blue days may be filled with music.

Teach me the persistent delicacy of glacier lilies

that I might endure winter's cold, heavy foot. 

And, at the end time, 

neither stiff-lipped nor trembling, 

let me go up, like bear grass, 

in a puff of smoke.

Alleluia

May it be so

Amen

Shalom

salam alaykum (Islam: Peace be upon you)

Hatak (Ho-Chunk: Peace)

 

 

 

    

What Makes a Good Life ?

Photo by Vonecia Carswell on Unsplash

My friend Barb texted about a podcast featuring Dr. Robert Waldinger and entitled "What Makes a Good Life? Lessons From the Longest Study on Happiness." Dr. Waldinger is a Zen master,  psychiatrist, and program director of the 80 plus year old series of studies known as the " Harvard Study of Adult Development." Here's a link to podcast

Studies began in 1938 and eventually included 2000 plus participants. Data were collected through surveys, interviews and study of medical records. Harvard scientists began tracking the health of 268 sophomores in 1938, hoping that the longitudinal study would reveal clues to leading healthy and happy lives. Women were not part of the 1938 sample because Harvard did not admit women in 1938. 

 In the 1970s, 456 Boston inner-city residents were enlisted as part of the study. As time passed, researchers included wives of the members of the 1938 sample and of the Boston sample. Another study focused on children of  the original participants with the aim of understanding the effect of childhood experiences on midlife health.

Researchers concluded that close positive relationships are what keep us happy throughout our lives. Our nurturing relationships protect us from life’s discontents, delay mental and physical decline, and are better predictors of long and happy lives than social class, IQ, or even genes. These findings were true for both the Harvard men and the Boston inner-city participants. Link to article for more information.

Dr. Waldinger during the podcast stressed that the study's findings don't mean that introverts are less happy than extroverts. Happiness is not depended on the number of relationships with people. What's an important factor influencing life long happiness is intentionally maintaining supportive relationships over time; may they be relatives or friends. He also stressed the importance of at least one very supportive person who will "cover your back", when needed. 

In other words, what makes a good life are positive human relationships that are nurtured over time. Many of us became acutely aware of the importance of close relationships during the pandemic as illustrated by the following poem written on May 19, 2021.

You Don’t Know Me But

Laura Grace Weldon

I miss you, fellow walkers – dad with double stroller,
rainbow legging woman, earnest black hound hauling
graybeard man on a never-slack leash.
I miss the Marc’s check-out clerk with three nose rings,
bitten nails, sardonic asides.
Miss the librarian whose voice is soft as my mother’s was
back when I sobbed myself weak, her hand
stroking my hair while she looked out the window.

Wherever you are now, I wish you well. Cast light around you
each night before sleep. I want your granny to pull through,
your job to stick around, your landlord to grant you
every dispensation. I want flowers
to sprout in your garbage, old milk to turn into yogurt.
May your junk mail transform into loans forgiven,
scholarships granted, grievances forgotten.
May we see each other soon, smile in recognition,
reimagine a world where we all breathe free.

Weldon's poem illustrates another characteristic of the Harvard study's findings about the importance of relationships. Casual exchanges such as greeting "fellow walkers" or small talk with strangers are important because they connect us to humanity and counter loneliness. According to the American Psychiatric Association's February 2024  monthly poll, 1 in 3 Americans said they felt lonely at least once a week over the past year. 

Tending Prospect Gardens with volunteers continues to be one way I create and maintain nurturing relationships while cultivating a sense of community. I suspect this may be true for others who volunteer their energy and time. 

Fifteen years ago volunteers began transforming a once weed infested site into what now is an area of prairie plants and perennials, along with a raspberry patch and two cherry trees. In the spirit of a community, on a clear and sunny April 13th, thirteen volunteers joined Ann B., my wife, and me as we once again tended the Gardens. 

Pictured are seven of the 13 volunteers and me. Starting on the left bottom step and going up are Annette, Eleanor, a West High School Leo Club member, Rajeev, another Leo Club member and club President, me, Nick, Astrid, Becky and Madeleine, the third Leo Club member.  Not pictured are Ann B, Eric, Laura, Marcel, James, Alice, and Sheila. 

Thank you. I am grateful that you took time from your busy schedules. Your generosity sustains a site that benefits our neighborhood, users of the Southwest Path, as well as birds, insects, butterflies and small animals.

Socializing happens while working and during a break which builds community and nurtures relationships. For example, during  our break Astrid shared pictures of her trip to see the eclipse with her partner and some friends. While working with Becky, I learned about her college experiences.  

Alice and James weeding the Regent side of the Gardens.  Both have volunteered in the past. Creeping Charlie was among the day's targeted weeds. 

Sheila also weeded the Regent side along with Marcel, her friend. Later that day Sheila returned and transplanted red bee balm from her yard. Thank you Sheila. 

Sheila participated in past work day sessions. This was Marcel's first group work session. Last season she along with Sheila worked in the Gardens on their own schedules. 

I learned what's happening in the adult lives of Sheila's son and daughter. As a former nearby neighbor, I watched both of them grow up. I  have pleasant memories of her daughter and a friend as young children performing an adlibbed play during a neighborhood gathering. The play did not have an end and  Sheila's daughter wanted to continue adding scenes. Sheila successfully intervened. 

Nick pulling weeds on the Regent side while Astrid worked on rehabilitating the raspberry patch. Nick is a returnee while this was Astrid's first time. Astrid and I were colleagues when we  were on the staff of the Environmental Resource Center. 

Astrid completed the Wisconsin Naturalist program and is knowledgeable about raspberries. I nicknamed her the "Raspberry Czarnina." The canes are in bad shape and at least half of the patch has disappeared. Yes, I know the usual challenge is stopping raspberries from spreading.   

As Astrid worked on the patch, we shared possible reasons for the declining patch. Astrid thinks that the rocks may prevent the canes' roots from spreading. I wondered if it was something in the soil. If you have any ideas about causes and suggestions for improvement, please contact me. Perhaps testing the soil is the next step.

A silhouette of Laura, a frequent, long term volunteer chatting with Eric. This was Eric first time. I met Eric about 25 years ago. He co-led our church's Coming of Age class which our daughter Emily attended . Barb who provided the podcast was the other teacher. They and the class took a train trip to Boston, the location of  the Unitarian Universalist church's national headquarters.  

Eric loved riddles, as did Emily and her friend Emily G. While on the train, Eric presented the riddles and the two girls joyfully attempted to solve them.    

Leo Club members, Eleanor, Madeleine, and Rajeev dug out ditch day lilies; not an easy task. Becky also spent the morning removing lilies.  

The lilies took over the upper flat area of this section. Native plants and grasses will replace the intruders while the lilies remain on the slope. Percy, another frequent volunteer, will provide monarda (bergamot) and spiderwort, surplus from another prairie project she leads. Thank you Percy. Also thank you Gregory for working in the Gardens on April 8th.  

Besides renewing past relationships and creating new ones, the work session provided opportunities to experience this season of renewal. Here's a few examples of the Garden's renewal .

Blue bells have found their own way into the Gardens. May they continue to self-seed and spread. Always an early welcome to Spring.

Black current blossoms. These were planted fifteen years ago and unlike the raspberries, they are thriving.  Looks like there will be a bountiful harvest. 

One of the revitalized raspberry canes. May you regain your potency and spread. More rocks will be removed from the patch.

This golden yellow forsythia on the Fox Avenue side announces Spring. Patricia and Jim, neighbors near the Gardens, donated the initial plant some years ago . Patricia and Jim recently worked in the Gardens and took down one of the orange snow fences. They also provide access to their water and use of their wheelbarrow. Thank you Patricia and Jim. 

Some of you are familiar with Max Coots' poem "A Harvest of People", which was in a  past post. It's worth repeating and is an appropriate ending to this post. The poem, like the Harvard study, underscores how positive human relationships makes for a good life.   

 A Harvest of People

Let us give thanks for a bounty of people:

For generous friends, with smiles as bright as their blossoms.
For feisty friends as tart as apples;
For continuous friends who, like scallions and cucumbers, keep reminding us that we’ve had them.
For crotchety friends, as sour as rhubarb and as indestructible;
For handsome friends, who are as gorgeous as eggplants and as elegant as a row of corn; and the others as plain as potatoes and as good for you.
For friends as unpretentious as cabbages, as subtle as summer squash, as persistent as parsley, as endless as zucchini, and who, like parsnips, can be counted on to see you through the winter.
For old friends, nodding like sunflowers in the evening-time.
For young friends, who wind around like tendrils and hold us.

We give thanks for friends now gone, like gardens past that have been harvested, but who fed us in their times that we might live.

Thank you and be well.

P.S. 

A Canadian goose patiently nesting is another sign of Spring's renewal. She is a short walk from our apartment. You can find her in front of a Sycamore tree on Arbor Drive and along the shoreline of  Lake Wingra's backwaters. In about a month, goslings will join the world. Praise be!      

 

 
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Equanimity

 Since my last posting I have had many opportunities to practice equanimity. Besides coping with disturbing world and national events, stress increased when in early January a mild form of COVID  found Ann and me. Maybe we were exposed during a visit to Meriter's ER after my blood pressure spiked. Why it spiked is a story for another time. After a few weeks and a change in meds, blood pressure readings stabilized but to this day, a pesky and irritating dry cough is my companion.  

This 45 year old mobile illustrates equanimity. I made the mobile in celebration of marrying Ann. I found the pieces on the property of a friend's log cabin near Florence, Wisconsin. I made several mobiles during that time period (late 1970s) and two others are still with me.  

Building mobiles involves selecting, placing, and balancing different objects each with their unique traits. Alexander Calder's mobiles and  his static "stabiles " were my inspirations, while recognizing that mine would never be in the same class. I once intended to learn how to weld so I could make a Calder-like stabile (a large standing metal sculpture). Maybe there is still time to do that? Where would I put it?  Prospect Gardens?

Ruth King, a noted Buddhist teacher, uses the metaphor of nature to explain equanimity.  See Ruth's article

"We might begin to understand this power using nature as a metaphor. For example, equanimity can feel internally like a great mountain, with the mind solid and stable, undisturbed by the changing seasons. Or it can be like the ocean, with the mind vast, deep, and immeasurable, undisturbed by whatever swims, floats, or is housed in its waters. Equanimity can be like a strong fire — roaring, engulfing, and transmuting, undisturbed by whatever is thrown into it. Or like immense space — open, allowing, and receiving, undisturbed by the objects that arise and pass away." 

How do we cultivate equanimity? Notice I used "cultivate" instead of "achieve" which can lead to striving. Striving or an attitude of "I'm going to do this" can be counter productive leading to frustration. A friendly, curious tone is better. 

Equanimity in Buddhism is often taught within the context of four paired worldly winds. You can think of these as agreeable and disagreeable conditions of life. Moments of praise and blame, success and failure, pleasure and pain, gain and loss are woven into our lives. Equanimity involves responding to the winds by recognizing that they are part of  life, reacting to them as calmly as possible, and by knowing that they are impermanent. As my devote Catholic mother would say, "this too shall pass." 

Another way to cultivate equanimity is by setting the conditions for it, as exemplified in Margaret Renkl's book, "The Comfort of Crows, A Backyard Year."  A few weeks ago, I unexpectedly received this beautifully illustrated book from Jeanne, a friend. Thank you Jeanne. The book shows how mindfulness and reflection give rise to equanimity.

Short passages describe the particular object of Renkl's mindfulness and include what she learns from the experience. Most of the natural phenomena she observes are in her backyard  with its birdhouses, birdbaths, a butterfly garden, and native plants, or in parks and natural areas within her hometown of  Nashville. Her backyard has no lawn.

Renkl is very mindful of her surroundings. What mindfulness means in practice is a topic for another time. For now consider mindfulness as paying close attention to what arises in the moment (may what arises be pleasant or unpleasant), and without judgement or attachment. It doesn't mean just paying attention to the pleasant or pleasurable in the search to feel better.  

Below is Renkl's short introduction to a section about spring. This reminds me of our current unusual early spring weather. 

Spring Week 1 

"The world does not proceed according to our plans. The world is an old dog, following us around the kitchen with its eyes. The world understands us. We understand nothing, control less.

Today its springtime. Every green thing has grown greener as the pines send out new growth. Every brown thing is taking on green as the hardwoods wake into warmth. But tonight the black sky is spitting out ice, and the green sap rising will likewise turn to ice in the dark. Some of these frail green things will be blasted forever, but most will live. Life is what life does.

We, too, will live. In the morning we will wake and rejoice, for we are once more among the living."

The book reminds me to be especially mindful during my daily walks. One rule is don't look at that cell phone which records steps taken. Except for a few days during the peak of COVID, I have walked; usually fewer miles and at a slower pace than normal  Here's a few phenomena from these walks that generated mindfulness, reflection, and sometimes equanimity.  

Somebody spent hours craving this chair located in Glenway Children's Park, a short walk from our apartment. Or perhaps a chainsaw artist created it. What's fascinating is that the chair is one solid piece rather than separate ones put together. 

The chair reminds me of our need to rest both physically and mentally. Or perhaps it could be an altar waiting for sacred objects?  What important objects would you place on this altar? 

Nearby the chair and on a steep hill is a  limestone council ring with a fire pit. The  limestone most likely came from the park, which was once a quarry. If the spirit moves me, I walk up the steep incline, sit mindfully, and wait patiently for equanimity to arise. Many times it does.

Council rings support community and underscore the importance of collaboration and the pursuit of truth. Dudgeon- Monroe neighbors gather within the ring and around a roaring fire each winter solstice. An ancient ritual is once again repeated. Children and adults usher in the increasing dark days and honor the fading light while enjoying the bonfire and s'mores.  

Years ago, Don, a fellow Unitarian-Universalist Chalice group member, performed another ritual within the council ring. Don, dressed in appropriate robes officiated a Wiccan inspired marriage ceremony, including chants and blessings. 

A few days ago I heard the sharp calls of these two sandhill cranes as I walked on the other north side of the Vilas Park Lagoons. They were on the opposite side. Their calls enticed me to walk over to the other side for a closer look.  

While winter was slipping away, the calls of these unperturbed gracious birds seemed to praise the upcoming spring. They also seemed equanimous about the snow and the cold wind off of Lake Wingra that brushed against my face.

More days in the low 60's are predicted. Yes this is pleasant while reminding me of the climate crisis. According to an online source our weather will become warmer over the next few decades, with average temperatures closer to southern Illinois or Missouri. So far we had one snow storm. It wasn't like those that I frequently experienced as a child on our family farm. Those storms were brutal and could last for a few days. All of us, including the cranes, will continue to be affected by our rapidly changing climate. 

This rock within Lake Wingra Springs, located in the UW Arboretum across the street from our apartment, reminds me of a heart embraced by watercress. I saw it around Valentine's Day. A few springs ago, I watched women picking watercress. Did they know that early settlers in our area used the springs for water and perhaps harvested watercress? The hearty plant grows year round in springs that don't freeze such as this one. 

The Ho Chunk once lived on land now part of our westside neighborhoods. Springs have spiritual meaning to the Ho Chunk. Springs are places for gratitude, reverence, and links to the underworld. They were also once sources of water and food for the Ho Chunk..

During warm days I may sit near the edge of Lake Wingra Springs. Peace (another word for equanimity) reigns as birds splash in the rushing waters and warm breezes caress my face and bare arms. 

A few days ago I went on my daily walk despite feeling fatigued and tired of the persistent cough. The day was cold and overcast. A few ice pellets were falling and snow was predicted. As I rounded a corner, a flash of yellow in the distance caught my attention. Coming closer I recognized the winter aconite covering the entire front yard of a modest brown house. 

The brilliant yellow lifted my spirits. Feeling less fatigued and rather equanimous I continued my walk. I cut over a block to check out if there was a new poem on the stand in the front yard of another modest home. Nope. Same poem about September was still up. Maybe a new one will be posted now that spring is unfolding. I will watch for it. 

 What does this rock wall terrace within Prospect Gardens have to do with equanimity? The picture was taken shortly after the first warm days in early February. Usually this area would be covered with a blanket of snow, protecting plants, insects, and small animals like the chipmunks. I hope to be equanimous as we witness the effects of this mild winter on Prospect Gardens.

 The terrace also represents acceptance of existing conditions and in this case, rocks. Acceptance is another condition supporting equanimity. How we addressed the rocks is also relevant to equanimity. We did not give up or become indifferent to the rocks when we began developing the Gardens 14 years ago. Instead we created beds by removing rocks and filled the holes with new dirt or we built terraces like this one. 

At a societal level, the great late Thich Nhat Hanh, Vietnamese Buddhist monastic and peace activist, taught  that we must be engaged with society and do our part in resolving daunting problems. Being equanimous helps figure out what's possible. We avoid being indifferent, frustrated, or in despair. Instead we are stable and calmly decide what actions are possible as an individual and/or collectively.

   

Another way to cultivate equanimity is through formal sitting meditation. Many teachers provide guided equanimity practices. Jack Kornfield, a long time noted Buddhist teacher has a short practice at this link.  A Google search of equanimity practice will result in many more teachers and practices.  

Cultivating equanimity through reading and reflecting on poetry is the final option I offer.  Here's one by Mary Oliver.

Sleeping in the Forest

I thought the earth remembered me,

she took me back so tenderly,

arranging her dark skirts, her pockets

full of lichens and seeds.

I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,

nothing between me and the white fire of the stars

but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths

among the branches of the perfect trees.

All night I heard the small kingdoms

breathing around me, the insects,

and the birds who do their work in the darkness.

All night I rose and fell, as if in water,

grappling with a luminous doom. By morning

I had vanished at least a dozen times

into something better.

Thank you for your time and attention. Be well. 

   

 

   

 

 

  
 

  

 

Joy with a Tinge of Sorrow

Ornament On Our Tree 

We are deep into the Holiday Season. Hanukkah, also known as the Festival of Lights, ended on December 15th. Kwanzaa, the  celebration of African-American culture begins on December 26 and ends with a communal feast (Karamu)  on January 1st.  Christmas arrives on the 25th.These three Holidays have many differences while all share elements of celebration and joy. 

At the same time, these three Holidays are tinged with sorrow. The Maccabees, the Jewish Clan that recaptured their temple, suffered years of persecution before experiencing the miracle of eight days of a lighted temple lantern, African Americans suffered centuries of slavery and the after effects continue. The Christmas story is about a poor pregnant Jewish girl (Mary) and her older partner (Joseph) finding shelter while on a trip to pay taxes to a despotic emperor. 

Biblical scholars are unsure if the couple was married when Jesus, according to Christian doctrine, was conceived by his mother, Mary, through the power of the Holy Spirit. Some scholars say that Joseph before marrying Mary, considered charging her with adultery, a sin with grave consequences (stoning) for Mary. For further details see The Forgotten Tragedies of the Christmas Story 

This year's Holiday season includes several brutal wars, one being raged in Gaza which is near the historical setting for Hanukkah and the story of Jesus's birth. So what to make of this all?  What's the point? The following Jack Gilbert poem tells us why we must celebrate joy while acknowledging sorrow. 

 A Brief for the Defense (Jack Gilbert)

Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies

are not starving someplace, they are starving

somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.

But we enjoy our lives because that's what God wants.

Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not

be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not

be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women

at the fountain are laughing together between

the suffering they have known and the awfulness

in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody

in the village is very sick. There is laughter

every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,

and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.

If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,

we lessen the importance of their deprivation.

We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,

but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have

the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless

furnace of this world. To make injustice the only

measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.

If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,

we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.

We must admit there will be music despite everything.

We stand at the prow again of a small ship

anchored late at night in the tiny port

looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront

is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning.

To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat

comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth

all the years of sorrow that are to come.

So here I am on this December day experiencing the joy of the Holiday season tinged with sorrow. 

Those of you who live in my neighborhood will recognize this 20 foot Santa, one of 35 along Monroe Street. This is just one of the delights of the 2023 season while I walk along Monroe Street to drop Christmas cards into the mailbox in front of Neuhauser Pharmacy. A few days ago, I stopped into the pharmacy. Once again, Peg, the senior pharmacist and owner, put out several boxes of cookies with a hand written sign of "Happy Holidays." I could not resist the the delight of having a chocolate chip cookie even though it was 9:30 a.m. 

Another recent Monroe Street delight was shopping at the new " I'm Board! Games & Family Fun " store, a short walk from Neuhauser.  A current special education teacher helped me pick out a game and a puzzle for Ann's six year old nephew, Parker and his sister, Reagan. We will see them on Christmas Day, along with 14 other relatives from Ann's family. We will gather at my brother-in -law's (Chuck) home in Fox Point. More delight and joy awaits as I experience being the elderly uncle.

2023 Capitol Tree

On Tuesday, the 19th, my brother, Lou and his wife, Corine visited from Appleton.. Each year we celebrate the Holiday with lunch out, lots of talk and laughter, exchanging presents, and a visit to the state Capitol Holiday tree. 

This year, Lou who celebrated his 78th birthday on December 15th, was unable to trek to the Capitol. Lou awaits treatment for an arthritic hip joint, scheduled for January 3rd. Walking causes pain so Lou rested in our apartment. 

We were delighted to see the nearly 30 foot tree with ornaments made by Wisconsin children. We agreed that this tree may be the best one we have seen over the many years. I made a video that I shared with Lou. Later I sent a text and the video to our daughter, Emily who lives in Oakland, California.    

This Holiday Season evokes several childhood memories. During the mid 1950s, flocked Christmas trees, like the one in the picture, were the rage. My sister, Angie and I were attuned to what was popular. Popular mass culture via television was making its way into our rural, agricultural life. 

I convinced my Mother that we needed a flocked tree. Ma tolerated my urges to be modern. 

Usually, we had a tinsel decorated tree, cut from the woods near our farm. But that year we bought a small tree from Liss' Standard service station, located in Pulaski. Using an old brown tank vacuum cleaner, I attempted to cover the tree with a mixture of pink cellulose, water, and adhesive that came in a kit. Ma must have had extra money to buy this luxury item.

The kit had a spray bottle that I attached to the hose of our vacuum cleaner and plugged the hose into the exhaust hole. If all went well, the tree would be covered with fine layers of pink-like snow. Unfortunately, the diminished power of the aging vacuum cleaner's motor meant that pink globs hung onto the branches. I was disappointed with the final uneven look. I carried the pink tree up the basement steps, through the kitchen, the dining room, and into the living room. Ma said nothing, but we never had another flocked tree.

   

Here's our 2023 tree. Once again as in past years, I delighted in carefully placing the lights. Ann and I hang the ornaments with Ann usually handing me each one. For some, we recalled who gave us the ornament or named the city (Portland, Oregon; Bloomington, Indiana; Andover, Massachusetts;  or Madison) in which we purchased the ornament. Several ornaments are very old and from Ann's great Uncle John's collection. 

The last to be hung were the eight glass birds purchased over the years from Orange Tree Imports on Monroe Street, another delightful place. Afterwards, I often rearrange some of the ornaments. I am rather fussy about the placement of ornaments. I like to buy a new ornament each year, but it's unlikely I will do so this year. Maybe one on sale after the season?

 

Another of my favorite Holiday memories is of my sister, Theresa. She died in May.  

Theresa was the baker in our family while sister Barbara cleaned the house. Theresa was also a gardener. Theresa learned gardening from my Grandma Julia as both tended the large vegetable garden that fed our family. Theresa took over the garden after Grandma Julia died in 1951. Theresa told me that she taught our Mother how to garden after Grandma died. Theresa also supervised the pickle patch and made sure her brothers, like me, picked clean. She would let us know if we did not meet her standards. 

Sometime in the late 1950s, for Christmas (reflecting the influence of mass culture on our rural life) Theresa made the 1950 Betty Crocker award winning Cherry Winks cookie. Some of the main ingredients besides flour are shortening (not butter), milk, eggs, sugar, chopped pecans and dates. Each ball of dough is wrapped in crushed corn flakes and topped with a maraschino cherry. Here's the link  if you want the recipe for this nostalgic cookie. 

Theresa, besides the Cherry Winks, made other cookies well before Christmas. She filled a large can that once held Door County cherries, which Ma would can. Theresa hid the can in the attic to ensure that there would be plenty of cookies for Christmas. I and another brother (was it Lou?) found the can and filled our bellies with Cherry Winks. Theresa discovered this transgression and in an angry voice asked me if I ate the cookies. Theresa had the ability to look at you in ways that made you admit your misdeeds. My guilty look gave me away.

Prospect Gardens, even in December, provides delight for those who can see beyond the dry brown remains of the once blooming plants. On a recent walk through the Gardens, I noticed the structural beauty of five plants. Their pictures follow along with statements about joy.

"The feeling of well-being I am calling joy comes in many different flavors. And it can look very different from person to person, from quiet sense of contentment to bubbly enthusiasm. For some people it's an energetic radiance; for others it's a quiet feeling of connection. Joy can arise as a belly laugh , or as a serenely contented smile that accepts life just as it is."

* James Baraz, Buddhist teacher and author of "Awakening Joy, 10 Steps That Will Put You on the Road to Real Happiness." 

“Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.” But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.”

* Kahlil Gibran, (1883-1931), Lebanese-American writer, poet and visual artist; he was also considered a philosopher, although he himself rejected the title.

“Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.”

* Pope John Paul II (Karol Wojtyła) 

“There are random moments - tossing a salad, coming up the driveway to the house, ironing the seams flat on a quilt square, standing at the kitchen window and looking out at the delphiniums, hearing a burst of laughter from one of my children's rooms - when I feel a wavelike rush of joy. This is my true religion: arbitrary moments of of nearly painful happiness for a life I feel privileged to lead.”

* Elizabeth Berg ,American novelist. From her book The Art of Mending,  

 

“The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.”

* Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) poet, writer, playwright, composer, philosopher, social reformer, and painter from the Bengal Region, India.  Earned a Nobel Prize in literature in 1913 which he refused  as a protest against the Jallianwala Bagh massacre by the British in Amritsar in 1919. At least 350 unarmed individuals were killed and 1200 were injured. 

Prospect Gardens awaits the protective cover of snow as I do. According to weather forecasts, we will not have a white Christmas. As 2023 ends and  facing the unpredictable 2024, my wish for you is expressed in the following Carl Sandburg poem. 

   

   FOR YOU

The peace of great doors be for you.

Wait at the knobs, at the panel oblongs.
Wait for the great hinges.

The peace of great churches be for you,
Where the players of loft pipe organs
Practice old lovely fragments, alone.

The peace of great books be for you,
Stains of pressed clover leaves on pages,
Bleach of the light of years held in leather.

The peace of great prairies be for you.
Listen among windplayers in cornfields,
The wind learning over its oldest music.

The peace of great seas be for you.
Wait on a hook of land, a rock footing
For you, wait in the salt wash.

The peace of great mountains be for you,
The sleep and the eyesight of eagles,
Sheet mist shadows and the long look across.

The peace of great hearts be for you,
Valves of the blood of the sun,
Pumps of the strongest wants we cry.

The peace of great silhouettes be for you,
Shadow dancers alive in your blood now,
Alive and crying, "Let us out, let us out."

The peace of great changes be for you.
Whisper, Oh beginners in the hills.
Tumble, Oh cubs-tomorrow belongs to you.

The peace of great loves be for you.
Rain, soak these roots; wind, shatter the dry rot.
Bars of sunlight, grips of the earth, hug these.

The peace of great ghosts be for you,
Phantoms of night-gray eyes, ready to go
To the fog-star dumps, to the fire-white doors.

Yes, the peace of great phantoms be for you,
Phantom iron men, mothers of bronze,
Keepers of the lean clean breeds.