J. Robin Whitley's Blog, page 2

Coming Events in April

Hello everyone,

I write this in the form of a letter hoping that you can sense my letter as a friend. If you are reading this, most likely you are a friend or have the potential to become one. Friends are vital to life aren’t they? Only this morning, just the thought of two of my dearest friends lifted me out of the darkness. This month is an exciting month for me, but at 60, sometimes one wonders if age will interfere with quality. Knowing that I have the support of friends even as I age makes all the difference in the world.

This month, I have two big opportunities. One is that on Wednesday, our library in Watauga County, NC is hosting an important talk about what it means to be Queer in the High Country of Boone, NC. This is a conversation that one can attend in person but also by Zoom. I hope that supportive and loving people can hear the importance of our being aware and open to diversity. Here is the link if you are interested Appalachian Regional Library.

As a musician, one of my lifelong dreams has been to attend the National Women’s Music Festival. Though I still haven’t gotten to be there in person, I’m excited to say that I am going to be performing two songs on the open mic this week that they have opened up because of zoom. Below is a link to the line up of this year’s performers in the festival. The Event area is where I will be singing this Saturday at 7:00 p.m. Central time. Come join us as you can. For all of my friends, thank you for always believing in me, even if I couldn’t at times believe in myself.

Peace and Music, Robin

Performers

 

April 9, 2022 Michigan Women’s Music Festival’s Open Mic event SeekHer7EventSeekHer7 – Zoom Concert and Open Mic

30-minute Zoom Concert featuring SeekHer7
Natalia Zukerman and Lisa Ferraro have been friends for a long time. Recently, they recognized that collaborating might lead to an elevated force in their creative lives and while still in its nascent stage, their combined efforts are proving to be undeniably powerful, infectiously joyful and deeply connected to Spirit. The collaboration is SeekHer7: collaborative, conscious, collective gatherings with meditation, music, movement, learning, co-creating, deep listening, respectful, safe discovery and above all, boundless joy. Their debut EP is coming out in February 2020 and is called Where We Begin.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Followed by 90-minute Open Mic hosted by Nancy Scott
Nancy Scott is a long-time performer who has been instrumental in encouraging other artists and promoting women’s music. She hosted a monthly singer-songwriter circle at Patsy’s Café in Austin for 9 years and she encourages new performers, while hosting the Living Room stage at NWMF every year. For over 45 years she has been creating songs, ranging from folk to blues blended with a touch of country, that draw upon her daily experiences and express her soul. She was selected for NWMFs open mic in 2004 and performed on the Spotlight Stage in 2007. In addition to her solo gigs, Nancy has played in the Peoples Orchestra of Austin and joined other musicians at Texas women’s prisons, performed at benefits, and also did kid’s shows for 6 years in the 90’s. Her most recent recording is Heartprints in Clay, 1995.  A new recording will be in the works within the year.  She received the NWMF Jane Schliessman Award for Contributions to Women’s Music in 2018.

Schedule – All shows start at 7pm (central time zone)
7pm – Nancy Scott – Open Mic
7:15 – SeekHer7
7:45-9:00pm – Nancy Scott – Open Mic

 

 

 

 

 

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A Possible Jubilee in 2022

Mast General Store Valle Crucis, NC
Copyright 2022 JRobin Whitley

For the past few months, the dog and I have been moving from Beech Mountain to Boone. On the way to and from Beech Mountain, there were banks of snow where everyone has been trying to dig out from 12 or more inches of snow in the High Country. Driving down Hwy 105, a flicker at the side of the road caught my eye. As I drove by, there was a book laying on the side of the road open as if asking the passersby to consider its pages. As a book lover, I was indeed tempted to stop and see which book had been cast aside on a snowy day.

Returning to Boone, I sit in the comfort of Heather’s home with Birdie and her two dogs, Luna and Ginger. The clock ticks quietly on the wall keeping its own weird time. Though the battery and second hand still work properly, the hands that count the minutes and hours have fallen

Birdie loving a sunbeam.

and won’t hold up. Somehow, in this time of wild weather and still COVID worldwide, weird time seems appropriate. There’s an end-of-the-world clock somewhere. I keep trying to forget it exists as it measures humanity’s disregard of the earth and our atmosphere. Maybe my own clock is simply a reminder of how fleeting our lives are as humans – that in each second, let us choose love instead of harm. More likely, the move simply wore the clock out. She’s had enough of hard times and wants to do as she pleases. That’s okay too…even if it’s a bit maddening to look up and be confused by the time of day versus what that clock says.

Birds are still searching our porches for every seed we’ve cast into the snow or added to our planters. Blue jays huge and blue send intelligent looks over the front porch as if assessing its width and length. Sparrows and cardinals dance in and out between the blue jay visits. We’ve had gorgeous Eastern towhees and of course, the sweet juncos and chickadee.

Looking out the window, the sky promises more snow. The news, well, it is rarely “good” anymore, is it? Like most during the times of COVID, fatigue from all the deaths and illness have worn me to a fray. Yet, there is also an exquisite beauty in my life now; though the world often feels like its falling apart around me. At my center however is peace. Ever since the chaos worsened, I’ve floundered about wondering if I should change how I engage in the world – to be more “active” as an activist. The challenge has been how to keep my health balanced if trying to do more. Then, last week I had the same reminder from two different groups. The reminder is that music, love, and peace DO change the world if only in my immediate space.

Last Thursday morning, I joined Central Synagogue’s conversation with the leaders of Exodus Transitional Community, Inc.* In particular, the leaders of the synagogue and the community are talking about the power of the year of Jubilee where prisoners are set free. The work is large and exhausting. Hearing of the power of the work and the leaders’ dedication in some ways made me feel even less empowered as a 60-year-old musician. Then, one of the leaders of Exodus pointed out that music is not only something we all need in such hard times but also that music has its own power to transform. Though I’ve believed this in my life, at times, it feels like I’m much more of a “David wannabe” in a world of Goliaths. However, the leader’s reminder was a powerful one. Then, later that night, after a different conversation and with different people, we were talking about Eknath Eswaran’s understanding of the Bhagavad Gita. Picking a line that best summarizes the conversation is challenging but this resonates today:

[During contemplation] “In practical terms, you become aware that you are not a separate creature; the sense of separateness characteristic of physical awareness has disappeared…Beyond and beneath the world of change, there is only direct awareness of a world that is one and indivisible, infinite, radiant.”

Or, in my own simple words, by bringing peace to myself, my community, family, friends, I bring and give that peace to the entire world. That doesn’t mean I can’t continue to support movements dedicated to Social Justice, only that at this age, I don’t have to become someone else. Standing up for those in need, getting out to vote, working to assure that others can vote and have basic human rights is still an important part of the life of a person of faith. I love how Reform Judaism talks about the importance of ’repairing the world’. There is so much to love about our natural world. Each of us humans has gifts but also faults. We can learn to listen, work together, create more beauty together. Perhaps we too can claim a year of Jubilee where we free ourselves from hatred, divisiveness, and fear. These are things we CAN do regardless of our financial or physical abilities. I’m not saying it’s easy because I know from trying to choose love time and again that it is often frightening and hurts. But if I can free myself from these harmful ways of being, who knows what can happen?

“I think that if we can move our work, whatever work we’re up to, whatever kind of desire that we have for our own development in life, to be willing to face discomfort and receive it as opportunity for growth and expansion and a commentary about what is now more available to us, rather than what it is that is limiting us and taking something away from us, that we will — in no time at all, we will be a society that enhances the lives of all our species. We will be in a society that thrives and knows that the planet must thrive with us. We will be in a society that knows that no one that is suffering serves the greater community, and that no one that is suffering is not an indicator of the ways in which the society itself is suffering.” ~Rev. Kyoto Williams from On Being

—————

Easwaran, Eknath. Essence of the Bhagavad Gita: A Contemporary Guide to Yoga, Meditation, & Indian Philosophy. Nilgiri Press 2011, pg. 39.

*Also, check out exodus ministries that empowers incarcerated women.

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Love Letter to My Family 2021

Me with the red hair, my sister, and my mom.

 

Family is a big theme at this time of the year. As we all know, families are imperfect, a mixed bag of emotions, family systems, histories, arguments, etc. After a holiday trip with my new sweetheart, Heather, I found myself wanting to share with her memories of my life with my Whitley/Poplin family. Upon writing it, I realized I also want to write this letter to MY biological family…all those cousins and aunts and uncles as well as my immediate family. It never hurts to be reminded of the love we share, the love that is foundational and historic. Heather’s family is from a city, so this morning I wrote her about what it was like at our rural family gatherings. The Whitleys were farmers, and the Poplins were millworkers at a small Southern Cotton mill. We lived in the small town of Oakboro, NC. Our local community neighborhoods had names like Big Lick, Frog Pond, Booger Holler, and Red Cross.

When our rural families gathered, there was always food of course. Afterward, there were various ways the family gathered after all the women cleaned up. During the 60s and 70s, most men smoked so the men would go outside and smoke. The uncles who didn’t smoke (I can only think of one), went to stand amid all the smokers of Winstons and Lucky Strikes. The extended families didn’t play games together like puzzles or board games. Definitely not cards around the Whitley grandparents who were thought that dancing and cards were not good for us. I don’t know exactly what Grandma and Grandpa believed, only that mom asked us not to even play Go Fish if they came to the house. I do remember something often said in our rural and religious community, “idle hands are the devil’s tools” so it may have had something to do with that.

At Whitley gatherings, once the meal was completed and the kitchen cleaned, everyone gathered in the living room around the wood stove that Grandpa kept going. The adults all sat catching up on local events, families, deaths, and crops or gardens as they sat on Grandma’s gold-colored Naugahyde couch. Grandpa was in his Naugahyde recliner with a dip of snuff by that time, his spit can to the right of his chair that faced the window looking out at one of his fields. Grandma had a flowered rocking chair with curved handles shaped like swan necks and her snuff can was to the left of her chair. I don’t remember her dipping snuff on Sunday, just that the can was there and all snuff cans were disgusting to us kids. Her rocking chair looked out the same window to the field. Her singer sewing machine was in front of the window with a radio from the fifties atop a doily that she tatted. When we weren’t outside or in the parlor playing, my sister and I would sit with a parent or Grandma and watch the adults fall asleep to the sound of Grandpa’s antique cuckoo clock. All the kids loved that cuckoo clock and we couldn’t wait to see its yellow bird come out. Our dad was usually one of the first to stand and say it was time to go home and take a nap. Grandma always wanted everyone to “stay bit longer”.

After we finished napping at our house, our family of four then visited Grandma and Grandpa Poplin’s house. According to the time we arrived, we gathered around Grandma’s kitchen table with the others who were visiting to eat the leftovers from Grandma’s Sunday lunch. There was always a lot of laughter around Grandma Poplin’s table. After cleaning the kitchen, we all went back to the living room and the adults began yakking. The Whitley’s talked but the talk was much quieter. The Poplin family were vibrant talkers who also talked fast and most often, with several different conversations going on at once. Truthfully, there were usually so many conversations going on at the Poplin family gatherings that I was never quite sure what they were about. Then, at seven p.m., Wild Animal Kingdom came on. We loved that Grandma and Grandpa liked that show and would watch it with us. After that was Disney. This living room was heated with an oil heater and there too, the heat had a drowsing effect on all who remained. Summer was hot at both family places since there wasn’t a prevalence of air conditioning. Most of our summer gatherings were outside on porches or under trees.

I loved growing up in the country and will always be a country loving person. I do wish we had had better schools then, but our communities were not wealthy communities. Those are just things I know as an adult. As a youth, nature was all that I wanted or thought I needed besides G-d and music. My family not only gave me the blessing of growing up in the countryside, the faith they shared and the music that gave is coded into my genetic and spiritual DNA. What better love can be given than that? I love you, dear family. We may have our differences, but I really love you every day that I breathe.

 

 

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Days to Come

 

2021 has been a busy and blessed time for me. In the Days to Come, I can see more and more goodness. This year full of blessings (even as the pandemic raged through the world), has been a wonderful change from past years. It’s not that my past years were awful, only harder.

As the days get colder on Beech Mountain, I wanted to move to a blue theme for the website. The image of the water is there as I learn how to use a new iMac. Because of the sale of my condo, I’ve been able to replace my bad PCs. Because of my art, many have suggested for years that I move to Apple, but I resisted. As I prepare a new book for 2022 and consider another poetry collection for 2023. There are challenges in computers anytime a human is working on one. I tend to expect too much from them, especially when it comes to “keeping up”. It seems that the old computer couldn’t keep up with my typing speed. Or, if uploading a photo, it took forever. As a result, I kept writing but not posting to the computer. Though I hope that the new computer resolves my technical difficulties in creating works of art with words, there have been other challenges to writing as I prepare to move to Boone and as I and my new love consider the future.

Love. Love is a major theme in my life and a major theme in what I hope to do on this website and in all that I create. As love grows greater in my new relationship, often I find there aren’t words to express my heart. Even music seems limited at times and painting (rather the blank canvas) can be daunting for me. For the past two weeks, I’ve been reading a book by Mark Doty, “What is the Grass: Walt Whitman in My Life.” There is a beautiful paragraph that best summarizes the past half of a year and why I’ve been silent on this website. The paragraph comes after Doty asks the reader To be in any form, what is that?

“This presents a sweet, provocative paradox. The poet, the one you’d expect to have faith in language, knows that naming alone does nothing to dispel mystery. For [the writer]*, a word is a gesture in the direction of reality, and does not limit or circumscribe; the poet knows that nothing at all is settled by the word. On the contrary, perhaps what words do is propel us farther into the uncertain nature of the real. They pry open possibilities, and suddenly, the plan grass seems to be rustling with meanings.”  ~Mark Doty

Love, love, love. Think of the possibilities in that one word. There are a lot of unknowns in my life as I move to Boone. I’m on a waitlist for an apartment and neither of the places I’ve applied will not give me definitive dates as to when I might have a place. Where I will live in 2022 is a bit of a mystery, and yet, there is something calming about it. I know it’s because of love. As I move to Boone, I will be closer to people who love me and want me around. Birdie is excited too because she’s missed our friends and fellowship with friends even more than I have. Love. There’s all kinds of love but yet, there is an everlasting love that exists in the trees, the sky, the ground, the seas. Possibility. That’s what my mind is excited about as the fall turns colder and the days become shorter. What are your possibilities for more love?

*Doty uses “For him” but as a female writer, I want the poet or writer to be either…or both. Quote is taken from page 56 of What is the Grass: Walt Whitman in My Life.

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Love and Woolworth’s

A morning music mix of Nanci Griffith songs pulls up one of my favorites, “Love at the Five and Dime”. I first heard this song in the 80s and often listened to it several times in a row. Today, at 60, this song has the same appeal as I listen to it for the fifth time since it played.

The beauty of the song is the sweetness of a tender love that lasts through life trials. Griffith’s voice adds to the sweetness as she sings a little quieter, “…dance a little closer.” Tenderness is also represented in the guitar interludes, as the guitar connects the verses with a lullaby to love.

In a world where tenderness is seen as weakness or passe, the reasons to like this song as a lasting one are covered summarily in the paragraphs above. For me, however, this song brings a flood of loving memories every time I hear it. Not because I’ve had an everlasting love, but because it brings back my own memories of Woolworth in the 70s.

For the younger generation, Woolworth is now non-existent. Even though I am old enough to remember and experience Woolworth, back then,I had to ask mom what they meant by “the five and dime”.

A man named Frank Winfield Woolworth founded Woolworth’s stores. In the late 1870’s Frank Woolworth was working in a small grocery store as a clerk when he came up with the idea to sell cheap 5 cent items at the counter.

By the 1970s, Woolworth had made it to the South. It was our version of “the dollar store” but things cost 5 ¢ or 10¢, something expensive might cost a quarter. Of course, this is all from the viewpoint of an elementary school kid from rural Stanly County, NC. Our small town, Oakboro, didn’t have a Woolworth. The only Woolworth I knew of was in Charlotte, close to where my dad had a barbershop on Sharon Amity. Southpark was the new fancy mall in the city. Woolworth was on the first floor near the Sears.

We didn’t go there often because the mall was so far from the house. Mostly, we went there to look for Easter clothes or Christmas gifts. Since dad worked until six, we would go ahead to the Woolworth. Mom always allowed us to buy a little something. The most special thing about Woolworth’s, however, is as we waited to meet deddy, we ate in the diner. We always wanted to sit at the counter but that Woolworth was always crowded. Every time I hear this song, I rejoice in the love mentioned in the song, but also in a shared meal with my mom, sister, and later dad in Woolworth.

Hearing the ring of Griffith’s guitar brings back memories of the bell that rang in Woolworth’s. They didn’t have an elevator, but a friend who worked in Charlotte department stores in that decade said the bell in most department stores in Charlotte signified a sale. As kids, we never knew what the bell meant and even mom had no answer for that question.

Mom and dad were in their thirties then. Dad was a handsome country fellow and mom a beautiful woman also from the country, but savvier on the ways of the city than dad. He may have had his own barbershop there, but he never ventured far from the shop. He only drove from our home in Oakboro to the barbershop, stopping to eat breakfast or lunch at a greasy spoon called “The Fork and Knife.”

Though I have no memories of us buying anything but a meal at Woolworth’s, and no memories of the conversations we had after dad joined us, I remember his handsome smile as he sat down glad to see us. Mom was smiling to my left because my sister wanted to sit beside deddy. There was a tuna melt, a grilled cheese sandwich, fries, but what floods my heart most is the love; the love of mom and dad for each other and then also, their love for us and ours for them. Going to Woolworth’s was always special.

As Griffith talks about the smells of the popcorn and remembering the sticky floors (what was that anyway?), sweet memories flood my heart with love. Then she sings, “…love’s on sale at the five and dime”. All I can think of is how Woolworth’s is long gone, but the love my family gave to me in that simple meal in the diner will last forever.

https://classicnewyorkhistory.com/the...

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Healing and Mazel Tov

Healing and Mazel Tov. The two don’t seem related since we most often associate “Mazel Tov” with a toast or some type of celebration. Healing we most associate with pain from some wound, whether physical, mental, social, or emotional.

While I’m working on art project and catching up on emails, I’m also listening to a playlist I’m curating that has all the best songs I can think of. Several of the ones that just played have to do with healing of some type. Because of how much healing has come to me these past four years, it seems appropriate.

Since turning 60 the other week, I find myself able to let go of past hurts in a way I never could have imagined. Hearing a song by Van Morrison that talked about “the healing has begun”, my mind and heart disagree with his lyrics. Why? Because my healing path started many years ago, in the 90s when I wrote a song called “Heal Me”. Here I am, 20 years later and preparing to walk a fresh path, it’s clear that my life is blessed with copious events of healing.

There’s so much we don’t know when we’re younger. With each decade, hopefully we learn and grow stronger from our mistakes and the wounds that are bound to occur by being a citizen of the world. Does that mean all of my healing is done, complete, finis? No. Of course not. Yet, now that I’ve lived 60 years and I am still here. I have the strength to face the years to come. This is why I say Mazel Tov today. Please read Jessica Jacobs’ powerful poem to understand more about how the words of healing and Mazel Tov came together for me in the moment of a song.

 

Mazel Tov by Jessica Jacobs

 

“His chin on my leg, he trusts me / with the weight of his head.”

Circular breather, our dog can whine
without ceasing, his tail thumping the wall
beside the bed to call me up and out to the yard
instead. In moonlight, the hydrangeas’

white blossoms are a zodiac of branch-bound
constellations. Once, God called Abraham
out from his tent to the open field to count
the uncountable lights above, promising

offspring bountiful as dust, numerous
as the stars. Like Abraham, I too left
my land, my birthplace, my father’s house.
But the closest I have to an offspring

is lifting his leg at the azalea, nose busy
with the news the night air brings.
Mazel tov! we say at births and other
joyous occasions, the Jewish go-to

for Congratulations! Yet tov means good
and mazel, constellation or destiny,
and sometimes, like Abraham, you must
leave the place that grew you to grow

toward better stars. In the house, my wife
is sleeping. Along the fence-top, a procession
of possums reminds that even in darkness
there are those who can see. Above,

trees, thick with summer, frame a porthole
of sky. Maybe, though, it’s not always the stars
that matter but the space between them,
the lines we draw to shape the absence,

the lives we forge around what goes missing.
From the deck, the cool breeze makes a festival
of the silver-lit leaves. Under my palm,
there’s the warmth of his fur, the rise

of his ribs. He doesn’t know his kidneys
are failing, that his muzzle is white
as the winter our vet has said he will
not live to see. Like all of us, he is

dying; like most of us, he doesn’t
know it. His chin on my leg, he trusts me
with the weight of his head. So, if I wish
you, mazel tov, know what I mean is,

May you find a reason to open 
your door to the dark. I’ll mean, 
May you live beneath good stars, 
and take the time to notice.

 

Don’t let your soul get lonely
Child, it’s only time, it will go by
Don’t look for love in faces, places
It’s in you that’s where you’ll find kindness

_________________________________________________________________

Jessica Jacobs is the author of Take Me with You, Wherever You’re Going, winner of the Devil’s Kitchen and Goldie Awards, and Pelvis with Distance, winner of the New Mexico Book Award. Chapbook editor for Beloit Poetry Journal, she co-authored Write It! 100 Poetry Prompts to Inspire with her wife, Nickole Brown.

Header image: Azalea Bush,  / Alamy Stock Photo, January 30, 2017, Fort White, Florida.

 

As printed in Southern Cultures Magazine June 4, 2021.

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May 2021- Turning 60 & the wonders of life.

It’s May 2021, and it’s hard to believe that I’m turning 60 in 6 days. Since yesterday was a “good hair day”, I took a photo to prove that my hair

Turning 60 in 6 days.

sometimes behaves. My hair is most often hard to tame because of copious cowlicks, but there are days when it looks decent. When I saw the resulting photo, the outcome pleased me; not because my hair looked decent, but because my eyes look like my maternal grandma’s eyes.

Turning older is harder than I thought it would be. Though I knew I would age, I didn’t count on health challenges or my body’s having an inability to keep up with my mind. However, thinking of my dear grandmas, that the blessing helping me to embrace my age. My goal is that I want to turn into both of my grandmas. My maternal grandma was my best friend. My paternal grandma was a lot like my mom. She took care of me for the first two years of my life. If I can be as kind and loving as them, then I can handle aging…even though it still surprises me that when I cut my hair, there’s more gray every time.

In the past 60 years, my life has been full of the challenges that all humans face. The best part, however, is that my life is full of many wonders. There aren’t more wonders in my life than in yours or anybody else’s. Because of several near-death experiences in my life, those near misses taught me to be more alert to the wonders and that we truly never know when our life will end or continue. This is not being morbid, but accepting the reality at hand.

What are the wonders in your life? One of the many things I’m celebrating as I turn 60 is something as simple as flowers sprouting. I’ve been trying to grow wildflowers and other flowers on this North side of Beech Mountain for 4 years now. This is the first year that I’ve had any success at getting something to sprout on my porch. The porch is covered in the shade for most of the summer. However, as I bemoaned the lack of flowers on my porch, a friend from my yoga class (also a neighbor) gave me seeds to plant. These are seeds she promised would thrive on our shady north side of the mountain. They are only sprouts, but so far; the birds are ignoring them and today they are taller than yesterday. I love watching things grow.

There have been many challenges during the pandemic. In order to keep from feeding my fears, I sought to redirect that focus on art, music, and a new collection of poetry. Because we all started working on the collection during the quarantine first came into effect, when we didn’t have a vaccine, it took a while for all of us to pull ourselves into a place where we could share our pain and our joy. The book’s manuscript is nearing a first draft completion so we are on our way. The creative process is rewarding in seeing and playing with the creative process. However, it is even more rewarding to see a project come together. I’m still not sharing the name of the book yet. The last time I announced a book prematurely, it was like jinxed. I’m still working on the outline of that book but it’s nowhere near complete.

Yet, I can feel it in my old bones- good things are coming. The new book is going to bear good fruit. Music is expanding in my life and opportunities are forming even as I type. What a wonderful way to celebrate spring.

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Flowers sprouting like hope.

 

 

 

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Passover or Holy Week

Passover

Passover or Holy Week…it’s unclear to me which I celebrate this year. The morning sun finally breaks through the gray snow clouds. The ground is lightly dusted with snow, but the temperature frigid at 24 degrees. The juncos hop around the porch looking for old birdseed. The monthly supply of birdseed ran out days early, but the birds complain it’s been longer. Yesterday the squirrel came begging, and all I had was stale bread of some unknown and unremembered named grain. It did not impress the squirrel, the birds not even recognizing the substance as ‘bread’.

Though the weather forecasters predicted cold for today, one can never know if snow will fall. Last night as the dog and I walked into the spring air, I prayed for the tree frogs singing down at the pond below. Can they, did they survive the freeze after a week of spring temperatures? As I drink the last cup of coffee, a junco settles on the patio table puffed up in feathers, down coated against the cold. Then I remembered I had some matza still for the last two days of Passover. Surely it would be okay to share part of my daily matzah with the squirrel and the birds? Though, what do I know at all about the sacredness of matzah? I hoped that since matzah can be hidden as afikomen during a Seder, perhaps it would okay.

Blessing Over Matzah

HEBREW TEXTבָּרוּךְ אַתָּה, יְיָ אֱלֹהֵינוּ, מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם,הַמּוֹצִיא לֶחֶם מִן הָאָרֶץ.TRANSLITERATIONBaruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu,Melech haolam,haMotzi lechem min haaretz.TRANSLATION
Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of all, who brings forth bread from the earth.

Only recently, I joined a class on Judaism taught through the Center for Exploring Judaism at Central Synagogue NYC. Our leader, Rabbi Darcie Crystal, did an excellent job of covering all the details about Passover we would need to know in a short time. Yet, growing up in the South and having no Jewish family, I have no point of reference. From my seminary education and my personal interest in Judaism, I know the basics of what Passover means. One of my Jewish friends and his wife led our congregation in a Seder when I was a vicar in Tallahassee. Mostly what I remember from that time was the love and respect between Rick and Lori as they led the Seder and told us the story of Exodus. Also memorable is the warmth and blessing of the surrounding community.

As I considered the little that I know and pondered the meaning of Passover from the Jewish tradition and then that today is Maundy Thursday in the Christian tradition, it was hard to avoid the similarities of tradition. However, the goal in taking this class was to experience Passover from the Jewish tradition as expressed by Judaism. The class for me is not some experiment but seeking to understand more fully who and Whose I am.

Central Synagogue is a Reformed Jewish Synagogue. Our temple here in Boone, Temple of the High Country is also a Reformed congregation of people. This is a good thing for me too because of several reasons. Watching the birds check out the matzah, I hoped that also meant I can remain part of the class if I confess to sharing matzah with birds and my red squirrel friend. The birds looked over the bread that remained from yesterday and ignored it. Some, especially the shivering junco, tried the matzah and then flew away. The squirrel sat on the patio table munching a corner as I crunched the other corner.

Rituals of any kind have a rhythm to them. Seeking to observe the tradition and rituals of Judaism with my classmates, I follow the instructions. Or so I think. Only to refer to the textbook again and realize that my experience isn’t kosher. I’m making mistakes because of course; I don’t know what I’m doing. Because I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, my rhythm is off. Like a new pianist trying to learn how to play the piano, I recognize sounds and meaning, but there is not a rhythm to my actions. The ritual is awkward, but I want to keep trying and to understand.

Caught up in music, music lessons with students, and the class in Judaism, I lose track of the week. Throughout the pandemic of the past year, there has been no marker of my days like before. Today is always simply now. Looking at my prayer life and my practice of faith, questions arise and thoughts spew onto a page. Some of the verbal meanderings come from fear, some from faith, and some pontificating comes from the unknowing of it all.

A different junco comes to the porch and tries the old bread, then hops off the porch. A red-breasted tufted titmouse grabs a piece of matzah and flies off to the West. Two more juncos descend and then fight over the matzah like children fighting over bread. The clouds part and blue-sky colors the horizon of a new day.

Junco 2021

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Porch Tales – Red Squirrel

Beech Mountain, NC sunrise.

The pink morning rises cold over the mountains. A scurry of squirrels descends upon the porch, hungry for a morning meal. The three hoard the seed as though I put it out for them. The two gray squirrels had stayed away while there was only safflower seed. This month, I bought another bag with sunflower seeds simply because it was at the grocery store and nearby. All the squirrels are glad I bought squirrel food again.

The squirrels think if it has sunflower seeds, it belongs to them.

When December snowed and snowed, birds came to my porch asking for seed. In the summers, the owners of the condos above me feed the birds. Often the seeds from the unit above fall to my porch. The birds that visited, mostly juncos and one nuthatch, were looking for those seeds. The juncos visit every winter. This was the first winter the nuthatch visited, and he was the one who sat beside me as I painted this summer.

After a while, the birds complain that the squirrels are hogging the seeds. Though I chase the squirrels and tell them they must share, they don’t listen. Finally, I must call Birdie to talk to the squirrels. Nothing makes a feist or squirrel dog happier than to start the day out barking at squirrels. Once the dog and I convince the squirrels that they’ve had enough for this morning, the birds quieten, and I return to writing.

A sound begins that I’ve heard before in the past few months of feeding the birds. One of them is pecking on one of the metal porch chairs. Though seeking to find the culprit before, they were too skittish earlier for me to see which bird was making the noise. This time, while I sat

Sparrow and Titmouse -January 2021

writing at the computer desk, I can see that it is the titmouse pecking the chair. Watching him grab a seed and then peck on the quarter-inch rail of the arm or footrest, I wonder if the titmouse must break open a seed like a nuthatch. Then, the musician in me wonders if the sound is pleasing or perhaps the vibrations of the chair as he pecks.

“This was love: a string of
Coincidences that gathered
Significance and became miracles.”

~Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

 

Though concerned about how cold December was and if the local birds were hungry, another issue decided me to risk feeding the birds. I wanted to befriend the tiny nuthatch that had been visiting my porch since the summer. This summer, as I worked quietly on a painting, he almost lit on my right shoulder. He caught himself before landing on me and stopped for a moment on the railing less than three inches from my shoulder. It was a moment of wonder and delight.

Nuthatch January 2021

My neighbors who are birders told me that if I fed the birds, the nuthatch would come closer and might eventually eat out of my hand. The bears were still out and extremely active then. Since my porch is closer to the ground, it was better not to risk it. Even as I began feeding the birds in December, I clarified that this was only a breakfast joint. After a day or two, I learned how to put out only enough seed for the birds to eat until noon.

That first month, the birdseed went away quickly. They were all hungry, and the squirrels kept trying to hoard the seeds. The juncos can be bossy and greedy too. When I hear too much bickering, I know the juncos are not sharing with the smaller birds. Or possibly, the squirrels are back.

Chickadee 2021

Then the chickadees came. Then a solitary titmouse. At the end of January, a sparrow began joining the breakfast club and always a squirrel had to check out what was for breakfast.

 

The squirrels can be little pigs so I will allow them to eat, but if they chase off the birds, they are finished! I tell them it’s time to go home.  At first, I thought it tricky that my dog’s name is Birdie and sometimes I will forget and call the birds “birdies”. That’s confusing to the dog.

Birdie 2021

When I take Birdie for walks, I keep her on a leash because if it moves; she wants to chase it. She is curious about the bird tracks on “her” porch whenever we go out. When the squirrels get too greedy, I call in my big dog. The squirrels know that I’m coming outside, and she usually starts barking at them before I let her onto the closed-in porch.

Yesterday, one of the red squirrels came for breakfast and was missing 2/3 of a lovely tail. I feared that it was the one I’m getting attached to that I’m calling Red for now. Birdie and I first saw Red last summer as we walked near the felled Beech trees in the woods beside of us. His beautiful red coat gleamed sunlight running red over the gray tree trunks. When I saw the red squirrel missing part of a tail yesterday, I feared that one of our predators had gotten him.

Red’s coat is even more gorgeous in the sunlight. 2021

All morning today, I’ve watched as a scurry of squirrels snacked on breakfast. I allowed two gray squirrels and one tiny red one to eat longer than usual in hopes I would see Red or the squirrel who lost his tail. I’ve seen the damage that squirrels can do to houses, cars, and furniture. Since a gray squirrel snuck into my grandma’s house and tore up her antique couch, I’ve known for years that they are rodents. Still, I waited hours this morning, praying that Red didn’t lose his gorgeous tail. Not that I want any squirrel to lose a tail.

Finally, as I wrote to tell a friend that I hadn’t seen Red or the squirrel with the shortened tail, a blur of red hopped onto the porch from the direction Red usually visits. He lives to the West of the porch while most of the others live to the East of the porch and always sneak down the tree beside the condo. The day ends happily because Red still has his long tail!

Red with his full tail. 2021

As I sought to finish this tale of my morning, I checked emails and saw the quotes posted here. As I read the second one, perhaps it’s okay to feed the squirrels too.

“Extend the boundaries of the
glowing kingdom of your love,
gradually including your family,
your neighbors, your community,
your country, all countries,
all living sentient creatures.”

~Paramahansa Yogananda

 

As quoted on Dailygood.org

Ibid., Dailygood

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Who is Me? Thoughts on a Cold Snowy Morning

The morning is cold and snowy even after the sun comes out and the clouds disappear. The snow resembles clouds littered on the ground with cloud detritus hiding our human messes. There’s only so much mess the snow can cover though. Even for those places where the snow is deeper than I am tall.

For the first Monday in a couple years, I’m free of appointments and able to return to writing a reflection or poem. I’ve had this essay on my mind for months…maybe years, but definitely since the pandemic has changed our entire world’s view of self. As we learn to live in this new reality, “who is me?”

I know I’m not the only person pondering this question. Someone may have already written an article, poem, song, book about it by now. For me, I was just coming out of the grief of my divorce in January 2020. I was looking forward to moving forward with life. Though I have continued to move out of my grief and let go of my marriage, like all humans, my reality has changed.

Because I am disabled and I don’t have a car, the change wasn’t as drastic for me as most people. In truth, I was gloating a bit that others got to experience some of the challenges that I face as a disabled person. My disabilities are not ones that can be seen but they affect me every day. In fact, the oddest thing for me during the pandemic is that I’ve been the healthiest in 2020 than I had been in 20 years. Staying at home was good for me in a way that it may not be for billions of people.

In March, my heart and mind were still hopeful that somehow the virus would be contained by summer. That this pandemic wouldn’t change our lives, your lives forever. As we all know, that hasn’t been the case and it embarrasses me now to think of how many people are hurting because they have to stay at home. In fact, it’s been hard to write essays or respond to friends’ letters or emails because the hurt of the world is overwhelming to me. Is it to you? Then, on top of that, I feel helpless that the only thing I CAN do is stay home.

One of the things I have learned about myself during the pandemic is that I am quite suited to the life of a hermit. My dog, not so much. In fact, it has become clear that it would be easy for me to become reclusive…but my dog is NOT going to allow that. I’m okay with that. She is learning to adjust to less people-time, and I am finding more space for creativity. The creativity is filling me up so that my heart is joyous. Brother David Steindl-Rast has a quote that gives me hope as I wish to give to the world:

“The greatest gift one can give is thanksgiving. In giving gifts, we give what we can spare, but in giving thanks we give ourselves.” ~Br. David Steindl-Rast

 

Yet, at the same time, I also wonder if there’s not something more I can do?

Who is this me that I am becoming? In truth, I am becoming more myself than ever. That has been healing on an emotional, spiritual, and artistic level. Yet, because art, music, writing takes so much time, so much solitude, I often wonder if I have fallen into greed or selfishness? What do I have to share that might help others get through this difficult time? Then, I read this quote from one of our dear civil rights leaders:

“And if you follow your truth down the road to peace and the affirmation of love, if you shine like a beacon for all to see, then the poetry of all the great dreamers and philosophers is yours to manifest in a nation, a world community, and a Beloved Community that is finally at peace with itself.”  ~John Lewis

 

All of my life, my greatest goal was to love G-d and love others. Just because I am no longer in the trenches of ministry or in the visible workforce doesn’t mean I can’t contribute to love. Love is an energy. Yesterday, Pastor Tom Holdcraft of St. Stephen Lutheran-Tallahassee, said that love is breath and energy.

You know, that goes well with something I’ve been trying to explain to my fellow church members here at Holy Cross Episcopal, how I miss their energy. Singing with the choir, not only can we feel the vibrations of the voices around us, but we also sit across from our wonderful Flentrop organ, so we feel the vibrations from that too.  It’s not just about the music either because each of our members has a beautiful light and energy – love and breath – that makes our community beautiful.

I am in a contemplative prayer group and we are studying the writings of Eknath Eswaran. One of his recommendations as we seek to allow our meditation to change us and to change our individual vibrations is to find a mantra to use when you find yourself frustrated or falling into old habits or patterns. Though St. Francis’s prayer, Instrument of Peace is vital to me, it has helped me to distill the prayer down to these two words “Mercy and Peace”.  Sometimes I say, “Compassion and peace” because, well, there are times I can’t remember the word ‘mercy’ and that is sad in itself for we all need mercy in an unmerciful world.

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone – we find it with another.” ~Thomas Merton

 

I think the quote by Merton is interesting because not only was he a priest, but he was a hermit monk. As I stated above, I’m good at being a hermit.  Yet, the life of faith also calls us to look and reach outward. Several times this past week there was a restlessness in me that I couldn’t pinpoint. I tried working on several creative tasks, then looked on social media, then watched movies. It was not until we were closing up the house for “night night time” that I realized what was going on with me. I was missing connection with my dear friends. We are talking to one another in all the ways we can, but there is importance about being in the presence of another.

An important tenet of the Christian faith is based upon presence. We celebrate communion as a way that G-d and Christ become present to us. We read scriptures in order to notice more often the ways that G-d’s presence shows itself in the world. We talk about grief, loss, pain, struggle and the human condition in order to be present to one another. When I was a hospital chaplain, we were constantly reminded that whenever we walked into a patient’s room, we were an embodiment of the living Christ for the person who wanted to talk to us.

Though Ray Bradbury is not known for being a theologian, his quote below easily fits into what “church” is about. Church is not about dogma and rigid rules, but about what it means to be a people pouring out the great love we’ve been giving so that others who thirst might also drink from this cup of love.

“We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.”  ~Ray Bradbury

 

Who is me now? Well, I’m much the same, only more so. Who are you? Maybe you can say the same. There are many things that this pandemic cannot change no matter how we have to adapt. No matter who we are, we all belong to this G-d of love. Because of that connection to the vibrations of the love and breath of G-d, we are not only connected to each other (even with masks on), we are also connected to all living things.

“We ought to view ourselves with the same curiosity and openness with which we study a tree, a sky or a thought, because we too are linked to the entire universe.”  ~Henri Matisse

 

I started out this year wanting to write love letters to the world. I am behind because it is true that I too became discouraged during the pandemic. I thought I was on a path and now that path had changed. Yet, as I stay home and consider the options open to me, my heart lifts in rejoicing because everywhere I turn, there is love.

 

“What in your life is calling you, when all the noise is silenced, the meetings adjourned… the lists laid aside, and the wild iris blooms by itself in the dark forest… what still pulls on your soul?” ​ ~Rumi

 

 

 

 

 

 

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