When I woke up this morning and went out to let the duck and chickens into the run and get the paper, a poem almost came to me. I remember when I did, in fact, take the time to stop and write when this happened and it was so wonderful and mysterious and frustrating and all of the emotions. But what I was thinking about was that it seems to me that as I grow older I am more and more satisfied with being outside. That it becomes increasingly important and absolutely necessary for me.
And that perhaps, just perhaps, this is because as I grow older death becomes more of a reality than a less-than concrete possibility and I can almost feel the need to merge now with nature, to really know my place in it and all of the cycles of all of the living things within it.
The phrase which came to my mind as I walked out into this beautiful day where the trees led my eyes to the sky and I could feel the life all around me, churning and growing and breathing and dying was, "I am practicing the Buddhist art of disappearing."
Which makes no sense. I seriously doubt that Buddha espoused disappearing although what do I know?
And that is true. I don't know much and the older I get, the less I understand the ways of men and women but the ways of nature may sometimes be incredibly baffling and mysterious but the cycle of it all, that death and rebirth, that response to air and to sun and to water- these things are more and more clear to me daily and I can positively feel that the hurricane lilies are about to shoot up and I look for the camellia buds and there they are, beginning to swell for this winter's opening and I know it is almost time to get the garden ready for greens and onions and carrots. I feel these things in my blood and they are real. I know them and I see the way the light falls, shadow and shade, I feel the way the air feels, I hear the way the crickets chirp, I can see the way the fungus and ferns take the downed branches and trees back to dirt and when it rains, I can smell the clean, good rot of it and it smells like renewal as well as death.
Nature doesn't waste much.
Nor do I believe it will waste me either. Not in flesh matter or soul matter. I see the fact of that all around me, I take great comfort.
Lon and Lis left this morning and yes, I did cry. These people have been a part of my life for so long now. I remember they were here when Katrina was heading towards New Orleans and Lon said, "New Orleans is not going to be all right."
They were with us when Princess Diana died and I was with them when the Twin Towers fell. Weddings and births and deaths- we have been through all of these together. These are the big events, or at least some of them that we have shared but oh- the small ones!
The giggles until we are breathless. The rides to the coast in the convertible. The music, the food made and taken together, the toasts, the jokes, the smiles and the tears. They know me and they love me. I know them and I love them. We understand each other.
I asked my husband this morning when I talked to him on the phone if we could marry them.
He said we could.
I tear up and smile at the same time, thinking of that.
I do not want to disappear entirely. Eventually, it will appear that I have, as it will for all of us.
And even as I begin to merge more and more with the natural cycle of it all, I do still feel rooted by the love I have for people. My husband, my children and my grandchildren.
The people who I love and am loved by.
Not just rooted but made visible.
This is some of what I wanted to write in a poem but poetry takes a fine blade and a sharp one and right now it seems as if my blade, though serviceable, is a bit clumsy and dull.
Still, I use it. The knife I have.
Hello. How are you? I am glad you are here, part of it all. Not just for me, but for this entire universe. Go outside today, if you can and take a moment to feel your place in it all. It's there. I promise. And it is splendid.
All love...Ms. Moon