The Time has Come

 "The time has come, the walrus said,  to compose a new entry ..........

So one of my art teachers says:  musicians practice scales and notes every day, painters too should practice - and so I am to sharpen my stick of charcoal , standing in front of my table top easel, inhale - then exhale as I draw a vertical line, sharpen again, repeat again - ad nauseum

writers too, should practice writing something each day

My day SHOULD be full - meditation practice, yoga practice, hula hoop practice, walking practice, drawing practice, breathing practice, eye exercise practice, writing practice

IS my day full of these things - of course not.  And you dear reader, has I am sure, noticed this.  Eons of time between entries prove my point.  Although I SHOULD be practicing almost everything I do - I do not.

Do you???

The Return of the Hummingbirds

 It is with much relief and unbridled joy that on a cold and foggy Saturday morning I saw the hummingbird at the feeder.

It is these birds, and the sunsets, that have sustained me over this last year and a half.  I faithfully clean out the feeder and fill it with nectar and hang it in the hibiscus tree every two weeks. My hibiscus tree does what a hibiscus tree does - it rests during winter and the glorious flowers return in June.  The humming bird/birds were there every day last year - hot days, rainy days, fog filled days, smoke clotted weeks - there they were, making their rrrrrrrrrr sound with their tiny wings.  NOT happy when I opened my door to greet them, but nevertheless, dipped their long narrow beaks time and again into the feeder.

In June this year the flowers reappeared.  At first just a few, way up in the tree, then the spent flowers fell onto the potted plants and cement below, and more flowers opened, lower down.  Every day I opened my door to greet the sun, or the fog, or the damp, but no hummingbirds.  Along with all the other losses this was the most hard to accept - where could they be? Did they succumb to climate change, to predators, were they caring for their young?  I spent a long time sitting on my deck gazing into the tree, looking for a flutter, listening for a peep - nothing.  At least a month or more, nothing.  I continued cleaning and replenishing the feeder, looking, hoping, ....... nothing.

And then - joy of joys I saw one Saturday morning. And now - every day since - there it is (or they are)m- dipping into the flowers and the feeder, irritated with me, 

As the world around continues to fall apart, my little birds are back.

JOY

Punch Drunk

Every morning brings a new message of suffering.  I am scared to look at my phone.

So much illness and suffering and loss. 

I am well aware of the teachings of the Buddha - 

"I am of the nature to have ill-health.

Ill-health is unavoidable.

I am of the nature to die.

Death is unavoidable.

All that is dear to me and everyone I

love are of the nature to change.

Separating from them is inevitable."

But does one need to be reminded every moment?  Apparently yes.  

So, ccccccrrrraaaaaazzzzzzyyyyyy circles, art, writing when able, knitting, and I even ventured into Berkeley Art Museum.  Quite a delightful experience.  

My apologies for not writing more often - in case anyone is following my posts, and even if not.