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    • We Are Stardust

      Serendipity lately seems to be taking me to the stars.  I dance with the stars often, as anyone who follows me can attest.  But the stars seem aligned (sorry) for me to write about them once again today.  It began with Ryan Holiday quoting the familiar phrase “we are stardust” in his exceptional book Stillness Is The Key.  That got me thinking about the Joni Mitchell song Woodstock (with apologies to Joni and CSNY, my favorite version is James Taylor singing it on the Howard Stern Show or if you prefer, in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony for Joni Mitchell)

      “We are stardust
      Billion year old carbon
      We are golden
      Caught in the devil’s bargain
      And we’ve got to get ourselves
      Back to the garden”
      – Joni Mitchell, Woodstock

      Heavy stuff when you think about it; we’re made up of stardust; billion year old carbon recycled into our present form.  Our bodies are made up of the timeless material of infinity.  And our thoughts are built on the timeless wisdom of the ages.  That makes us… timeless in a way, doesn’t it?  And one with the very universe around us.  Whoah.  But could this be true?  I believe so, but sought out validation with a Google search nonetheless (because isn’t that where the truth is?)  And I came across a Carl Sagan quote confirming that yes, we are indeed made up of star stuff:

      “We are a way for the universe to know itself. Some part of our being knows this is where we came from. We long to return. And we can, because the cosmos is also within us. We’re made of star stuff,” – Carl Sagan

      So this fascination with the stars is a longing to return? Maybe, but I think it’s more a feeling of solidarity with the infinite universe around me. A way for the universe to know itself… From the daffodils patiently biding their time in the sun to the stars I gaze up at light years away from that sun. To infinity and beyond, if you will. My reading finally brought me this morning to W.D. Auden (via Brain Pickings) and this stunning poem, included in its entirety because I just couldn’t help myself:

      “Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
      That, for all I care, I can go to hell,
      But on earth is the least
      We have to dread from man or beast.

      How should we like it were stars to burn
      With a passion for us, we could not return?
      If equal affection cannot be,
      Let the more loving one be me.

      Admirer as I think I am
      Of stars that do not give a damn,
      I cannot, now I see them, say
      I missed one terribly all day.

      Were all stars to disappear or die,
      I should learn to look at an empty sky
      And feel its total dark sublime,
      Though this may take me a little time.”
      – W.H. Auden, The More Loving One

      When the student is ready the teacher will appear.  I’m a ready student, looking up at the universe in wonder, and marveling at the bounty being returned to me by timeless teachers.  And isn’t that being truly alive, getting out of our own heads and dancing with this timeless wisdom?  We’re all stars dancing in the universe. Some brighter than others. Personally, I strive to be brighter still that I might offer more. If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me.

    • No Regrets

      “One regret, dear world,
      That I am determined not to have
      When I am lying on my deathbed
      Is that
      I did not kiss you enough.”
      – Hafiz, I Am Determined

      I read this Hafiz poem two ways. On the one hand is traditional love between two people and the lovely sentiment of wishing we’d had more time, love and kisses together. Invest in those you love now for its all impossibly brief. Time is relentlessly pulling us away from one another. What will you wish you’d done or said with your loved ones? There’s only today…

      Another way to read this poem is through the eyes of a traveler. Wanderlust draws me to faraway places. Will the world return to a state of relative normalcy that allows free travel? Will our lives as built offer future opportunities to explore the world? Will I lose the vigor necessary for the travel I seek before I’ve seen the world and all it offers? Time – again – is relentlessly pulling us away from one another. What will you wish you’d done or seen? Perhaps we don’t have today for travel but use this pandemic as a reminder that you may not get another chance and seize the opportunities that come your way.

      If we’re lucky we are sharing this time with our loved ones, if we invest it in them in between Zoom webinars and Microsoft Teams collaborations. Why waste this unique shared experience worrying about places you aren’t seeing in the world? Every day together is a gift, even when we’re all bursting to get outside again. Someday, maybe, we’ll be marveling at these days and how we got through it despite everything. Let us be in some faraway place together, laughing at the wonder of it all, and perhaps steal a kiss. Or maybe two?

    • RIP Bill Withers

      As if things weren’t challenging enough already in 2020, I heard we just lost Bill Withers to heart complications.  He brought reassurance and joy to the world, and especially now in these times he’ll be missed.  How can you not hear Lovely Day and not feel good about being alive?  How can you not hear Lean On Me and not feel that this too shall pass?  And so I reflect on four songs that everyone knows, or should know, from the great Bill Withers:

      Lean On Me
      Who hasn’t needed this song at least once or twice in their lives?  Yeah, that’s what I thought.

      “Sometimes in our lives we all have pain
      We all have sorrow
      But if we are wise
      We know that there’s always tomorrow

      Lean on me, when you’re not strong
      And I’ll be your friend
      I’ll help you carry on
      For it won’t be long
      ‘Til I’m gonna need
      Somebody to lean on”

      Use Me
      Sure, she’s abusing you, but it’s way too fun to say goodbye.

      “My brother sit me right down and he talked to me
      He told me that I ought not to let you just walk on me
      And I’m sure he meant well yeah but when our talk was through
      I said brother if you only knew you’d wish that you were in my shoes
      You just keep on using me until you use me up
      Until you use me up”
      Ain’t No Sunshine
      That certain someone has gone away, and man I’m in a dark place now.

      “Wonder this time where she’s gone
      Wonder if she’s gone to stay
      Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone
      And this house just ain’t no home
      Anytime she goes away”

      Lovely Day
      Pure joy, and a regular on my playlists, especially as the weather gets a bit warmer.  This is an automatic mood booster.

      “When I wake up in the morning, love
      And the sunlight hurts my eyes
      And something without warning, love
      Bears heavy on my mind

      Then I look at you
      And the world’s alright with me
      Just one look at you
      And I know it’s gonna be
      A lovely day”

       

    • Ulsce Beatha: Water of Life

      It’s a cold and rainy Friday morning in New England, and my thoughts turn to Scotland.  I spent a similarly wet day trying to be outdoors on Isle of Skye last November.  The goal all along in Scotland was for a generous mix of outdoor activities.  Plan B was to visit distilleries when Mother Nature turned her back on us.  And so it was that when the sky was full of cold water in Skye we went to Talisker.  We capped the trip with a very intentional visit to Speyside and the Glenfiddich and Balvenie Distilleries. We didn’t go to Scotland to drink our way around, but we made a point of visiting distilleries in each region we found ourselves in.  If castles and battle sites teach you the history of the place, distilleries teach you the entrepreneurial spirit and patience of the Scots.

      Two things you realize quickly when you’re on distillery tours is that you never have enough time to see all of them and it’s best to have a designated driver if you want to immerse yourselves in the process.  Alas, I was the designated driver and time wasn’t on our side to see everything.  But we managed three hours at Balvenie for a magical tour that I highly recommend.  Off-peak tours are especially enlightening as you have a little more elbow room and an opportunity to dwell in special places.

      The Gaelic Ulsce Beatha, pronounced “ish-ka ba-ha”, translates to “water of life”.  Similar to the Latin Aqua Vitae.  Whisky distilling began in Ireland, made its way to Scotland via Islay, where it was transformed into something else entirely.  There are plenty of differences between Irish Whisky and Scotch Whisky, but the primary difference is in the distillation process.  The Irish triple distill, the Scots double distill.  Mix in the raw ingredients and the essence of the land and you’ve got two very different spirits.  There’s magic in each of the spirits, should you choose to linger with them.  Lingering is the key, these aren’t meant to be slammed down like you’re on spring break in Cancun.  Honor the spirit or don’t dance with it.

      Tonight, on this rainy and raw day, I’ll dance a bit with the spirits.  Just enough to honor them without offending them.  A taste of the essence of Scotland, which draws my attention still.  Humanity is taking a bit of a hit at the moment and we’re all living with plan B, but there’s hope for brighter days should we get this right.  I’ll have a virtual toast this evening to your continued good health.  Slainte Mheh!

    • Here We Are

      Google maps is still helpfully telling me my car is parked 90 feet away. My car hasn’t moved since I went to restock the groceries Monday. But I appreciate the reminder of why someone wrote that code anyway. They were thinking of their normal – our collective normal – not this current abnormal.

      “Wherever you go there you are.” – Jon Cabot-Zin

      Here we all are. Collectively working through the latest normal like I’m working through this cup of coffee. Our lives are like a cup of coffee in the collective universe; insanely brief flashes of heat and water and a bit of flavorful energy transferring from one place to another. Is that enough? It depends on where you transfer that energy, doesn’t it?

      Mary Oliver wrote of Walt Whitman, “Clearly his idea of paradise was here—this hour and this place.” This hour, and this place, they’re all that matter. It’s the magic hour, wherever you are. What shall we do with it?

      “We are temporary visitors in this world; after we are educated, we are called to different places, and we pass away. But the general education of mankind goes on, very slowly but without interruption.” – Leo Tolstoy

      Maybe that’s the gist of it, we’re all individuals in the giant collective that marches on picking up wisdom and passing it on to the next individual. Timeless. The great conversation. Different voices in the infinite choir lending our song and trying our best to harmonize with the universe. A few bad apples singing a different tune along the way who ultimately get drowned out by the harmonies of the rest. Seems about right to me.

      Well, the coffee is finished and the mug is cooling back to room temperature. The magic hour is up. Thought I’d something more to say? The day calls once again: the next hour is at hand. We stack hours up like stepping stones, slowly climbing to wherever the time takes us. Where shall we go with the time that is left?

    • A Different Street

      Yesterday I wrote about streets in faraway places that I loved walking. Last night I took a quiet walk on the street I live on to get reacquainted with the night sounds of early spring. I marveled at how alive it was. Not Royal Mile or La Rambla alive (for only a few streets are, really) but small New Hampshire town alive.

      I’ve walked less at night than I once did when Bodhi was with us and eager to leave his evening mark on the world. The habit went with him when he passed. Habits die unceremoniously, one day you’re on track and the next something comes up and, well, there you are with time gone by and no momentum in the old flywheel. But last night the restlessness rattled the lid just enough to get me up and out.

      Walking out into darkness requires adjustment. Your eyes? Naturally, but also the rest of your body adapts to a new environment. I felt right away that perhaps the coat was a little too light, the gloves not quite heavy enough for a slow walk but adequate for a brisk walk. I set about briskly, taking note of aches and pains from moving the house back to order after yet another renovation project. If social isolation has done anything positive, it’s given me the time to finish a long list of somedays. On balance I’d rather have the world right side up but there you go; upstairs is almost like new.

      Glancing up, I’m startled by the brilliance of Venus. She’s been making a fuss for some time now but goodness I felt someone changed her bulbs to LED’s last night. She scolded me for not being outside more, and ignored my long list of excuses. Venus has heard every excuse you know… she turned her attention back to Orion as he slowly brought the hunt relentlessly westward and downward beyond the horizon, where all the dancers go eventually. He’ll be back tonight, we can only hope we will be too.

      My attention turned to the other night sounds. The Great Horned Owls were having a long conversation about dining options or what to name their first hatched or maybe “look who decided to get his ass back outside“, I don’t speak enough owl to know for sure. All I know is they were animated – passionate even. Owl talk faded as I walked on and other sounds took over. First were the peepers and their nightclub mating chorus. Then the train whistle from miles away, sounding much closer in the cold stillness of the night. And when the whistling stopped the metallic sound of wheels on tracks continued for the duration of my walk. Why hadn’t I heard the wheels before? What made the night so still? Pandemic of course. There simply aren’t other sounds filling in; no cars humming by, no motorcycles in the distance, no dogs barking in neighborhoods in between. Even the owls and peepers seemed to be quietly listening. Nothing but the train wheels, the cold night stillness and me.

      The coat didn’t feel too thin by then. Briskness warms, and my legs kept their pace as my mind lingered on the stillness of the night. My mind was clear again, and turned from night sounds to plot twists and character development. My mind chewed on making magic for many steps more and I finally turned up the driveway and turned out the lights, leaving the street a little more still. One last march to close out March. This street, like so many streets now, more still than usual as we turn the calendar to a new month. Like the train and the peepers and the owls, I’m looking forward and thinking of what’s next. Venus smiles down and recognizes the folly in it all.

    • These Streets

      I’m thinking back fondly on some of the streets I’ve walked along when being in close proximity to thousands of people seemed desirable. Someday we’ll walk amongst others again without unconsciously holding our breath or measuring out six feet of space in our heads. Here are six I look forward to visiting again someday should the travel gods smile favorably upon me:

      La Rambla in Barcelona
      If you want to see Gaudi, walk down the bustling Passeig de Gràcia or take a ride over to see La Sagrada Familia.  But if you want to avoid the roar of traffic and absorb the energy of Barcelona, walk down La Rambla, stop for tapas at one of the many restaurants and stroll off the calories on this pedestrian way.  I walked La Rambla in January with a light coat on and it was still fully alive.  I would love to visit in other seasons to see how it transforms when it’s really full.

      Duval Street in Key West
      Slip on your flip flops and stroll the full length of Duval Street during the day and try the same journey at night.  It’s jammed full of people determined to have a great time, and that’s easy to find on this street.  Start your morning at the Southernmost Point and cap the daylight hours at Mallory Square, just off Duval Street.  If you’re lucky maybe you’ll see a green flash.  When the sun sets return to Duval Street for some evening fun.  Like many people I found my way into Sloppy Joe’s a few times for live music with something to wash it down with.

      Broadway in Nashville
      Wander around the honky-tonks on the lower part of Broadway and you’ll fall in love with the energy of this city.  I was just there a few weeks ago, just as the world was flipping around into the new reality.  Timing is everything I guess.  A perfect time to visit would be during a normal SEC tournament or in the fall when the Tennessee Titans are playing just across the river.  Walk back after the game and soak up the live music poring out of every bar.  Walk up to a rooftop bar for a view of the city.  If you love live music this is the street for you.  Just make sure you’re over 21 to get into the honky-tonks.

      The Royal Mile in Edinburgh
      The Royal Mile is a walk in the footsteps of history.  Sure, that’s cliche, but it fits well on this street, or rather, these streets.  The Royal Mile is made up of High Street, Lawnmarket and finally Castlehill as you approach it’s namesake.  Edinburgh Castle commands the city as it has for centuries.  But a walk to the bottom of The Royal Mile has it’s own rewards with a visit to The Palace Of Holyroodhouse (open when the Queen isn’t in residence).  In between is plenty of touristy shopping, some very enjoyable side trips down the many Closes, each with their own personality.  Want to burn more of that haggis off?  Extend your walk with a hike to the summit of Arthur’s Seat and the 360 degree view of forever.  If you’re lucky you’ll catch a rainbow but avoid the source.

      Boylston Street in Boston
      There are plenty of famous streets in Boston, with Beacon Street, Lansdowne Street, Commonwealth Avenue and Newbury Street each offering something unique.  But Boylston Street has a special place in my heart one day every year, and that’s Patriot’s Day.  That’s the day when the Boston Marathon finishes on Boylston Street and Red Sox fans pour onto the street after the early game and Boylston Street comes alive with an incredible vibrancy that you look forward to all year.  This year won’t be the same with the pandemic postponing both the marathon and the start of the baseball season, but hopefully a year from now we’re talking about Patriot’s Day in Boston once again.

      George Street in St John’s, Newfoundland
      The shortest street on this list, George Street in St John’s is jammed full of bars.  This is a sailor’s town if I ever met one, and it’s highly likely most sailors have made their way onto George Street when they spend any time at all here.  I fell in love with St John’s during my one visit, and I still can’t believe I haven’t been back again since then.  Someday, maybe.  Just like all the rest of the streets on this list.

      The Royal Mile, Edinburgh

    • Instead

      This weekend the bluebirds came back. I needed that more than I realized.  It’s a small sign of brighter days ahead in the ebb and flow world of New England in March, like early crocuses or the green spear tips of daffodils breaking the ground.  We could use more signs of hope in this particularly stark news cycle we’re living in.  This too shall pass.

      “What can we do that matters instead?” – Seth Godin

      Godin posed this question in his blog today, and it lingers in my mind. Not the “What can we do that matters” part, but the “instead” part. Because that’s the real challenge in this question, isn’t it? We can all list the things that matter in life. But what are we doing instead of those things? Binge-watching Netflix or re-watching The Office again? What can we do that matters instead? Reading the bot or troll (aren’t they one and the same?) comments on somebody’s Twitter post? What can we do that matters instead? You get the idea.

      I read and write in the early morning because I have the focus to pluck a word like instead out of a question and linger with it for awhile. Soon the day will erupt into work and the new world order hustle of Zoom and conference calls. But the in between spaces offer an opportunity to build more meaningful connection with people that matter, to offer my own sign of brighter days ahead. My mind is turning over what matters instead. What a way to start a Monday.

      So in the clutter of the day I find myself in, starting extra-early this fine Monday, I’m looking for exceptional.  Not on my news feed or in the heroic deeds of medical personnel everywhere, but in myself.  Demanding a little more from myself instead.  What can I do that matters instead?  It seems a fair question. And an opportunity to answer it well.

    • Words

      “Words are flowing out
      Like endless rain into a paper cup
      They slither while they pass
      They slip away across the universe”
      – The Beatles, Across The Universe

      I was listening to John Lennon sing this song early this morning, well before the light caught up with me, on the noise-cancelling headphones I’d normally wear on a plane traveling to drown out the roar and the chatter.  At home during the magic hour when nobody else is up but me there is no roar and chatter, making the headphones a bit of overkill, but they still have a way of bringing you into the room with the artist singing to you.  And this morning I hung out with Lennon for a bit.

      I suppose I was inspired to revisit The Beatles and John in particular after re-watching the movie Yesterday, well, yesterday. But it was inevitable that I’d come back to them. They always come back to me, or maybe I return to them. It doesn’t matter which, really, just that it happens.  And I came back to Across The Universe just as I’ve been thinking about something I said a few days ago about writing.  It’s not an original thought, mind you, but I always write with it in mind.  Writing this blog is a catch and release for me.  I catch the words that the muse offers me and release them to the universe the same day.  It’s my way of practicing the art of writing every day, on an admittedly eclectic and wide-ranging mix of topics, and publishing it soon thereafter.  And now a few of you are reading it, a few more will find it someday, and the words slip away across the universe.

      I’ve visited The Beatles Museum in Liverpool, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, and the Country Music Hall of Fame, Patsy Cline and Johnny Cash Museums in Nashville within the last six months.  Each offers their own bit of magic and nostalgia, but for me nothing resonates like seeing the handwritten lyrics on some old note paper that an artist jotted down while dancing with the muse.  What once were words coming to mind for the artist became a song the world knows by heart, and that paper forever marks the moment ink met paper and captured the words.

      I know the world isn’t going to know by heart some clever phrase I believe I may capture and release in this blog, but I capture the words and release them anyway.  Someday I’ll be gone – say a long, long time from now, and the blog puts a few words out there in the universe that came through me.  Well, as long as I pay the annual fee anyway. I believe I just bought my words another year. So universe; there’s still time.

    • How Rarely We Mount

      “Our winged thoughts are turned to poultry.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walking

      When you dig deep into Thoreau’s work you mine these little gems. It’s his reward for sticking with him as he crams his every thought onto the page. Every great book gets richer and more meaningful when re-read a second or third time. Lately I’ve been revisiting some old classics even as the stack of new calls to me, offended at my slight. Everything has its time, I say of the stack and of myself too. Be patient, work hard, reach higher… keep flapping those wings. The pace of my progress rarely reaches the level of the grandness of my plans. We aim to soar, but sometimes we find ourselves stuck on the ground with all the other turkeys and chickens, pecking away at the ground. Do they have aspirations too?

      “We hug the earth—how rarely we mount! Methinks we might elevate ourselves a little more.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walking

      Writing every day, chipping away at it, means something to me. It’s the climb, the aspiration for higher ground, that both challenges and drives me. We all hug the earth – our daily routines and comfortable life and the assurance that this is enough. Nothing shakes up the normal like a global event, but shouldn’t we shake up our own snow globe once in a while just to see the magic that was just sitting there all along? How rarely we mount: Shouldn’t we use this tragic circumstance as a catalyst for more? Or shall we return, should this ever end, once again to poultry? Methinks we might elevate ourselves a little more.