When I walk lately, I have to remind myself to look carefully, to engage my camera-eye. In the past, images seem to have come to me unbidden, as though they were waiting to be captured. Often I’ve had my camera with me – a happy circumstance. Other times, without a way to record, I'd simply notice and enjoy.

But lately, it seems like I’ve not been seeing that way. Lately, I have to remind myself that this form of vision is important to me, that I want to engage with what I see and extract images, to excite my curiosity and wonder, to move my heart, to shape my life.

It's clear, then: life comes at me with a certain velocity and direction, which invites you in a particular direction. But you don't need to go only that way: you can pay attention to what you know you love and shift course to come closer to that. A worthy intention...

Blessings,

Marco

I'm surprised by the ways in which objects in the world grow. It isn't always linear or straightforward or tidy. Sometimes we can know but more usually, it's impossible to discern the circumstances that have led to a particular structure.

It may be easier to see this in the natural world (especially in beech trees, which seem to relish the layers and textures that their growth reflects and celebrates) but it happens in our lives, my life as well.

In winter's coming, I am seeing the ways in which seemingly chance decisions have echoed through my life and helped to sculpt the shape and structure of how I am today. It's curious and hard to explain, especially to younger folks. The structures, the patterns - easy or hard - become clearer to me even as they continue to have an impact on me.

Yet I have noticed that the more troublesome patterns also become more readily visible to me. With that, the opportunity to shift how I am, to act in my own self-interest becomes possible. That's the blessing!

Marco

We can feel the uncertain shift to cold, and perhaps we find ourselves a bit adrift with the transition, so uncertain. It is uneven, raw, confusing.How do we find a place of warmth, how do we move life toward that when the newness of winter looms, when comfortable patterns are disturbed?

Maybe what we need as winter builds is a secret place, mostly invisible and always warm, within.With such a place, we can sit with the debris of summer’s decline and welcome the memories it holds. We are free to move about and celebrate the darkness, knowing it is the next step toward the light.

Blessing for the return of the light.

Marc

I am sitting, quiet, unclear about what is coming next. Am I ever clear about that? Well, actually, no, not really. But sometimes it feels like the routine of my days will handle the next-ness of life, for a time at least. So the drab blessing of sameness sits beside me and I watch the trade-off of familiar for excitement. Common enough, I suspect. And that's how it has often gone, I say with decidedly mixed feelings.

But this is a new time for me and now it's different, now it feels a bit like each day is new, even if only in some small way. That sense of routine, of familiarity is gone, so the bumps feel bumpier. And the trade-off? Well that's not the same either - I am much more likely to notice the push and pull of events and actions without making assumptions about how they make me feel - something about staying present. 

What do I make of this? I know in my head that letting go of the familiar (or seeing in a new way) invites access to a world I've seldom seen before, and at least parts of it seem new.That's a big deal - moving beyond habit, beyond familiar. I'll watch it, quiet, and see where it leads.

Blessings

Marco

Supposing this image portrays what the full moon rising really looked like that evening. Are you surprised? I was. I hadn't realized or expected the dominance of blue in the image, not until I saw it in Lightroom. So, I'm sure I'll get asked - Is that color accurate? Is that what the rods and cones in my eyes actually transmitted to my brain as I breathed into the scene? Surely I don't know, I don't have a clue.

What I do know is the truth of the scene that feels inherent in this image - the mixture of darkness and light, the subtle distinction between moonlight and sunshine, the quiet of water, trees, hillside. It all somehow combined to plant a seed of a vision in my heart - so that what was there in that moment, what I saw and what my camera captured, it all becomes immaterial as I sit with what is in front of me in this moment.

It needn't be complicated; seeing is easy.

Blessings,

Marco

This pond: even though many people see it, drive by it, maybe even walk around it, and perhaps know it, it is still a secret.

How does that work? As usual, I'm not really sure. But here's what I think. Many people move through their days focused so intently on what's in front of them, they hardly see what's to the side or what's up or down. Yes, I know - being attentive to what's in front of us is a useful discipline since we are more likely to be present when we're attentive that way.

Still and all, it feels to me as though we spend plenty of time being focused and what I wonder is whether we would find more of the secret places were we to let go a bit more, strive less, take off our glasses, look at the world always around us with accidental eyes.

Now of course, I'm only wondering here - it could be a bit scary to disconnect from our life's structure in that way, or at least a bit disorienting (especially the glasses part). But it might be worth a try. My intuition says we'd find ourselves in a world that appeared more beautiful (and thus more hopeful) than what we can otherwise access.

I'll tell you what: I'll give it a shot and report back.

Blessings,

Marco

We walked our usual amble around the water, stopping at our usual places, looking for frogs or turtles or anything to help us remember our connection to something other than the urban haze. It is loud here in this almost-secluded spot. Surrounded by traffic and hurry, it would be easy to miss the jumble of the natural world that sits this close to us all the time.It would be easy to allow the tumult to grab our attention, rather than attending to what is in front of us.

So this meager pond, this forgotten refuge offers us an opportunity to find ourselves, replenish ourselves even in the face of the surrounding noise and grit. We can, if we choose, remember our connection to all living things. And, especially on this day, we can celebrate and mourn for the gains and losses well beyond our own, become part of a larger, blessed community that has always been possible.

Blessings

Marco

Yes, I do wonder - just now noticing that exactly no one has stopped to look at the blog posts since the last time I was here. A public journal? A record for some future internet archeologist? You'd think I'd have an answer. You'd be wrong.

OK - here's the best I can do by way of explanation. Perhaps I do this because I've done it, done it for so long that coming here and writing, selecting which image to highlight and what to say, all that has become a part of my internal process even though, while it started with the idea of being shared, it continues to soothe even without that.

There's always the chance that someone will read it, so I still play with the words with care, aiming to find my meaning in them and use as few as necessary, a sort of odd, frugal environmentalism.

I love that this image highlights a moment that is bleak yet suffused with reflections of glory. I could go on with that metaphor but I won't. I'll let you - assuming you show up - sort it out for yourself.

Blessings,

Marco

I want this image to be prettier, more meaningful, more important than it feels, in this moment, than it is. I want it to say something about chance encounters and the importance of places that don't even register in our awareness. I want it to sing to you, to evoke a deep recognition of your - our - connection to everything, no matter our judgment about its value, beauty, importance.

What a heavy burden to put on an image, any image. A still life of a forgotten, ignored place already starts with a handicap. It is hard to see any intrinsic importance in this, anything worthy of your attention. So why bother with this shot?

I've been asking myself this question a lot lately, especially as I notice the burden I put on my images. Indeed, why shoot anything? What is the frame of mind that can pick out something that resonates so strongly that it requires this sort of immortality? As I've been thinking about this more, I've found myself shooting less. And sometimes that less really is more.

Blessings,

Marco

Lately, I've been wanting to look at things I don't usually look at and aim to capture images I don't usually see. Like for instance, blue. Or green. For reasons I've not thought about and probably wouldn't understand if I had, I've decided I don't care for those colors - perhaps it's a left-over sixties earth-tone phase.Whatever the reason, how odd to limit the spectrum of what I will look at!

That's changing and that makes this a rich time. So much of what I see has been governed by my expectations, based on what I've seen before. Yet if every moment is new, why not aim to see it with eyes equally new? Enough limitations in life without inventing extra ones!

Today it feels like something is moving in my life, something that causes me to re-evaluate aspects of my life, so easily settled into a familiar routine. From changing the pictures hanging on my walls to clearing out visual clutter from the meditation room, lots of small changes. They begin to add up to an articulation of new possibilities. Or so it seems. Or so I hope.

It's part of a larger movement, in myself and perhaps in the world: increased attention to seeing clearly, feeling deeply, and living fully. As I enter my personal endgame, what could be more important?

Blessings

Marco

The day within me moves slowly, offering small moments of clarity amidst the confusion I often sit with. Why does what I see in front of me perplex me? Or maybe a better question is – why does that surprise or bother me? After all, did I think I understood it all? Hardly.

Yet I do have expectations of constant clarity, all the evidence of my decades to the contrary. Interesting - because I also know that I continually enjoy the obscure and the unexpected. Confusing...

I think what I want is the control that comes from me deciding when I am surrounded with paradox and when I just want to be delivered a simple straight answer. Yes, i know there's no such thing, that the more you look the more you see and that attracts complexity. So maybe that's why I'm always looking for the synthesis that doesn't oversimplify. Interesting insight, eh? I'll have to sit with that one...

There's something to be said for asking questions on a day of rest.

Blessings

Marco

All appearances to the contrary, I’ve spent much of my life close to the shore. I have been content to spend my days around that with which I have become familiar. And yet I notice that my illusion of control and understanding is fading.  

More and more it seems as though I left my glasses on the kitchen table: it's not that I can't see; I just can’t see clearly. I have to work harder to focus, I have to bring things closer to me to get what they are, what they mean, what to do with them. And the result: I notice what I might otherwise have missed. Ironic, eh?

So perhaps it’s no surprise that my intuition is tugging at my shirttail to get me to row out a bit deeper, to challenge the current and to trust what surrounds me and my ability to keep my balance. And the truth is that I’m doing that – slowly and not without lots of bumps; I’ve even capsized once or twice.

Still, it feels worth the discomfort, worth it for the opportunity to see the uncharted places – in the world and in my heart.

Blessings

Marco

Sometimes it feels like my life seems to have a life of its own, that I am simply observing myself moving through my days – making decisions, accepting consequences, and defining my time on the planet. Usually I feel connected to what’s happening, just not in control. Oh, I know that it’s the illusion of control and I understand the notion of being “the observer.” All well and good.

But I increasingly notice this lack of control I have over important things in my life. A tree limb falls on my car or a joint of my finger is dislocated, and all of a sudden I’m focused on the implications of these events – be it money, work time, or comfort. Whatever else may have been on my to-do list gets bumped down a notch. Is it happening more now? Or am I just noticing it more?

Even when I can maintain equanimity, it is an on-going challenge for me to remember – and to be comfortable with –  how little control I have in my life. And yet, it’s a basic reality. Life moves in unpredictable ways and my expectations don't necessarily converge with what actually happens.

Saying that helps; I feel better now.

Marco

Come join in the procession, the long line of humans who have walked through this place and who still come for as many reasons as there are people. Come, truly notice this place of memory and sorrow and reflection. Remember that It need not be frozen, you know. This place can reflect the same fluid world we inhabit, can offer the same mix of sensations and emotions.

This is usually a place of quiet moments that  reflects back to us what we bring to it. But for a moment, just suppose there are dancers here, gently among the monuments and markers - humans, animals, plants, all dancing. Hold that image. This place could be a sanctuary for laughter and celebration as well as quiet connection. And why not? This place is filled with the murmur of lives beyond counting and no matter why we've come here, we can find a thought or color or texture or feeling to celebrate.

Remember the joy of peace.

Marc

The spring snow is sifting through the slowly emerging sunlight. It gives me hope. This belated touch of darkness served to remind me how soon it will go, leaving nothing but true snow drops after it passes us.

When it snows in April, I can afford to be gracious about it: I know it will quickly fade. That's sensible, yes. Still, it's far too easy for me to fall back into December, when what sits in front of me would mean something far different.

So the challenge is to separate history's recordings from today's reality, to move beyond the way we historically see and have seen to find new, truer eyes. Many practices point us toward this: I am learning that so many disciplines of heart and head and spirit overlap and, if we are careful, can create a joyful synergy. That's what I want!

Blessings,

Marco

Blessed be this encounter with the on-going mystery of living, this that I take for granted and forget to notice, much less bless. By what logic would I expect that some foul bubbling up of oozing mud-strong life could lead to anything as unlikely and as certain and solid and beautiful as human bodies?

The lesson, beyond the obvous benefits of noticing, is to learn to remain sufficiently conscious so that our life becomes a way to celebrate our connection to this commonplace miracle.

What I see with increasing clarity is the centrality of staying connected, how that leads to building the presence of heart in every aspect of my life, how it can shift me from impatience to quiet wonder. lt's not that far when you're all there!

Blessings

Marco

I think of myself as an honest person, someone who values speaking the truth and doesn’t shy away from owning his mistakes. It is true that I sometimes exaggerate and I can spin a story or a situation in the direction that best serves my interests at the moment. Not uncommon, I suppose, and not sufficient to change the basic story.

There is another form of honesty that has to do with whether or not I choose to show my true self to others. I notice, for example, that these entries are sometimes opaque – designed, perhaps, to be obscure rather than to speak directly and clearly. Now, I’m not meaning to be too critical of myself here. It's a way to protect myself and that's fine. I just observe that if I’m going to continue to write these entries with my original intention - to write from my heart as a way to connect with myself and others - it serves me to be as clear as I can.

I suppose there’s a limit to how much of myself I am willing to expose (even though I suspect that my sharing here reaches a limited audience) and that’s exactly fine. What I want, though, is to decide what I’m game to share and share that much with language that speaks to me and those who care to track this on-going exercise in making the internal visible.

Blessings

Marco

 

As we walk our way back toward our increasing and blessed sun, my heart is full, my shoulders relaxing. It is as though I had forgotten that this frozen time would eventually end! It can often be that way – what sits in front of me at this moment will always be there, no matter what I may think I know about change and cycles.

And not only that: it is easy for me to get confused about that coming shift, to assume that the coming time of light speaks only of planetary movement and the physical world.

So as easy as it is to lose my way, let me stop for a moment to remember that the warmth I look forward to in my days and nights is waiting for me right now. It is there, all the time and always, even though I can’t see it - or forget to look.

Today, this day, I am not confused. I claim the blessing of my heart and know that the warmth that sits within me is available if I just take this very moment in my hands and caress it with attention, compassion, love.

Blessings

Marco

This writing, this posting - I wonder why I've kept at it for years... I've been combining images and words in this blog for so long, sometimes I can't recall why I started doing it, much less why I keep going. It is such a hybrid form I've created for myself: shouldn't each element stand on its own, words without images, images without words? Sometimes I wonder.

Yet it doesn't seem to work that way for me - I am drawn to both forms. From here, they feel like two sets of pieces for a larger puzzle. It encompasses words, images, sounds, smells, tastes, and those senses for which I have no words.

On a small level, this is my contribution, my attempt to make sense of what sits in front of and inside me. I can notice my own voice as I work my way through these entries. It makes me more real to myself. Odd that, I suppose. I hope you find some value you, too.

Blessings

Marco

I haven’t found the right words yet. Perhaps I never will (although not from lack of trying). And it probably doesn’t matter. After all, it’s not really about language.Still, I am drawn to try.

This emerging presence is an everyday occurrence, nothing unusual, common – and at the same time, it is a miracle. There is so much here that calls out to me to be noticed. Objects seem to embody feelings and they are worthy of my attention, of special moments of reflection and affirmation. Indeed, these common miracles require that.

There is a grace I often miss by moving too quickly; there is a possibility of transcendence that responds to the balance of a moment. I feel it in this blossom, emerging into visibility; the interplay of light and color remind me somehow of being alive and connected. In this bleak time, it's a welcome reminder.

Blessings,

Marco

 

Do I see some benefit in being opaque? I seem to have cultivated a style of writing that echoes my images - difficult to read sometimes and especially when they portray simple, common subjects. Yet it's not a matter of being obscure but rather that I tend to take the longer way around. It's always seemed more interesting and ultimately it provides me with more insight. Perhaps it's a bit perverse but there you go.

What I like about this image (remember when that was the sole point of this blog?) is the way it reflects what holds our world together. The composite of rough concrete and a touch of granite bring the urban world into focus, perhaps more fully than my forays into urban/natural decay would suggest. Yet when I separate this from the nearby storm drain and dead snow, I can see this composite more clearly, see it for what it is or what I have allowed it to become.

That's really why I bother.

Blessings,

Marco

There is little reason for surprise, virtually none truly. That it will be cold when the days get short in December - how can we not know that? Yet it comes as a shock for me, espcially this year. Making the transition into this chill season is always a slow, passage, and this year it has the attributes of an awakening.

Is it like this each year, remembering how to prepare for what the season holds? Perhaps it is. Yet this year, I take comfort in noticing the transition (the season's? mine?) with greater focus on nuance. Paying attention, I can see the time and the place where where the shift is made manifest. It is delicate, with each side reflecting some of the qualities of the other, the transition still in progress. And it is my chance to learn something about both - what they share even in the presence of their differences.

Could this be my practice for this time, paying attention to what distinguishes a moment, a thought, a feeling from another?  Sitting, breathing, following the quality of the light into a deeper connection to the shift. Let's see.

Blessings,

Marco

Often when I start to write, I am overtaken by a slight sorrow, as though I've trained myself that in order to connect with my heart, deep inside, it helps me to be sad. Yet, since my current life's intention is to cultivate joy, this is hard for me to understand. As with much going on for me right now, I don't get it.

A thought came to me today as this sensation gently tapped on my awareness: perhaps I am misinterpreting it. After all, it's not as though heart signals are clear, not for me and not all the time at least. So without too much reflection, I decide upon the meaning of what I feel. Hum, interesting... Implulsive intuition?

If I'm going to trust my intuition, perhaps a bit more focus and attention would be helpful. Sit with it. Maybe that feeling indicates something else. It would be novel to go beyond that seeming sorrow to notice more deeply. The ripples and reflections of what confronts me add to this sense of internal disorientation - this is new work, new perspective. And with some effort, I can shift to that most hopeful of places, curiosity. That would be an elegant way to continue my exploration.

Make sense?

Marc