“I used to hike a lot through the woods, and I’d always take this girl with me,” said Longfellow Deeds (Gary Cooper) in Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, 1936, opposite Jean Arthur’s sneaky, conniving two-faced Mary. Enjoy the rest of Mr. Deeds’ romantic speech in this one-minute clip.
Going through some old folders, I found the original set of 2005 Moose Pond Moon photos in a surprise location. It included a scenery shot that I guess I had written off when the set was put where it belongs under photos/nature/moon. Turns out it was worth keeping.
[This post has only 706 words, chunks of it in music quotes, and a few minutes for one song performance.]
I don’t think it’s exquisite. It just has a way of holding my eye that doesn’t make sense. Maybe there’s something wrong with my eye.
When I remembered the moon in Harry Chapin’s song, Circle, I was glad to have him join the moon song hit parade with this salty-sweet sing-a–long.
“The end of all scribblement is to amuse,
and he certainly succeeds there.” –Lord Byron, Referring to Sir Walter Scott in a letter to Francis Hodgson, 1810
… even if I’m the only one amused
As I say, I blog for my entertainment.
In my Cadivus post, I quoted Natalie Goldberg’s book Wild Mind, where she advised writers to “sink into the big sky and write from there.” (PDF of the full excerpt.) In my layman’s rough terms, “big sky” refers to widened awareness and/or a Buddhistic meditation practice called “big sky mind.”
In context, I believe Goldberg is talking about unleashing oneself from the limitations of overly self-critical, self-confining, ego-based/fear-driven, creativity-stifling thinking. It may also be distorted thinking that is out of harmony with things as they are.
Like me, for instance (to a degree).
Note the subtitle of this blog, Scribblements from Balsamea. Maybe I should have called it Scribblements of Balsamea, referring not only to these words and pictures, but also to writing myself into Nature here, and herself into my little mind-body machine. Cadivus is the latest significant example of that reciprocal, wordless writing process. I’d like to talk about one of the early examples, a place in Balsamea that I named Aranyaka in 2006.
NATURE DOODLE at Aranyaka, 9/24/2007. Click to enlarge.
God is the experience of looking at a tree and saying, “Ah!” —Joseph Campbell
… for me, even a fallen tree.
If looking at a tree can be a divine experience, or something transcendent, then what may be revealed or experienced when you spend a few days intimately connecting with every part of a big fallen tree and everything on the ground surrounding it, including clearing away many other trees that it fell on, changing it to a playground shaped from what had been a big obstacle fallen onto and blockading an important trail? What does that intimacy reveal?
The wind snapped off this big white pine at a point where its trunk had divided and where it became infected with a fungus common among white pines. This “stump” will die and become a tall snag that will stand potentially for decades, and be a great resource to wildlife.
“Enchantment is the oldest form of medicine.” – C. G. Jung, as quoted by Meredith Sabini, Ed., The Earth Has a Soul; The Nature Writings of C.G. Jung, p. 4
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If you have trouble loading all the pictures and YouTube music videos in this post, it may be that there are just too many, and the picture files are too big. (They are big so that you can see them full-screen by clicking on them.) Try waiting a moment or refresh your browser (reload the page). Last ditch effort: clear your browser cache. I’m working on alternate approaches at this end.
HERE’S THAT MOON I NEVER PROMISED YOU. The Balsamean and the moon shattering in the clouds over Moose Pond, August 2005. Click for full screen view, as with all pictures in this article.
If you want to write a song about the heart Think about the moon before you start Because the heart will howl like a dog in the moonlight And the heart can explode like a pistol on a June night So if you want to write a song about the heart And its everlonging for a counterpart Na na na na na na Yeah yeah yeah Write a song about the moon
When you write a song about the moon, or dance with it alone in the peaceful beauty of night, your heart may have a counterpart right there. Mine does, and I thank the moon for never giving up on our blessed relationship, and for the fun of creating moonlit pictures, and its help engaging enchantment and fantasy for the health of my soul.
It’s what we have when we have nothing that defines our relation to nature and the effect of nature on the soul. Then we begin to realize that we do not exist outside of nature or above nature or independent of nature; we are simply its most vulnerable part. What we learn from nature may make the whole difference in the way we go through life, and what we want from it, and what we consider important in it, and—most of all—what we are capable of learning by being alive. —from Becoming Fully Human by Joan Chittister (Sheed & Ward)
(Click pics for full-screen views.) Views looking up under American Beech trees, abundant at Balsamea, fascinating in every season. See my post, The Junk Tree (Fagus grandifolia) for many more home-made pictures and discussion. Some foolish person called it a junk tree, not me. I’m not THAT foolish.
“What we learn from nature may make the whole difference in
… what we are capable of learning by being alive.” –JDC
Since they named this holiday for me, though people will be inclined to say to me, “Thank you for your service,” I want to say to them, “Thank you for my service.”
Naval Aircrewman Petty Officer 2nd Class Brandon Lanard, Helicopter Sea Combat Squadron HSC-22 of USS Wasp carries evacuee off an MH-60S Sea Hawk helicopter following landfall of Hurricane Maria on the island of Dominica. (As a former petty officer aboard two aircraft carriers, this picture strikes a particular chord in me. It is so nice to see the Navy used this way.)