Sometimes the momentous times are truly grand.

Lightning strikes, waves crash, the ground shakes beneath our feet.

We are transformed, and we know it instantly.

But sometimes, our morning coffee just tastes extra good.

A band is playing in the park.

A loved one greets us at the airport.

A rainbow appears after a storm.

Dear ones, may we be surrounded by miracles,

big and small. 

A joyful Easter to all who celebrate!

“The routine can be the ticket to the transcendent.”  – Andy Laats

The Age of Robots is before us, each prediction bolder than the last. 

Robots will build all of our stuff.

They will farm all of our land.

They will protect us from enemies.

They will bring minerals from space to earth.

They will tend to our children and elders.

Each time I hear a robo-philic proclamation, I hear my mom’s voice saying, just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.

Washing the dishes, I subconsciously hum a favorite tune. 

Waiting in line, I hear stories from my favorite people.

Weeding the garden, I notice the tiny creatures of the soil.

Walking to work, I witness the moon lingering in the morning sky.

Dear ones, regardless of robots,

we need not do ever more.

We could do ever better. 

Every good New Englander knows, when you start to slide – whether ice or mud or slippery rock – the key to survival is to ease up, regain your footing, and then proceed with caution, maybe by another route.

Oh, but it’s hard, when every fiber of your being is saying, squeeze tighter! Turn sharply! Faster!

It’s hard to be calm and curious when being turned upside-down.

But however unwelcome the spiral, dear ones,

we must trust and hope

in the new possibilities

on the other side of the spin.

In these Alice in Wonderland times, I have been trying to listen more to those whose life ways are tuned beyond a single news cycle. This has me turning often to the wisdom of Wendell Berry.

Dear friends, may we love someone who does not deserve it. May we plant sequoias. May we hear the faint chattering of the songs that are to come.

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

by Wendell Berry

 

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,

vacation with pay. Want more

of everything ready-made. Be afraid

to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.

Not even your future will be a mystery

any more. Your mind will be punched in a card

and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something

they will call you. When they want you

to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something

that won’t compute. Love the Lord.

Love the world. Work for nothing.

Take all that you have and be poor.

Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace

the flag. Hope to live in that free

republic for which it stands.

Give your approval to all you cannot

understand. Praise ignorance, for what man

has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.

Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.

Say that your main crop is the forest

that you did not plant,

that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested

when they have rotted into the mold.

Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus

that will build under the trees

every thousand years.

Listen to carrion — put your ear

close, and hear the faint chattering

of the songs that are to come.

Expect the end of the world. Laugh.

Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful

though you have considered all the facts.

So long as women do not go cheap

for power, please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy

a woman satisfied to bear a child?

Will this disturb the sleep

of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.

Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head

in her lap. Swear allegiance

to what is nighest your thoughts.

As soon as the generals and the politicos

can predict the motions of your mind,

lose it. Leave it as a sign

to mark the false trail, the way

you didn’t go. Be like the fox

who makes more tracks than necessary,

some in the wrong direction.

Practice resurrection

Photo: Inle Lake, Myanmar, 2014. 💙

When things are heavy, I tend to walk and walk and walk. Eventually, instead of being lost in thought, I am lost in feeling.

On lucky days, I get a little glimmer of knowing. And once in a blue moon, to bring the point home, there’s an added spark, like the two angel wing shells that washed up at my feet last week, one right after the other. 

Friends, there’s a quiet that sits beyond the buzzing.

From there, we can see clearly

and breathe deeply

and act from love over fear.