Moving one row over in a cubicle-style office set-up may not be the most drastic change of scenery, but my view has shifted enough to now encompass this beautiful outlook on the Hudson River. It’s a rather lovely vantage point, especially in the morning when I’m in early enough to see the sun rise. At a time when the days seem to move more quickly, I need to remind myself to slow down and take sights like this in whenever they come to light.
“In every change, in every falling leaf there is some pain, some beauty. And that’s the way new leaves grow.†―
What glory this fall has brought to fruition! Here is the scarlet leaf of a Japanese maple as seen through the dappled afternoon light. This has been one of the most beautiful falls we’ve had by far, and I’m enjoying the sun and warmth at a point when grey chilly days are typically the norm. To that end, I’m keeping this post short and sweet so we can all go outside and take it in before it goes away until the spring. Now go!
In the past, I was extremely susceptible to moon mood swings. Back then, I didn’t even realize it – I’d just be more prone to fights and arguments and getting my Tom Ford boxer briefs in a twist. In more recent years, I’ve become aware of these moods, and they do tend to coincide with the moon or Mercury in retrograde. Friends have noticed it too – not just in me, but in the way the world tilts slightly askew in those periods. Whether or not there’s anything to it, I find it better to be a little more careful at such times – more of a precautionary method of living than any actual stronghold of evidentiary astrology.
We’re finished with Mercury in retrograde until the end of January 2021, so there’s that. Mars is in retrograde until November 13. And there are a few full moons before the year ends. Will it be messy? Of course. Life is messy. But there will be magic as well. The moon is magical. The stars are enchanting. The planets are filled with mystery. There is beauty and a sense of perspective we rarely consider or contemplate in an average day when one truly pauses to think about the vast expansive size and scope of the universe. It’s humbling. It’s frightening. It’s startling.
I once had an Astronomy Professor who taught me about more than just the Arms of Orion. He was a bearded, unkept, and questionably-dressed guy in his 60’s. He always looked slightly odiferous, though I was far too scared to get close enough to confirm. His style was very adamantly a blend of the threadbare and practical meeting a heavy dose of I-don’t-give-a-fuck. In those supremely self-righteous college years, I thought he was giving away some of his respect by coming to class so poorly attired. As our class progressed, however, and I watched his wonder and awe whenever he tried to impart the immensity of the universe, I realized it was he who had his priorities in order, while my silly superficial structuring of the world was built on the flimsiest of spectral glamour. In all his years of studying the worlds beyond our world, he understood that the clothes we wore were not important in the face of such vast space.
The idea of how small we all were, how our lives were so minuscule when viewed even from the relatively-nearby distance of the moon, and even more so from the edge of our singular solar system. Expand your mind to encompass that our solar system is one of many, and that those solar systems expand so far beyond that it’s almost unfathomable. When that took hold in my mind, when the notion fully hit me in all its terrifying form, it altered the core of my being, and so shaken was I that I immediately backed away from it, sealing it off instantly. I felt a profound and debilitating horror of how little I mattered in the grand scheme of the universe – how small and insignificant we all were. That’s not something you can carry through the daily requirements of simple existence and keep going. I understood that.
But every once in a while, when the moon glows just so, and the planets align to dot the night sky, I am reminded of that feeling, of the helplessness in the gaping face of immensity. And then I close it off again. To keep going. To find peace in the moon and the sky. To get through another day.
Holding onto its splendor, this is the second week of November, still gracing us with such fine color and ferocity and a few days of absolutely exquisite sunny weather. It’s almost as if God is really, really happy about something. Save the fire and brimstone for another day… on with the weekly recap.
Hope remains while all the company is true.
Inspired by the Backstreet Boys.
Hunks of the Day included Mustafa Ali, Johnny Flynn, Steve Kornacki, and Ritchie Torres.
Existing simultaneously in Boston and Albany in the fall of 2000, I was going back and forth between both cities as I began my courtship and dating of Andy. It was a wonderful time in most ways. I was also extremely young. Twenty-five is still young, and seems even more-so at my current age. Because of that I was still making mistakes and finding my way, discovering who I was and who I wanted to be. Sometimes, more importantly, I found out who I didn’t want to be. In such dizzying times, in perhaps the last period of innocence of a pre-9/11 world, and in my last days of any semblance of youth, I found a mirror in a Backstreet Boys song. Back in 2000, that was the extent of drama and import, and I adored the carefree frivolity of such an atmosphere.
BABY, PLEASE TRY TO FORGIVE ME
STAY HERE DON’T PUT OUT THE GLOW
HOLD ME NOW DON’T BOTHER
IF EVERY MINUTE IT MAKES ME WEAKER
YOU CAN SAVE ME FROM THE MAN THAT I’VE BECOME, OH YEAH
Lately some of my musical posts have been fraught with serious and somber sentiment, but in the majority of daily life, I tend to listen to lighthearted pop music. Raised and formed on a steady diet of Madonna, Michael, Janet and Prince, I continue to have an affection for 80’s bubblegum dance-pop. A killer melody and a diabolical hook get me every time. The cheesiness of a cute cadre of boy band members who know how to harmonize and move in tandem works well too. At the turn of the millennium, my tastes turned to Britney and the Backstreet Boys, even as I was aging out of their key and desired demographic. (Yes, I even had a Backstreet Boys day calendar.)
LOOKING BACK ON THE THINGS I’VE DONE
I WAS TRYING TO BE SOMEONE
I PLAYED MY PART, KEPT YOU IN THE DARK
NOW LET ME SHOW YOU THE SHAPE OF MY HEART
As silly and trifling as the boy bands were, some of their songs stand up to the test of time, as any powerful pop song will do. Vessels of personality and voice come and go – the music remains. As for the Backstreet Boys, the song they released in October of 2000 was something that spoke to me on a number of levels.
SADNESS IS BEAUTIFUL, LONELINESS THAT’S TRAGIC
SO HELP ME I CAN’T WIN THIS WAR, OH NO
TOUCH ME NOW, DON’T BOTHER
IF EVERY SECOND IT MAKES ME WEAKER
YOU CAN SAVE ME FROM THE MAN I’VE BECOME
A decent pop song speaks both simply and deeply. It can be read on a surface level, and if it stays there, that’s enough for the essence of pop, especially if the music is frothy enough. Ear worms and aural candy and all that lovely stuff. But when the lyrics grow a little more serious, when they can come to mean more than they might upon first listen, then something more magnificent happens. At such times, a pop song transcends its typical limitations. When that crosses at a particularly exciting or meaningful moment in one’s life, a sonic memory is forged.
LOOKING BACK ON THE THINGS I’VE DONE
I WAS TRYING TO BE SOMEONE
I PLAYED MY PART, KEPT YOU IN THE DARK
NOW LET ME SHOW YOU THE SHAPE OF MY HEART
I’M HERE WITH MY CONFESSION
GOT NOTHING TO HIDE NO MORE
I DON’T KNOW WHERE TO START
BUT TO SHOW YOU THE SHAPE OF MY HEART
Back at the tender age of twenty-five, part of me wanted glory. And part of me understood that the glory I sought wasn’t in fame or fortune, but in the family and friends I was culling and curating – a chosen family of sorts, and one that centered around a man named Andy. I wanted to be someone, but mostly I wanted to be someone who mattered to the people who mattered most to me. That’s still the case. And so this silly little pop song remains true.
LOOKING BACK ON THE THINGS I’VE DONE
I WAS TRYING TO BE SOMEONE
I PLAYED MY PART, KEPT YOU IN THE DARK
NOW LET ME SHOW YOU THE SHAPE OF MY HEART
LOOKING BACK ON THE THINGS I’VE DONE
I WAS TRYING TO BE SOMEONE
I PLAYED MY PART, KEPT YOU IN THE DARK
NOW LET ME SHOW YOU THE SHAPE OF
SHOW YOU THE SHAPE OF MY HEART
Worry and tension bleed into and out of sleepless nights. A nagging fear seeps into the joy of the morning. Mercury moves out of retrograde while Mars remains. A full Blue Moon comes and goes. Tales of strife and woe carry on the wind, whispers of agitated citizens sound from the television, and the general but ever-increasing malaise of the world creeps with insidious and sinister intent into our most hallowed moments. There are perilous times. Tumultuous times. And the year isn’t quite done yet.
I’ve been trying to do what I would normally do in times of stress: seek out beauty and calm, in art and literature and nature, all from the brightest spot in our home – the living room. It’s become the place where the mind can travel, with books of art exhibits we never got to see in person, plants from the four corners of the world, and a cozy conversation couch that is mostly shrouded in silence these days. I don’t mind the quiet, though, and it is here that I have crafted a space to see us through the coming fall and winter in a place of peace and repose.
This is the room where I meditate, sitting lotus-style on the little rug in the middle of it all. It’s also the room where I read, or simply sit to ponder the passing of a day, or the pause before bed in the evening. It goes through its own seasons in the span of twenty-four hours, from the dim gray stillness of dawn through the sunny brilliance of noon, to the hushed, softly-lit tenderness of night. My favorite time may be the late morning, when these photos were taken, as the sun pours in even on certain clear winter days, reminding us there is still light in the world.
When the election results for that FUBAR state of affairs known as Florida started coming in and it was clear no landslide of the American people doing what was right was in sight, I walked out of the room leaving Andy to fend off his mood and the increasingly disappointing news. I’d never had much faith in this country doing the right thing on a mass level. We are too racist, too selfish, too entitled, too hate-filled, and too deceitful to be anything better than a divided country right now. America has revealed itself, and it’s not beautiful. At such times, and especially during this disastrous year, my method of withdrawing and retreating from a world too dark to contemplate involved a meditation session and a mindfulness practice.
Turning off the classical music station that was playing in the living room, I took my habitual seat on the floor in the lotus position and lit the end of a Palo Santo stick, blowing out the glowing flame after a minute and letting the smoke surround me. An egg-shaped piece of rose quartz nestled in my hand. Cool and smooth at first, it would eventually take in my warmth. That was something I noticed more in this session: the warmth.
The chilly day that began with an early hour’s wait in line to vote ended with this chilly night, and I’d pulled a fluffy lavender robe around my shoulders before I sat down to begin. As my meditation went on and my breathing deepened, I blocked out the world and the worry until only good intentions and healing thoughts were present in my mind. My body shook off the chill, gradually gaining in warmth until the rose quartz in my hand seemed to emit its own heat, and I had to pull the robe from my shoulders. Despite the calm and deepness of my breath, my body had warmed itself beyond the need for extra layers. I’d noticed this warming phenomenon slightly before, in the way that I would occasionally wonder whether my sock-clad feet would be cold as I sat on the floor on fall and winter nights, only to feel perfectly comfortable, if not a little heated, by the end of a meditation.
When the twenty-six minutes were up, my mind was surprisingly calm. The way the election was going in Florida wasn’t surprising to me. When you spend all of your formative years and the bulk of your adult years being implicitly told you are less-than because of your sexual orientation or the bi-racial make-up of your ethnicity, and when you were only legally allowed to marry the man you’ve loved ten years after you met him, you tend to not have much faith in humanity. You realize early on you can’t trust that people will be fair and do the right thing, even if it has no bearing on their lives.
We saw that again in the numbers this week. It didn’t surprise me in the least. It saddened and disappointed me greatly, and my heart aches for what our country and our world has become, but it was not surprising. And so I did my meditation, in my favorite room of the house, breathing slowly and calmly, in and out, and when it was over I didn’t return to watching the results, but rather walked mindfully into the bathroom. I lit a candle and took a hot shower, extending the mindfulness, extending the calm, and leaning into the deliberate slowing of the day to recognize the simple sensations of life.
Then I tried something that I’d always thought foolish to do, a practice that some teachers of mindfulness encourage, whereby you initiate a thought or emotion by manifesting the physical results first – in this case a smile. The idea is that if you execute the physical manifestation of happiness and joy, it will in fact elicit such an emotion – a sort of reversal of how we expect things to work. And so I smiled. And then I laughed at the ridiculousness of it. And there, in the glow of a candle on an otherwise-dim night, came a spark of joy.
And a little bit of hope…
“I will not give you counsel, saying do this, or do that. For not in doing or contriving, nor in choosing between this course and another, can I avail; but only in knowing what was and is, and in part also what shall be. But this I will say to you: your Quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all. Yet hope remains while all the Company is true.” ~ J.R.R. Tolkien, ‘The Fellowship of the Ring’
There’s basically been a line at Trader Joe’s since March. (The one time I passed by and there wasn’t one, I did a U-turn on Wolf Road and screeched into the parking lot to get some Sweet, Savory & Tart Trail Mix, but aside from that there’s always been a line.) With that in mind, coupled with a needed dose of friendship and fun, I called upon Skip to see if he was game for waiting in the line and then grabbing a bite to eat afterward.
Of course as he pulled into the parking lot next to me and we made our way toward the entrance, there was no line whatsoever. I located the necessary trail mix, some spicy nuts, salsa verde, and a bottle of pickled jalapeno slices. Sadly, there was no Kringle to be found ~ sorry Betsy. Skip is apparently a regular at the place, directing me to where everything was kept ~ alas, there was no more butternut squash mac and cheese left either (Skip bought a dozen the last time he was there which is why the rest of us can’t have nice things).
The grocery shopping done for the day, we ventured into Colonie Center for the first time in months. It was an apocalyptic scene ~ stores were all open, but no one was in them. In some places there weren’t even salespeople to be found. It was disheartening and somewhat upsetting, and Skip mentioned this whole shopping scene was likely on the way out. Walking through the empty mall and its empty stores, I felt a profound demarcation of time. The world had shifted dramatically in the past few months. Friendships remained true, but time was passing. A way of life seemed to be passing too. As we traversed the disturbingly empty caverns of Macy’s, and its suits and shoes and sweater vests, we both kept bringing up the idea that there was nothing to dress for anymore. Remote work and learning rendered anything below the chest all but obsolete, and a tie felt foolish to bother with at this point. Even if we miraculously returned to normal tomorrow and this all turned out to be a bad dream, I felt profoundly changed, and the importance of fashion and clothing were suddenly seen as relatively minor, if they counted for anything at all.
We made our way to the bookstore. It was early but the mall was already closing. Lights blinked off as we looked at games and I sought out advice on gifts for the twins. An attempted glimpse at what was what normal revealed to us that everything had altered, to the point where we both were slightly shook by the transformation. A new world was upon us, and I was glad that Skip was there to bear witness to it as well. The company was indeed true.
“We should not be held back from pursuing our full talents, from contributing what we could contribute to the society, because we fit into a certain mould ― because we belong to a group that historically has been the object of discrimination.†― Ruth Bader Ginsburg
“I think unconscious bias is one of the hardest things to get at. My favorite example is the symphony orchestra. When I was growing up, there were no women in orchestras. Auditioners thought they could tell the difference between a woman playing and a man. Some intelligent person devised a simple solution: Drop a curtain between the auditioners and the people trying out. And, lo and behold, women began to get jobs in symphony orchestras.†– Ruth Bader Ginsburg
“Work for what you believe in, but pick your battles, and don’t burn your bridges. Don’t be afraid to take charge, think about what you want, then do the work, but then enjoy what makes you happy, bring along your crew, have a sense of humor.†– Ruth Bader Ginsburg
Here we are in November, on the cusp of an election that has the world on edge because we can no longer trust that justice, truth, and democracy will prevail, and my nerves are so frayed that I’m not quite sure what to do. Mere meditation is helpful, but it’s not everything, and with weighty matters like this up in the air, its beneficial effects last for just so long. Sadly, aside from voting, there’s not much I can do, and my brain has to catch up to my heart to ease that worry and tension. There is only so much one person can control, and it’s often even less than we’d like to think. And so, in these tumultuous times of danger and uncertainty, I will do my best to close my curtains to the outside world of negativity and doubt, of anger and ignorance, of uncertainty and disagreement – my focus will be on beauty and peace, on the simple haven within my own heart and home. On with the last days of October 2020…
One year of not drinking alcohol.
My meditation expanded to 26 minutes just in time.
Anecdotes of goblins and great men.
A woodland walk when the veil is thinnest: Part One.
A woodland walk: Part Two.
And a woodland walk: Part Three.
Words of the late hero Elijah Cummings.
Hunks of the Day included Devon Sawa and Luke James.
Milkweed is a wondrous native plant, providing food and sustenance most notably for the Monarch Butterfly (in its striped caterpillar form). Its handsome foliage – fresh and green with just a tint of gray to its underside – stays robust and stalwart (with the possible sacrificial leaves for the caterpillars) and pendulous soft pink blooms (favorites of butterflies and bees) makes it the perfect plant for blurring the lines between wilderness and cultivation. No surprise that the showier Butterfly Weed is a close relative (and its blooms are equally adored by the aforementioned visitors).
Most wondrous of all may be the seed pods, which are magnificently architectural before and after dispersal. Here they are caught in the act of launching, each silky umbrel ready to take flight on the flimsiest of breezes, seeking out some nook of earth in which to spend the winter mulling over the next stage of its journey.
“Surely happiness is reflective, like the light of heaven; and every countenance, bright with smiles, and glowing with innocent enjoyment, is a mirror transmitting to others the rays of a supreme and ever-shining benevolence.” ~ Washington Irving
I like that sentiment – that happiness is reflective, mirroring its effects and joy to those all around us. Far too often, I take a cynical view on life, and when you’ve been disappointed and let down by humanity that’s to be somewhat expected. However, I’m also a believer in setting the tone for your life, and your day, and the power of intention most definitely has an effect on all sorts of manifestations. With that in mind, let’s begin the month of November on such a note of hope, and a note of beauty, as captured in these sky shots from a few days ago when the moon was almost full and the clouds reflected the setting sun in such pretty fashion.
Be the beauty as it may, November does not enter in completely peaceful form. Last night we had a full Blue Moon, Mars is in retrograde until November 13, and Mercury is in retrograde until November 3. I’m attributing these astrological dynamics to Andy’s variable moods of late, and the general uneasiness and insanity of these past few weeks. I’ve been hanging onto the minutes of my daily meditation to keep me as calm as possible, but with election day coming up and all the ensuing mayhem likely to erupt, I may have to take more drastic measures.
There now, I’ve gone and given in to the malady of pessimism when the whole point of this post was to enter a new month on a note of hopefulness and positivity. And so we take that turn upward, we leave behind the moods of madness and melancholy and turn to places of repose and peace. That is something over which I have complete control – not the actions of others or the failures of humanity at large – only myself and my processing of events. Leave others to get bogged down in the muck of their making; freed from those binding traps, I shall make my own way, and it will be a happier journey because of it. And so we say hello to November ~ I will ride your chilly wind with a warm heart and a pleasant countenance. Peace doesn’t always have to be found within – sometimes you can conjure it from the flimsiest of raw materials. Like a moon in the late afternoon sky…
“There is nothing like the silence and loneliness of night to bring dark shadows over the brightest mind.” ~ Washington Irving
It’s strange and perhaps slightly psychotic to seek out thrills and dangers when we were raised to avoid such insanity at all costs as children. To dabble in the dark arts and tease the demons of the world is playing with a sort of fantastical fire that feels fine to the touch but may leave a nasty scar. My pursuits remain mostly on the outskirts of such questionable activity, preferring to watch from a very safe distance the paranormal goings-on or haunted scenarios that abound on a night such as Halloween. But when it comes to the forest, that’s a gamble and a dare I’ll always take, because for every moment of doubt there’s a place of beauty, and that will always be worth a risk.
Leaving the little brook to its gibberish, I returned along the path I had come, rising with the incline and ascending from the shadowy depths just as the sun would render such a change almost imperceptible. We balanced one another, and in that reassurance I could slow my pace again – a pace that had slightly increased when I was down in the deep.
Pausing to examine the leaves, I was once again struck, like every fall, by the infinite gorgeousness of this variety of colors and forms that nature so generously bestows upon those of us who take the time to notice. If there were ghosts about now, they were of the friendly sort, and I bowed my head in their direction, and they left me alone.
The light was just slightly different from when I began this short walk, but it was a difference that hinted at more, at a haunting of the woods I had narrowly escaped, or might have simply passed me by without concern. Grateful for that, I let the forest close behind me without saying goodbye.
“There are certain half-dreaming moods of mind in which we naturally steal away from noise and glare, and seek some quiet haunt where we may indulge our reveries and build our air castles undisturbed.” ~ Washington Irving
By the time I reached the bottom of the little valley, and the place where a stream wound its way around the leaf-littered ground, I was entirely under the enchantment of the woods and whatever spirits and denizens oversaw its inner-workings. A certain reverence and respect is due to the forest, and I never underestimated its scope or power. There were trees and stones that were there long before I was born and that would remain there long after I was gone. The forest held a permanence and perpetuity of which humans could only dream and craft potions of youth that would never quite work.
Its mysteries were as tantalizing as they were frustrating, ever out of reach, ever out of sight, the way certain whispers sounded in the way the wind rustled the trees or the water gurgled as it jumped from stone to stone. Even in its open spaces, where the trees parted for a moment or the land leveled off, there were secrets and solemn silence, where no explanations were ever uttered or even hinted at, where there was no room for anything other than stillness and contemplation.
There I would become suspicious, as if I had been given a pretty dose of poison that suddenly wore off, and coming to a new awareness doubted everything that had once been beautiful. The perfume of the forest is always partly composed of decay and rot.
Remembering the proximity to Halloween, the day when the veil between our physical world and the inhabitants of the spiritual world is at its thinnest and most frayed, I felt a familiar jolt of fear. When I was a kid, I’d often explore the little stretch of woods behind our house after a day at school, and if I wasn’t careful I’d get caught a little further from home than I wanted as the sun went down. When that happened, I’d have to hasten my pace, and there were days nearer the approach of winter when I was running by the time I got back home, certain that some beast or manifestation of evil was right behind me, chomping at my heels and so close I didn’t dare turn around to slow my flight.
On this day, however, the fear felt distant, and there was still light and magic. Fallen logs pointed me further along the path, framing the journey in such picaresque fashion that it was impossible to worry. Beauty is treacherous that way.
And when the sight of such prettiness wasn’t enough, the sound of a little waterfall erased any minor concern in the quietness that so many of us modern-day humans seem to find uncomfortable.
Who would dare to worry about anything when faced with such beauty? Who would fret about the changing light of day to dusk, or the way the air seemed to suddenly drop a few degrees? What ghosts would have the impropriety to assemble near such peaceable waters? The brazen boldness of my heart cried out for them to reveal themselves while the remnants of my good sense impelled me along the path.
This was the turn that would bring me back from the bottom, and if I missed it or wandered too far, I might head the wrong way, moving deeper into unknown passages. I strayed a bit, but as soon as I sensed a loss in bearings, returned the way I had come, rejoining the trail and resuming the loop out of the valley, away from the stream, away from the darkening heart of that forest…
“There is a serene and settled majesty to woodland scenery that enters into the soul and delights and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations.” ~ Washington Irving
It was just a little valley, at the bottom of which ran a small stream that ran quickly or quietly depending on the rainfall. On this day, it was barely a murmur in the distance when I entered the forest, leaving my car nearby, and departing the remaining light of day behind as well; behind the curtain of the woods the canopy of the trees deepens and darkens the shadows. I’d forgotten that, at this time of afternoon at this time of the year, the sun disappeared quickly, without warning, and that dangerous alacrity left the unmindful particularly susceptible to getting caught deeper than one would like. That was in the back of my mind as I began my walk in the woods.
The forest floor was carpeted with leaves. At this point many of them had been torn from their limbs and littered the ground, which, much like a snowfall, made it slightly more difficult to discern the path that led down into the valley. Wet or dry, leaves could be slippery, lending an additional risk on the deeper inclines. There was the slightest warning on the wind, in the gentle breeze that suddenly picked up, rustling the leaves that remained on the trees. They shook and shimmied, quivering and wavering as if taking on the chill that deepened as the day waned and the path led further into the forest.
Ferns dotted the banks, most of them still green, though a few had turned ghostly pale, drained of their verdant life, an echo of their summer selves. There was a hint of darkness to them as well, a darkness and shadow that seeped under each leaf, inhabiting every crevice of bark and stem.
In the fallen logs there was evidence of new life – moss and lichens and little plants had already made homes of the decaying wood. Even the wayward traveler could make temporary use of them as benches and places of rest. I didn’t pause to take part. The day was dimming. If I dallied, there was danger of getting caught at the bottom when the darkness descended. Already, I felt a slightly thrilling unease at the thought of losing myself there.
Still, I took my time, taking in every step and being mindful of the beauty all around me. Fall was such a fleeting state, too often gone before we ever got to embrace it. Slowing my steps, I took a deep breath of the forest air. Woodland intoxication ensued, that euphoric state of sensory overload that comes from an immersive experience wholly beyond a sad little computer screen. There was the slightest shiver of something sinister to it as well, the way a very good cologne has a tiny portion of something putrid deep at its heart. The spell of the woods had been cast…
