Fairystone Park

"Every fairy take his gait.
And each several chamber bless.
Through this palace with sweet peace.
And the owner of it blessed.
Ever shall in safety rest.
Trip away. Make no stay.
Meet me all by break of day." -William Shakesperare

S has deemed this place magical.  I couldn't agree more.  We spent the weekend in a cozy 76 year old log cabin, with wood floors,  plank doors, a stone fireplace and a few modern conveniences.  The air within and without the cabin smelled heavily of woodsmoke and adventure.  The land is a nearly 5,000 acre haven from noise and light pollution.

"The quiet is loud", he said.

"I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania some time of the night,
Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight;
And there the snake throws her enamelled skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in...."(WS)

We could hear the frogs croaking while I sipped my coffee and watched a slug make its way across the mossy log rail that lined the stone porch facing the lake.



Occasionally he would spot a circle of mushrooms and squeal, "Fairy Rings!"

We made a big pot of vegetarian chili for dinner and S'mores for dessert and the atmosphere of this enchanting place made it more delicious than ever.

In the end, his dream came true...he found his fairy stones.

After his hard work searching for the mysterious stones, he took a plunge in the beautiful lake.

Just as we returned to our cabin, the sky took an unexpected turn when an intense rainstorm blew in and obscured the lake in a shroud of white.  It was like standing behind a waterfall.  We read some of the entries in the cabin journal and inked in our own musings before packing our bags for our morning check-out.

It was a wonderful weekend.

Homeward Bound

Taking the scenic route home...

Not stopping there...

Lets

Off to see what she can see...

To Look is Not Enough

"Although I wish I could, I cannot give you a real world filled with knights, goblins, dragons, witches, fairies, frogs that turn into princes, animals that talk, magic spells and mysterious islands where dreams come true. In the past, people believed the real world was like that, and because they believed, so it was." - Charles F. Greiner

Today I learned that one of my beloved high school teachers died. When I think of him, I think of the teacher Robin Williams played in Dead Poet Society, one of my favorite films. I took two of his classes way back then, creative writing and film study. Both changed my life, not because of the classes themselves, but because of the man who taught the classes.

How fortunate I was at such a tender age to be taught that to feel deeply is to attend life's "feast" and that finding a way to express it is to preserve the memory and testify that we were not only present, but truly aware of the banquet. He said, "To look is not enough, the unexpressed act is not fully experienced...to complete an experience we must find a way to express it."

O Captain. My Captain.

When Robin William took his life, I stood on my chair in mournful protest. Today I stand on my dining room table in remembrance of the gracious man who lit the candle by which I dine.

His son Keith shared this message from his father...

"He also asked me to remind you that he led a full and rich life, and that your presence in it contributed immeasurably to his happiness. Finally, he wanted you to know, deep in your heart, that very nearby there's another magnificent room graced by a splendid table where the feast continues."




These words are emblazoned on my heart...

"There is a poem by Victor Hugo that ends with these words: I'll soon leave in the middle of the feast, but the world will lose nothing of its size and glory.

I think that's mostly true, but it may not be the whole truth. What matters is the feast. We have all been invited. A few, in their ignorance, refuse the invitation. Others, in their ignorance, get up in the middle of the feast and never return.

 Most, however, remain at the festive table. Their lives are rich with life's joy and life's sorrow. They laugh with all of their laughter and cry with all of their tears. To be at the feast is to experience life fully. When it is their time to turn down an empty glass and go their solitary way, they do so graciously and give thanks for having been invited. Some of the guests try to capture special moments, make an attempt to preserve those experiences, both large and small, when they were truly alive, intensely aware, passionately involved. In these efforts, they preserve, if not the feast itself, at least its memory. They leave evidence to testify that they were in attendance and that they, indeed, attended."

(More favorite words from a man who lived it fully.)

Sir, I will miss your presence at earth's festive table, please save me a seat beside you at the next one.

For Charles F. Greiner who left the feast 8/20/14 at 3:47pm.

From Far Inside

"and the prayer you said, and the tears you shed
and the memory you held and the realization
that in this silence you no longer had to keep
your eyes and ears averted from the place
that could save you, that you had been given
the strength to let go of the thirsty dust laden
pilgrim-self that brought you here, walking
with her bent back, her bowed head
and her careful explanations…"

Excerpt from “THE WELL”
From Pilgrim: Poems by David Whyte


Sometimes when I dive into the well of his words it feels as though I am reading a letter written to me from a far away friend who has known me my whole life, who knows me better than anyone.
























( image collaboration with e.imel )

Baby Damsel Fly

on my son's fingertip...

But I with mournful tread

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning...
- Walt Whitman

No words, but a palpable emptiness

Open Both Arms

TILICHO LAKE by David Whyte

In this high place
it is as simple as this,
leave everything you know behind.

Step toward the cold surface,
say the old prayer of rough love
and open both arms.

Those who come with empty hands
will stare into the lake astonished,
there, in the cold light
reflecting pure snow

the true shape of your own face.

534 Miles

I count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul remembering my good friends.

- William Shakespeare

Numen

What you seek is seeking you. - Rumi




One sacred object traded for another. 

Something made by my two hands.  (and 8 tiny legs)

Something made by her two hands. 

I love my life.