What We May Be . . .

The catch all phrase “spiritual practice” comes across as a kind of ritualistic notion that bears repetition like a mantra. In times gone by, and in some places even today, rituals like reciting the rosary are practiced together in a particular place. In secular settings the practice can look like yoga, tai chi (of which there are so many promotions with promises of weight loss), or, of course, a meditation practice. It is not the chosen form that matters, but the practicing…like learning to play the piano or hitting a perfect tennis serve. Practice makes sense if you aspire to some thing.

The older I become, the more I see why it matters that I have a spiritual practice, though I do not think of this in those terms. Years ago in a job interview for a Quaker Friends Youth Coordinator, I was asked by the sixteen-year-old boy on the committee: “Will it bother you to know that I do not have a spiritual practice”? I responded, “No. Will it bother you to know that I do”? Why does it matter?

As far as I am concerned, the time spent in solitude, morning and evening, are the bookends of my day, setting the tone for either the day ahead or the shift from day’s strifes. Who doesn’t need a little help with both nowadays?

It began for me during a crisis when a therapist asked: “Have you ever tried meditation?” WHAT? I am going out of my skin here! For some reason, I agreed to try it for three minutes a day. It was the longest three minutes of those days. My young daughter looked askance at me sitting on the floor. I had one eye on the clock. She did not have a spiritual practice like the Quaker boy—except that he actually did without naming it as such.

The other important thing that he said to me was: “Quakers appreciate long silences”. I knew we would get along. He taught me that one doesn’t need to name something in order for it to be a “practice”.

A few days ago when a friend and I talked over a looming situation, I remembered something that has sustained me since my early twenties—a book! Some people carry a Bible, I have carried and dog-eared and underlined and worn out the binding of What We May Be: Techniques for Psychological and Spiritual Growth Through Psychosynthesis. The essence of this so-called self-help book, is in the title: What We MAY Be. The possibilities for becoming all that we are meant to and might aspire to amounts to practicing a way of being.

This is a life’s work, if you ask me. But, never too late to start practicing that one thing that sustains the soul—-because when the time comes—and something will come— everything already learned and accomplished through practice will help you to “rise above” whatever has come your way.

“All you draw are trees”…until I did not draw at all anymore. My portfolio is empty, but the visuals I hold in my mind of big trees filling the sky is a canvas to behold.

As a fifth-grader, I took to heart the words of a classmate, my first crush, Norman, the class artist. He was a natural artist and the Sisters praised his art.

Norman was the first first boy to call me on the phone—not text—and my whole family knew it in real time. My blushing cheeks confirmed he had asked me to the school dance. Fifth grade —- ten-years old! Harmless but memorable.

Yet, sixty years hence, I remember less about the dance then about his critique of my tree drawings, saying in front of the whole class “All you ever draw are trees”! Mortified, I put down the drawing pencil and never picked it up again.

Of course I drew trees—my nearest and dearest friends who cradled me in their large arms when I felt all alone in the world —-a child bereft after losing my beloved father. Trees sustained me as they do every one of us with clean air to breathe and cool shade from blistering sun.

Green trees against an azure blue sky is a painting not even an artist, or Norman, can recreate—though now I know many great artists study and draw and paint trees until the cows come home. Whenever I find myself standing before such a painting in a museum, I hear Norman and think: WRONG! Nothing wrong with only drawing trees.

Capturing beauty and majesty as such is like trying to draw God. It can’t be done but it is worth it just to try.

In fifth grade I also learned the following poem:

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree. Joyce Kilmer

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/dab25a_a5d381d5c2bc4a07b6338fc472acc491/1080p/mp4/file.mp4

From Acid Rain to Yellow Warning!

I was about my granddaughter's wonderful age of 26 when I first crossed the border into Canada from the U.S. on a roadtrip to Nova Scotia. "Novy", the young man and I called it as he drove an iconic green and white VW bus around the pristine, bucolic island. I can still hear that distinct put-put engine pushing up inclines-- small inclines.

Shout out to Cliffy! Wherever you are . . .

Something else left its indelible impression on me. The border patrol handed out octagon-shaped red pamphlets with the black bold letters: Acid Rain. Two words that I had never put together before then.

Today the Canadian Government gives this definition:

Acid rain occurs when acid-containing precipitation falls onto the earth’s surface. Precipitation comes in the form of rain, snow, sleet, or hail. Precipitation collects acidic particles and gases and becomes acidic. These particles will have a pH level below 5.6.

Back in the VW camper, I read the pamphet and the warning and blame it assigned: pollution from the United States coal mines was making its way in the air across the Maritimes, Nova Scotia, included. My heart sank, stirring my budding activist self. I understood something should be done. It stayed with me long after the young romance faded.

Some years later when my daughter was born in 1991, the two border countries came to an agreement:The Canada-United States Air Quality Agreement signed by Canada and the United States in 1991 to address transboundary air pollution leading to acid rain. Both countries agreed to reduce emissions of sulphur dioxide (SO₂) and nitrogen oxides (NO_x), the primary precursors to acid rain, and to work together on acid rain-related scientific and technical cooperation.

The agreement has held for the past 35 years: While important results have been achieved under the Agreement, the covered pollutants (sulphur dioxide, nitrogen oxides, and volatile organic compounds) remain a concern and continue to have significant impacts on human health and the environment in both countries.The Agreement provides a proven and successful way for addressing transboundary air pollution that affects tens of millions of people. Canada and the United States continue to cooperate to address ongoing, emerging and future air quality issues.

That brings us to today as VW reintroduces its camper the Canadian environmentalists issue color-coded weather warnings on a daily basis. Most days, a "yellow warning" is posted with rising temperatures. Today will be a high of 87 fahrenheit in the "Great White North"!

Hazardous weather may cause damage, disruption, or health impacts

• Impacts are moderate, localized and/or short-term

• Yellow alerts are the most common

Visual symbolic icons stick in the mind reminding us that time and the world are one.

N'est-ce pas?

https://www.canada.ca/en/environment-climate-change/services/air-pollution/issues/transboundary/canada-united-states-air-quality-agreement-overview.html