Month: June 2021

It’s hard on such a dazzling day to say,
“You have passed; you are past.” Flowers
still bloom and buzz with bees nuzzling
sweet pleasing pollen near butterflies
skipping and flit-sipping nectar: life’s rising,
she’s falling, she’s delightedly calling from
each shining this and that blazing amazing–
oh, see how her joy juice is flowing through
death; yes through death to bright seeds
that light feeds and night leads to dawn-dew;
the world again offers a new garden view: life
will birth life, unfolding now into then; the
just-once-spectacular-when that we knew
with you slipped through our hands, through
our eyes, through our time here: it’s too brief,
but deep grief rests in great gratitude forever–
a place where we’ll meet after facing the future
you’ve passed; you are past and planted as seed;
you are near you are here you’re in each shining
this and that brilliance, flowing through death,
through death into always amazing eternally blazing joy.

Dedicated to our friend, Ranjini Raghavan, a loving wife, challenging teacher, and dedicated social activist who died on June 25, 2021, from Covid-19. Ranjini was 53.

© Copyright of all visual and written materials on The Daily Round belongs solely to Catherine M. O’Meara, 2011-Present. Unauthorized use is strictly prohibited, without the author’s written approval. No one is authorized to use Catherine O’Meara’s copyrighted material for material gain without the author’s engagement and written permission. All other visual, written, and linked materials are credited to their authors. Thank you, and gentle peace.

I am exhausted.

I’m tired of loud voices shouting crude remarks. I’m weary of illogical and unscientific fools receiving all the attention. I’m appalled by the crude and vulgar behavior of too many elected officials and members of the media. I’m nearly beaten by the wealthy thieves who never pay their due, and the lies we hear repeatedly about stolen elections. I do not understand the pervasive willingness to be stupid about voting integrity, climate change, or vaccine safety and necessity. I’m done with cynicism and sarcasm.

I am disturbed by how many states, including my own, have enacted voting suppression laws, or hope to do so soon. Corruption and greed seem to know no bounds in our country; bold con men and women now lie and cheat and steal in broad daylight and without shame. I wish I could wake up in a world without all the snarky, wisdom-deficient puppets in Congress. They are hollow beings, black holes that have completely doused the lights they came to share.

I don’t want to hear from anyone pushing us into one side or the other; these blatant attempts to manipulate us are beneath our shared humanity. I think there are millions of us who yet retain the ability to reason and consider different coherent opinions and options delivered with calm intelligence. I want problem-solvers solving problems. I want adults committed to service.

Where has decency fled, and why did it take reason, wisdom, and kindness with it? What is this current need to behave without thought, clarity, manners, or recognition of interdependence and reciprocity? When did truth and facts become objects of ridicule?

The madness seems to be building, and my feelings of frustration and impotence to affect its course is crushing at times. We, the quiet, thinking people, are not being heard. Yes, I vote; yes, I write and record messages for my representatives; yes, I protest and donate, where and what I can; but none of it makes a difference. I am exhausted by this country and its downward spiral. I’m the Peter Finch character in Network, and I can’t take it anymore. I can’t tolerate one more loudmouth spewing lies and hate. I can’t stomach the image of some unqualified simpleton brazenly pawing over my private, sacred, voting ballot with no fear of consequence. I am utterly confused by the rise of incompetence and cruelty, and the lack of accountability.

I pray for maturity and common sense to come out of hiding. I pray for the remaining wise women and men in Washington to turn this tide of darkness back. I pray for more and more of us to speak up, rationally. I pray for the loud and vulgar to heal, and I pray for those suffering from the inaction needed to restore peace, justice, and integrity to our communities and country…I pray for all of us.

May we choose to be good, kind, thoughtful, and creative. Forgiveness needs practice; so does personal responsibility. May gentle peace sweep through the noise and hush it into mindfulness before it’s too late. And it nearly is.

I’m exhausted, but I’m still hopeful that sanity and our better angels will restore balance. I read this week about a wise man whose vowed response to the struggles of his own time was to reaffirm his commitment to goodness. He would remain constant in his striving to be a good person, no matter what the sway of culture and country elicited from others. That is as direct and immediate a source of wisdom as anything I’ve come across. Stay the course; remain the good people we have been created to be. We’re near the tipping point. Let’s choose to pledge allegiance to goodness, and so tip the scale in favor of those behaviors and qualities we’ve always known to be our true treasures as humans, grounded in Love.

© Copyright of all visual and written materials on The Daily Round belongs solely to Catherine M. O’Meara, 2011-Present. Unauthorized use is strictly prohibited, without the author’s written approval. No one is authorized to use Catherine O’Meara’s copyrighted material for material gain without the author’s engagement and written permission. All other visual, written, and linked materials are credited to their authors. Thank you, and gentle peace.

A morning walk beneath the spattered light
and shadow of sun-splashed leaves swaying
and dancing, brushed by breezes rushing
through the deepening woods. Sweet waves
of green ebb and flow. The birds sing me on,
skittering, and chipmunks chittering; fluttering
butterflies and whirring-winged dragonflies dart
across my path, and through the trees, columns
of infant corn are evenly rising in farmers’ fields.

I rest on an ancient bench, the pew in my green
chapel where worry spills and all the anxious fears
release. It opens you wide, the world’s wild beauty;
it bares your soul to all others, each thing here and
utterly significant, freely itself, entitled to its time and
place and way of being. There is a generous liberty
evident in nature, and I do not miss the world of men
where, in halls of power, those who’ve sworn oaths
to freedom say they must debate to whom it’s owed.

© Copyright of all visual and written materials on The Daily Round belongs solely to Catherine M. O’Meara, 2011-Present. Unauthorized use is strictly prohibited, without the author’s written approval. No one is authorized to use Catherine O’Meara’s copyrighted material for material gain without the author’s engagement and written permission. All other visual, written, and linked materials are credited to their authors. Thank you, and gentle peace.

Life has been almost too full at Full Moon Cottage this week.

Let me sum up: One month without rain became several months, and the lack of precipitation was then labeled a “severe drought” in our SE corner of the state. We’ve been rising earlier and earlier during this time, because the cooler dawn temperatures have allowed for easier pup-walking and what’s become increasingly stressful garden-tending. (Thankfully, there is cooler weather ahead, or else by the Solstice, we’d just lie down a few minutes around midnight and get up again.)

It’s been devastating to see our dear river dwindling and fading away, devoured by evaporation. Rainstorms have scattered all around us since April, but never here, as though an evil spell cast by some trickster had conjured an invisible wall around our little part of the Earth. Every time a storm blew toward us from the west or north, it dissipated to airy nothingness before any moisture fell. In our 25 years, the river has not been this low. Scorched and parched scenery, everywhere.

The gardens have continued to grow and bloom a bit, but have required 5-hour watering stints (both of us with hoses, on either side of the house) at least once a week, in searing heat.

We’ve headed out on adventures, when we could, to get away from the dismal drought and the dryness of land and spirit it’s caused. This week, we went to our local farmers’ market, held around the town square. Such a small town and insignificant event, it would seem, but it wasn’t, at all; this little gathering was our first maskless contact with other humans in over a year. (We’re still among the very few who wear them in stores, figuring if the employees have to wear them, we will, too. And I’m not anxious to tangle with the Delta variant and be one of those few who’s vaccinated and still catches Covid-19.)

But outside, on a lovely–finally cooler and breezy–day? It was like a hall pass to heaven-as-I-imagine-it. Being human with humans: what joy! Right out of our car, my darling tall Phillip helped this woman erect her stand.

And I had a fascinating visit with the interesting gentleman who, with his wife, runs the honey stand. He shared his history as a former store-owner, and then a painting contractor who’d done much of the stunning detail work on our town’s 19th-century buildings, and now, a purveyor of raw and processed honey, and maple syrup. There were a few other careers in there, but I was gentled into amazement, listening with tears stinging behind my sunglasses, drinking in another person’s story and marveling at the way our words and facial expressions opened us to each other. Such a miracle and profound gift. I’m not certain, but I think sparks of light passed between us. Maybe they always do, and it’s taken a pandemic for me to realize it, to see human connection for what it is. Certainly, we were nourished by these encounters. It’s led me to ponder the gift of life, the chance to be authentic with each other and to share our stories–how these things make us food for each other, and how this diet of each other’s humanity is required if, as a species, we’ll ever be truly healthy. Take and eat; offer and share; feed and be fed; be grateful, be grateful, be grateful.

Then, yesterday, I was gifted with one of Phillip’s Excellent Gluten-Free Brownies (also spirit food, in my book), hot from the oven at 6 A.M., to celebrate my birthday. Once again, it was time for the dreaded watering ordeal. But the forecast predicted a slight possibility of showers in the evening, so we decided to water the newbies and wait to see if rain (was there such a thing?) took care of the larger perennials later. As we watered the seedlings, a lovely storm once again passed mysteriously right over us…Here’s Phillip in the veggie garden, looking as though he’ll get very wet indeed. Nope. Not a drop. All thunder, no rain. So discouraging!

But what a treat to then spend the day relaxing with my beloveds. I received birthday greetings and calls from many friends and relations around the world, which really is the gift of celebrating a birthday at this point in my life: to be reminded how very rich I am in friends and family who bless and enlighten me with their stunning gifts. My goodness, the messages were touching. And I realized again how “full” I felt at day’s end. Fed by all that love.

The pandemic enforced a severe drought in human connection and contact. Until it was re-established, I hadn’t felt the depth of deprivation, but this week has really emphasized for me how we feed each other our humanity in our words and interactions. Or starve each other through our cruelty and ignorance.

And the best birthday gift (other than the 4-leggeds and Phillip) was delivered at 2 A.M. this morning: torrents and torrents of rain, well over an inch, falling into the arms of our gardens and the trees, bushes, thirsty birds and animals, and the dear river–all of us drinking in our beloved Mother Earth.

It is comforting in the night to speak to Love about one’s sorrows and worries, but it’s just extraordinarily fizzy and lightening to close one’s day with nothing but “thank you” on one’s lips. May we all have many more such days, and use our gifts to ensure others do, too. Watch for the sparks of light that pass between you as you eat and drink the moments of nourishing being you share, to fullness!

Gentle Peace.

© Copyright of all visual and written materials on The Daily Round belongs solely to Catherine M. O’Meara, 2011-Present. Unauthorized use is strictly prohibited, without the author’s written approval. No one is authorized to use Catherine O’Meara’s copyrighted material for material gain without the author’s engagement and written permission. All other visual, written, and linked materials are credited to their authors. Thank you, and gentle peace.

The summer my father died,
I lost my language. No words
could meet the grief, could plumb
its depths or pierce its night-black
and binding embrace. I did not say
farewell; I could not be at his side,
his leave-taking more sudden
than my chance to span the time
and distance between us, my mother-
in-law’s memorial service here, my father
dying there, and I on the cross between,
swallowing insufficient language. And
every day, that blinding long summer,
I rode my bike to London or Rome,
grandly-named backcountry towns
in opposing directions from my home
beside the bike trail. I pedaled and listened
to Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, Liszt,
or the jazz my father loved. 12 miles
one way or the other, a lifetime cycling
through my heart. The bike and the music
knew my lost words and traveled me through
them to something like peace, somewhere
between London and Rome, where red-winged
blackbirds bobbing on Queen Anne’s Lace,
and chicory flowers, as blue as my father’s eyes,
tenderly brought me back to my language.

© Copyright of all visual and written materials on The Daily Round belongs solely to Catherine M. O’Meara, 2011-Present. Unauthorized use is strictly prohibited, without the author’s written approval. No one is authorized to use Catherine O’Meara’s copyrighted material for material gain without the author’s engagement and written permission. All other visual, written, and linked materials are credited to their authors. Thank you, and gentle peace.

one is what is, and the other,
what might have been. I’d long
traveled on each, missing stops
at different times and speeds;
the problem I couldn’t solve was
how to ride both, at once, as one.
This is why, when your eyes kissed
my smile across the station and
we left to walk down the green
waving trail between the tracks,
I knew I’d found the life I always
wanted: you beside me, rescuing
old dreams and making them real,
learning what wonder may come
from adding trust and subtracting
doubt from life’s equation. If-only
and regret faded; life became a slow
shared surprise of multiplied grace
derived from the division of two
into one, a conversion conceivable if
x equals love. What might have been,
and what is, became infinite; we live
our timeless days, and rest beneath
the shy approving quiet stars, listening
to train horns calling, lonely in the misted
distance, lulling troubled travelers still
longing for the irrational and necessary
convergence of yearning and acceptance,
wishes and substance, the blessed junction
and undeserved gift, a love that will solve
the problem of two trains at the next station.

© Copyright of all visual and written materials on The Daily Round belongs solely to Catherine M. O’Meara, 2011-Present. Unauthorized use is strictly prohibited, without the author’s written approval. No one is authorized to use Catherine O’Meara’s copyrighted material for material gain without the author’s engagement and written permission. All other visual, written, and linked materials are credited to their authors. Thank you, and gentle peace.

It’s come again, as it has come so many recent summers. Drought. The effects of climate change are increasingly realized intimately here at Full Moon Cottage. The river has not even been navigable by canoe this spring; anglers could wade across the shallow water as soon as the snow melted, as could the geese and herons. Fish flee to deeper waters, if they can be found, and turtles are struggling to stay hydrated.

Years ago, when these droughts began to be a regular occurrence, we learned to take the time to mulch the gardens heavily once the Earth had thawed and warmed. This way, the garden retains what rains are offered and stays moist much longer through days of drought, but mulching isn’t enough to ensure the gardens’ health. It can mitigate the worst effects of drought but we’ve also had to re-envision the entire garden, learning which plants best survive, or which new plants may help the garden thrive during these dry times. They are the ones we seek, plant, divide and spread to fill the holes left by those now unable to withstand our permanently-altered climate. Drought demands innovation; former methods of gardening no longer work. We must adapt and change to survive and to flourish.

In the same way, we endure spiritual droughts in our lives, times when we cannot connect with our authentic selves, or are spiritually exhausted due to loss, grief, challenging transitions, or the deadening dullness of unchanging routines. I’ve learned to recognize these times for the invitations to deepening they offer, so I try to continue “mulching” with practices that have always called me back to sacred relationship (meditation, prayer, service, walking, writing, etc.). But more than a faithfulness to the known, I’ve found that seeking new ways to connect with Love has enriched my spiritual journey and “watered my soul” immeasurably. These are our spirit’s high times of discernment. Every relationship benefits from introducing “new dances” and discarding those that no longer spark our souls; certainly, the discovery of new ways for our gifts to translate Love into the world can lead us from drought to profound growth.

First, I think it’s helpful to respect the drought, or desert-time, for what it’s come to teach. Aridity can remarkably clarify our path and options. It is a call for our spirit to travel both forward and down, directionally, rather than rush backward to the safe and known. Times of drought strip us of illusion and shock us into silence. If we can withstand them and listen, they can become the pivotal, most memorable points in our lives, though we may not recognize them as such when we enter them. Free-writing, spiritual direction, journaling, labyrinth-walking, creating mandalas, and dreamwork/meditative collages, can all be methods of actively listening to these calls for a spiritual change of course, and can help us locate where our heart’s compass is pointing us. Creativity and surrendering to unknown destinations are necessities for these journeys; our inner pilgrim artist is the heroine of desert-times.

For me, life-changing shifts have begun on spiritual retreats and many places offer these for a day, weekend, or longer. If affordable, such changes of place and routine can truly shake us up in necessary, challenging, and life-altering ways. One of the blessings from our time in lockdown, however, has been the proliferation of online classes and retreats, some of which can be attended “live,” and some with the benefit of being recorded, so we can be present when our schedule allows. I think it’s better, for me, to attend such sessions and retreats in-person, but so many of us don’t have the free-time or, frankly, the funds to do so, and can now, happily, take advantage of these virtual offerings.

I have several places that are reliable homes for my spirit when it’s in need of being held and guided through pivotal change. One is the Franciscan Spirituality Center in La Crosse, Wisconsin, and I have been so happy to see that most of the recent offerings are also available to attend online, as the 2.5-hour traveling time is prohibitive for me at this point in my life. (www.FSCenter.org) You may want to see if any of these programs or retreats speak to your heart, or remind you of places in your own part of the world that can offer you nourishing and creative support and redirection in times of drought and transition.

Spiritual awakenings occur when we first recognize we’re falling asleep. Soul-tending is vital not just to our survival, but to our full flowering as gifted humans, here to serve and to love our unfolding journey and all others traveling beside us. Admitting “I thirst,” can be the beginning of unexpected and profound shifts in our lives, if we pursue the path of drought to the new, green and startling garden waiting to be revealed.

© Copyright of all visual and written materials on The Daily Round belongs solely to Catherine M. O’Meara, 2011-Present. Unauthorized use is strictly prohibited, without the author’s written approval. No one is authorized to use Catherine O’Meara’s copyrighted material for material gain without the author’s engagement and written permission. All other visual, written, and linked materials are credited to their authors. Thank you, and gentle peace.

Turn from the schedule, the list,
the must do, the should, the fretted
checking of calendars and clocks,
and come to the garden, only come
and drink its colors, taste its secrets,
breathe its music, hear its love greeting
the green and rising there, and bidding
farewell just here; all one, the buzz and
tickle of birth and death, the splashes and
scents, everything in rhythms and choirs
of joy unique; once, in your lifetime, let go
of your careful lines, how you draw them
around your hours and days, be still and
caressed by everything coming and going
this moment in the garden, and the next, it’s
new again, dancing in light like your life, if you
allow it to open wide, and follow its song to the
gardens within you, the sacred fullness of now.

© Copyright of all visual and written materials on The Daily Round belongs solely to Catherine M. O’Meara, 2011-Present. Unauthorized use is strictly prohibited, without the author’s written approval. No one is authorized to use Catherine O’Meara’s copyrighted material for material gain without the author’s engagement and written permission. All other visual, written, and linked materials are credited to their authors. Thank you, and gentle peace.