A timely and meaningful piece, Adam. I’d like to offer Grace as a fourth road fork. So that “In every moment, the road forks in four ways: grief, grievance, gratitude, and grace.”
Oh, I love this Sue. Grace and Gratitude grow from the same root, linguistically. As do Grief and Grievance. And I love imagining gratitude as the recognition of the grace that has come towards us, inviting us to become agents of grace. Thank you for the early morning inspiration.
To say, “I am in pain” weaves a different cloth than “Those people hurt me.” To say, “Even in this much pain, I can hear the world singing,” allows for the possibility of healing. — Beautiful, and you have brought me to tears.
I too stopped directly taking in the news about seven or eight years ago. I could no longer consistently dip into that rapid flow of information-turned-vitriol and remain grounded in my own work. What trickles through the voices of friends and family lands heavy and lingers long. I am often reminded of that old, old line: “The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground.”
When my mother would lie awake, body and heart racked with pain in the year before she died, she would pray and weep. Last night I too could not sleep, and sat by an open window. I could neither pray nor weep. After a time, well after midnight, I heard the Great Horned Owl calling across our pasture, followed by the barking of a resident Red Fox. It is a gift in such times to be able to yet hear these nocturnal songs.
“The word trump comes from triumph. As a verb, it means: to climb to the top unscrupulously. It’s painful when someone mirrors back pieces of our own behavior that we’re not proud of.” Thank you, Adam. This is a new, succinct and helpful way for me to think about Donald Trump and all that he has come to represent.
I, hopefully, gain some understanding and perspective by learning about what’s going on for other humans and non-humans near and far. That is, reading some newspapers and listening to some radio. At its best, those are songs I want to hear also. The songs of serious journalists who work hard to discover, to think and to share and, I guess, to distill information that I find useful and important.
At its all too common worst, it is a cacophony of dis-harmony. I continue to hone my skills at finding clear and trustworthy voices to pay attention to and letting my mind and heart tell me when to take a break. Reading and thinking about your offerings in the Peasantry School Newsletter has become an important part of the mix for which I am deeply grateful.
"Honing our skills" of discernment about where we direct our attention sits at the heart of the project of being human in our time. Thank you for chewing on the stories, Diane. I'd love for you to meet Annie, the Farm's artist-in-residence. Maybe I'll make the connection by email.
After my post surgical check on my eye after cataract surgery, I walked out of the office looking for my car and driver. He was a the far end of the parking lot, hatch back open, reclined against whatever, listening to the bull frog seranade! How amazing to listen to! Blocking out all the other din, I was amazed. He says, ok, let’s go. I said no! You have been sitting here listening and I am just getting out. I want to enjoy! So we listened to the different tones of different frogs. On and on they talked, spreading good news, I hope. A good meal, a visit from kin, new neighbors, etc.
I, like you stopped listening to the news, long ago. And have started changing conversation whenever someone brought up something like the news. So refreshing, I feel like I live in my own little world. I know things go on, but I do not need to take part, and will not.
This is the 2nd writing I've read this morning that tells of a sacred message received. It reminds me of the treasured few I have received and how this is the dialogue I most long for. Thank you for reminding me that I may be searching in the wrong place.
Longing for a dialogue with the unseen. This doesn't abate over time, from my experience, but rather the longing seems to continue to deepen. Keep listening, Karina.
As for what the animals get back from us - perhaps, like the whole living universe and everything in it, it is the right kind of attention... the kind that increases healthy connection and cooperation.
We are very powerful. Our attention is how we direct our power.
Whenever I make pilgrimage I know that the earth loves to be held in our loving attention, however that is expressed - in glance and gaze, in breath, in laughter and tears, in prayer and song, in footstep and in the act of foraging with gratitude...
Attention often feels like the greatest gift of all. And for me, I know it can often feel very limited - hence my choice to ignore 'news' many years ago. I need as much of this resource as I can muster for my own senses of body, emotions, and mind, and for the people and patch of planet immediately around me. And I feel that's what the earth wants too - me to be present with her here and now, rather than stuck in a loop of fear addiction with my attention 1000s of miles away. Well at least it has been like this - now after many years of grounding, I feel a little more able to begin to engage a little more in some aspects of that global mush
Thank you for this beauty. Attention is how we direct our power. Being powerful means being consequential. Power without attendance to its consequence seems to be the aspiration of modernity. Blessings, Parsifal.
Adam, I "met" you on the recent Zoom call with Matthew and Petra. This morning I'm reading this piece for the second time. It is grounding and hopeful in this time when I feel like my soul is experiencing whiplash. Thank you.
Wonderful. Thank you. Now I am remembering a long weekend in Berlin in 2011 or so, visiting @sammasich and immersing myself in his copy of The Practice of the Wild. It's one of those books that helped me remember the real song behind the noise of life. Love to you from the train to London.
Gary Snyder and Wendell Berry were pen pals, and their letters back and forth were published as a book called Distant Neighbors, which is worth reading. Thanks for the note, Caroline.
A timely and meaningful piece, Adam. I’d like to offer Grace as a fourth road fork. So that “In every moment, the road forks in four ways: grief, grievance, gratitude, and grace.”
Oh, I love this Sue. Grace and Gratitude grow from the same root, linguistically. As do Grief and Grievance. And I love imagining gratitude as the recognition of the grace that has come towards us, inviting us to become agents of grace. Thank you for the early morning inspiration.
To say, “I am in pain” weaves a different cloth than “Those people hurt me.” To say, “Even in this much pain, I can hear the world singing,” allows for the possibility of healing. — Beautiful, and you have brought me to tears.
I too stopped directly taking in the news about seven or eight years ago. I could no longer consistently dip into that rapid flow of information-turned-vitriol and remain grounded in my own work. What trickles through the voices of friends and family lands heavy and lingers long. I am often reminded of that old, old line: “The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground.”
When my mother would lie awake, body and heart racked with pain in the year before she died, she would pray and weep. Last night I too could not sleep, and sat by an open window. I could neither pray nor weep. After a time, well after midnight, I heard the Great Horned Owl calling across our pasture, followed by the barking of a resident Red Fox. It is a gift in such times to be able to yet hear these nocturnal songs.
Gorgeous, Jan. Thank you for this. Nighttime wakefulness is not always pleasant, as you describe.
“The word trump comes from triumph. As a verb, it means: to climb to the top unscrupulously. It’s painful when someone mirrors back pieces of our own behavior that we’re not proud of.” Thank you, Adam. This is a new, succinct and helpful way for me to think about Donald Trump and all that he has come to represent.
I, hopefully, gain some understanding and perspective by learning about what’s going on for other humans and non-humans near and far. That is, reading some newspapers and listening to some radio. At its best, those are songs I want to hear also. The songs of serious journalists who work hard to discover, to think and to share and, I guess, to distill information that I find useful and important.
At its all too common worst, it is a cacophony of dis-harmony. I continue to hone my skills at finding clear and trustworthy voices to pay attention to and letting my mind and heart tell me when to take a break. Reading and thinking about your offerings in the Peasantry School Newsletter has become an important part of the mix for which I am deeply grateful.
"Honing our skills" of discernment about where we direct our attention sits at the heart of the project of being human in our time. Thank you for chewing on the stories, Diane. I'd love for you to meet Annie, the Farm's artist-in-residence. Maybe I'll make the connection by email.
I would love that Adam. I am very much enjoying Annie's drawings.
After my post surgical check on my eye after cataract surgery, I walked out of the office looking for my car and driver. He was a the far end of the parking lot, hatch back open, reclined against whatever, listening to the bull frog seranade! How amazing to listen to! Blocking out all the other din, I was amazed. He says, ok, let’s go. I said no! You have been sitting here listening and I am just getting out. I want to enjoy! So we listened to the different tones of different frogs. On and on they talked, spreading good news, I hope. A good meal, a visit from kin, new neighbors, etc.
I, like you stopped listening to the news, long ago. And have started changing conversation whenever someone brought up something like the news. So refreshing, I feel like I live in my own little world. I know things go on, but I do not need to take part, and will not.
Spreading the good news. Thank you for the story, Linda. And for the strawberries yesterday.
This is the 2nd writing I've read this morning that tells of a sacred message received. It reminds me of the treasured few I have received and how this is the dialogue I most long for. Thank you for reminding me that I may be searching in the wrong place.
Longing for a dialogue with the unseen. This doesn't abate over time, from my experience, but rather the longing seems to continue to deepen. Keep listening, Karina.
Thank you Adam. I feel supported, affirmed, and encouraged by your words. A gift indeed.
Blessings to you, Laurie.
Lovely. Reading this on a warm summer morning in New York City. You have brought the songs to me.
I am so glad. May we each find the courage to sing our part from the spot where we wake each morning.
You captured the moment, and a human response, perfectly. Thank you, and bless you.
Thank you for your kind note, Joe.
Hi Adam, Aidan here from the huntington community. Just wanted to chime in and say thank you for your writing, from a rainy porch in talkeetna alaska.
All the best,
Aidan
What a pleasant surprise to hear from you, Aidan. Blessings to you all the way out there.
Thank you Adam.
As for what the animals get back from us - perhaps, like the whole living universe and everything in it, it is the right kind of attention... the kind that increases healthy connection and cooperation.
We are very powerful. Our attention is how we direct our power.
Whenever I make pilgrimage I know that the earth loves to be held in our loving attention, however that is expressed - in glance and gaze, in breath, in laughter and tears, in prayer and song, in footstep and in the act of foraging with gratitude...
Attention often feels like the greatest gift of all. And for me, I know it can often feel very limited - hence my choice to ignore 'news' many years ago. I need as much of this resource as I can muster for my own senses of body, emotions, and mind, and for the people and patch of planet immediately around me. And I feel that's what the earth wants too - me to be present with her here and now, rather than stuck in a loop of fear addiction with my attention 1000s of miles away. Well at least it has been like this - now after many years of grounding, I feel a little more able to begin to engage a little more in some aspects of that global mush
Thank you for this beauty. Attention is how we direct our power. Being powerful means being consequential. Power without attendance to its consequence seems to be the aspiration of modernity. Blessings, Parsifal.
Adam, I "met" you on the recent Zoom call with Matthew and Petra. This morning I'm reading this piece for the second time. It is grounding and hopeful in this time when I feel like my soul is experiencing whiplash. Thank you.
Greetings Peggy. Soul whiplash indeed. Nonhumans to the rescue. Thank you for your note.
Thank you for this. Needed these words today.
Thank you for this note. I'm glad the story served. Best to you.
Wonderful. Thank you. Now I am remembering a long weekend in Berlin in 2011 or so, visiting @sammasich and immersing myself in his copy of The Practice of the Wild. It's one of those books that helped me remember the real song behind the noise of life. Love to you from the train to London.
Gary Snyder and Wendell Berry were pen pals, and their letters back and forth were published as a book called Distant Neighbors, which is worth reading. Thanks for the note, Caroline.
Clarity and subtlety in this offering. News from the meadow will outlast us all.
News from the meadow will outlast us. Amen.
Thank you. Honest and gorgeous.
Many thanks, Jiling.
Thank you Adam for adding a song of beauty to the world.
That longing sits at the heart of my morning prayer. Thank you, Naomi.