Tag: Tranquil

To Be Seen Through With a Glance

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…whenever you mark a horse, or a dog,
with a peculiarly mild, calm, deep-seated eye,
be sure he is an Aristotle or a Kant,
tranquilly speculating upon the mysteries in man. 
No philosophers so thoroughly comprehend us as dogs and horses.
They see through us at a glance.
But there is a touch of divinity ….
and a special halo about a horse…
~Herman Melville from Redburn: His First Voyage

There are some animals (and people) who will not look you in the eye.  It may be a reluctance to appear too bold (as direct eye contact can imply), or it may be a reluctance to expose too much of their own inner world and feelings.

Because eyes don’t lie.

When you empty yourself into another being’s eyes and feel both understanding and understood, that is a touch of divinity at work. 

The eye is a mirror, a gazing ball and a collecting pool to reveal,  reflect and absorb. May we take the time and gather the courage to look deeply for the holy within one another.

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Get On With Work

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cowmorning

There were two ways to live: get on with work,
redeem the time, ignore the imminence
of cataclysm; or else take it slow,
be as tranquil as the neighbors’ cow
we love to tickle through the barbed wire fence
(she paces through her days in massive innocence,
or, seeing green pastures, we imagine so).
In fact, not being cows, we have no choice.
~Rachel Hadas from “The End of Summer”
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I did not grow up in a household that took time off.  Time was redeemed by work, and work was noble and honorable and proved we had a right to exist.
Vacation road trips were rare and almost always associated with my father’s work.  When he came home from his desk job in town, he would immediately change into his farm clothes and put in several hours of work outside, rain or shine, light or dark.  My mother did not work in town while we were children, but worked throughout her day in and outside the house doing what farm wives and mothers need to do: growing, hoeing, harvesting, preserving, washing, cleaning, sewing, and most of all, being there for us.
As kids, we had our share of chores that were simply part of our day as work was never done on a farm. When we turned twelve, we began working for others: babysitting, weeding, barn and house cleaning, berry picking.  I have now done over fifty years of gainful employment – there were times I worked four part-time jobs at once because that was what I could put together to keep things together.
I wish there had been more times I had taken a few moments to be more like the cows I see meandering, tranquil and unconcerned, in the surrounding green pastures. Part of every day now I pull myself away from the work to be done, the work that is always calling and staring me in the face, and try a different way to redeem my time: to notice, to record, to observe, to appreciate beauty that exists in the midst of chaos and cataclysm.
Life isn’t all about non-stop labor, yet we get on with our work because work is about showing up when and where we are needed. Not being cows, we may feel we have no choice in the matter. Just maybe, like cows, we can manage to slow down,  watch what is happening around us, and by chewing our cud, keep contemplating and digesting whatever life feeds us, the sweet and the sour.
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The Borders of Heaven

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photo by Heather Bullis
photo by Heather Bullis

The mares go down for their evening feed
                                                              into the meadow grass.
Two pine trees sway the invisible wind—
                                                          some sway, some don’t sway.
The heart of the world lies open, leached and ticking with sunlight
For just a minute or so.
The mares have their heads on the ground,
                                 the trees have their heads on the blue sky.
Two ravens circle and twist.
              On the borders of heaven, the river flows clear a bit longer.
~Charles Wright “The Evening is Tranquil, and Dawn is a Thousand Miles Away”

 

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Advent Meditation–Shiloh

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Especially in the hubbub of holiday activities, I yearn for moments in which to breathe deeply, sit quietly and absorb the impact of what the Lord’s advent (“arrival”) really means.  Typically I find that respite when I’m lingering in the barn after feeding our animals and listening to them chew–a sense of contentment and fulfillment is a contagious thing.  It is my time of calm reflection: I long for an emerging peace to overtake me and flow with me afloat, like a river.

“Until Shiloh comes” is a prophecy of not yet unlocked mystery, as the name itself has potentially different meanings.  What is clear:  the Hebrew children of God were to expect great things from a future ruler to whom everything belongs.  Already in Genesis, there is written a promise of tranquility, an assurance of peace to come.

Peace arrived unexpectedly in a barn, softly, gently, swaddled and sleeping in a manger–and we all can linger there, overtaken and overwhelmed by tranquility,  a little longer.

Genesis 49:10