Shining a Grow Light on Our Meditation.

My brother has a grow light for his indoor geranium, which is sitting near a south-facing window. The geranium has steadily flowered since fall.

What’s the light that helps us grow when days are dark? Meditation pulled me out of a black pit when I was 25. Twenty minutes of serenity meditation coupled with a contemplation on not-self. Calm and insight continue to be my favorites all these years later.

Shine a grow light on your meditation with something that makes you happy.

Borrowed Landscape

I’m visiting my brother in Indiana. Behind his backyard is a pasture with four riding horses, one pony, and one donkey. Watching the animals is a never-ending entertainment. Although my brother fantasizes about having a mini-farm here in the suburbs, I advise him to feel content with the borrowed landscape of his backyard—all the joy and none of the labor of that heavily padded man who is pushing a wheelbarrow of manure from one barn to another in this sub-zero weather.

We don’t actually need to own everything ourselves. There’s a lot to be said for living in community where you can freely borrow from your neighbors. My stepdaughter borrows her neighbor's dog, who spends more time across the street at her house than the dog spends in its own home.

Sharing--whatever we may have--dogs, food, landscape, or garden produce is a form of generosity. The neighboring riding stable shares their pastures and the animals without even trying. We are all interconnected.

Same-Same is Different-Different

I’m on the western edge of the Eastern time zone, visiting family in Indiana. The sun rises and sets an hour later here than it does in Vermont, on the eastern edge of the Eastern time zone.

We call it Eastern time, but that covers a lot of territory. At the same time, it’s light in Vermont, it’s dark in Indiana and vice-versa during these transition times at the edges of daylight. The same time, but not the same light. The same light but not at the same time.

Maybe it’s never the same. Never.

Flower Basket Day

It's Flower Basket Day, a holiday i've never heard of. Cynically, i might say it's a holiday dreamed up by florists and purveyors of greeting cards. Open-heartedly, i might say it's a good reminder to give flowers to someone who isn't expecting them. Today, and every day, is a good day to be unexpectedly generous.

Though flowers are sparse here in the North Country, i might give a houseplant to someone. Or maybe a little vase of cuttings from my houseplants so that i can locavore this holiday instead of having flowers flown in from southern countries. By using local plants (from my windowsill), i can be generous to the Earth.

No One Wants to be Old

Nobody wants to be called “old” or to think of themselves as old. All the alternative words have failed: elder, senior citizen, golden age, codger, geezer, etc. I do like “super senior” which the ticket seller at the movies called me last month, but I doubt that it will “sell.”

A fashion industry woman who specializes in clothes for older women (ahem) is using the word “perennials,” which is a word we gardeners can give a nod to. Perennials keep coming (except when they don’t).

If we experiment with the Buddha’s daily reflection on aging which typically says “I am of the nature to grow old. Aging is inevitable” could we say “I am of the nature to be a perennial”?

We gardeners know what that means: we keep coming back year after year, until one hard-freeze winter. And then we don't.

Good Luck Food Potluck

On New Year's Day i attended a neighborhood potluck. The theme was Good Luck food, a legacy from a Southerner who died a few years ago. The hostess cooked up the black-eyed peas. I brought boiled cabbage from my German heritage. Long noodles (meaning long life) were on the table, as well as a kale salad. Greens represent life and living things. Pork, which was once reserved for the Chinese elite, symbolizes wealth and prosperity. A lentil salad because lentils look like coins.

Luck seems like a roll of the dice, a turn of the wheel of fortune. I'm placing my bets on karma--acting as skillfully, wholesomely, and compassionately as i can right now, because this moment conditions the next moment. Compassion begets compassion. Kindness builds the habit of kindness.

These beautiful qualities are our true wealth any day of the year.

2017 is Dead

2017 is history, and as much as i love history (I wrote a history book!), we could just as well say, "2017 is dead."

We have memories of last year, though many are quite indistinct now. My sweetie and i can't even remember what we were doing last New Year's Eve. I was pretty sure we were in Dublin eating dinner at the Hairy Lemon; he thought we were in London.

If we could notice the little deaths that are happening every moment, every day, every year, we might realize that the big death is just more of the same.

This moment is alive. It's the only moment we have. We happen to call it 2018, but that's just an idea. Sometimes, it's a stressful idea.

Live this moment. It's the only moment you have.

Time is a cliff

You come to in the dark. Though you might fall

As easily as on a feather bed,

It is a sad farewell. You loved it all.

You dream that you might keep it in your head.

But memories, where can you take them to?

Take one last look at them. They end with you.

Clive James, an Australian poet