Cooling it

Local waters that were open over the weekend are now covered (again) with ice, which is covered with snow. We haven’t checked larger waters since the beginning of the most recent really cold spell, which continues to linger. All morning we had snow showers and around mid-day a couple of sun snow showers. We don’t yet seem to have reached the “all is calm, all is bright” phase so there’s something to look forward to.

a member of the local red squirrel band

Photo by J. Harrington

The local band of red squirrels seems really appreciative of the heated bird bath as a source of drinking water. Black-capped chickadees more than other bird species also stop frequently for a quick sip. Without birds at the feeders and squirrels in the trees and on the deck, winter would be almost too dismal and dreary to open the drapes to look out. (Can you tell I’m not a winter person?)

black-capped chickadee in line for feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

I’ve been practicing, albeit very imperfectly, themes of mindfulness such as acceptance, impermanence, non-clinging (‘letting go”), and compassion. It seems to help quite a bit in coping with the state of the world these days. In fact, this practice reminds me of something I learned long ago when I was much younger. There is no good reason to wander the world with all your hot buttons held out so anyone and everyone can punch them. Gather them up and keep them in your pocket or back pack so you can be an actor rather than constantly being a reactor after someone has punched your button. Other folks might refer to such behavior as practicing self control. Do you do that? What do you call it? Does it help?

Sapphics Against Anger

By Timothy Steele

Angered, may I be near a glass of water;

May my first impulse be to think of Silence,

Its deities (who are they? do, in fact, they

Exist? etc.).

May I recall what Aristotle says of

The subject: to give vent to rage is not to

Release it but to be increasingly prone

To its incursions.

May I imagine being in the Inferno,

Hearing it asked: “Virgilio mio, who’s

That sulking with Achilles there?” and hearing

Virgil say: “Dante,

That fellow, at the slightest provocation,

Slammed phone receivers down, and waved his arms like

A madman. What Attila did to Europe,

What Genghis Khan did

To Asia, that poor dope did to his marriage.”

May I, that is, put learning to good purpose,

Mindful that melancholy is a sin, though

Stylish at present.

Better than rage is the post-dinner quiet,

The sink’s warm turbulence, the streaming platters,

The suds rehearsing down the drain in spirals

In the last rinsing.

For what is, after all, the good life save that

Conducted thoughtfully, and what is passion

If not the holiest of powers, sustaining

Only if mastered.

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