Last night of June

 I love this:

Painting:  Andrew Wyeth

And this:

 

A Blessing Poem

The peace of loneliness be with you

The peace of the far-from-home

The peace of small things intricately woven

like those moments in time that come

out of nowhere small and bright and eternal

The peace of loneliness be with you

and the patience of the stranger

who would not be known too soon

The peace of warm fires and sudden silences

and small gifts willingly given

and the peace of birds across a strange sky

singing in the early morning

and the peace of lakes and hidden ponds

and small streams silvering a hidden meadow

The peace of those who walk alone

knowing that in the heart of loneliness

their true home is hidden

waiting for that moment of silence and truth

in which to reveal itself

The peace of loneliness be with you

The peace of corner booths in coffee shops

by highways a thousand miles from home

The peace of old fabric and ancient wood

and the peace of stone which knows only itself

The peace of churches and silent houses

and the peace of grass newly mown

The peace of loneliness be with you

The peace of starlight on a distant road

The peace of trees and small animals beneath

the ground

The peace of all creatures far from home

The peace of loneliness be with you

for in your loneliness you are not alone

 

 

-- Albert Huffstickler

Here shall my heart find its haven of calm

 It's the first really blazing hot sunny June day, and the garden is glowing.

I love this poem:

June Sunset

Sarojini Naidu - 1879-1949

 

Here shall my heart find its haven of calm,

By rush-fringed rivers and rain-fed streams

That glimmer thro' meadows of lily and palm.

Here shall my soul find its true repose

Under a sunset sky of dreams

Diaphanous, amber and rose.

The air is aglow with the glint and whirl

Of swift wild wings in their homeward flight,

Sapphire, emerald, topaz, and pearl.

Afloat in the evening light.

 

A brown quail cries from the tamarisk bushes,

A bulbul calls from the cassia-plume,

And thro' the wet earth the gentian pushes

Her spikes of silvery bloom.

Where'er the foot of the bright shower passes

Fragrant and fresh delights unfold;

The wild fawns feed on the scented grasses,

Wild bees on the cactus-gold.

 

An ox-cart stumbles upon the rocks,

And a wistful music pursues the breeze

From a shepherd's pipe as he gathers his flocks

Under the pipal-trees.

And a young Banjara driving her cattle

Lifts up her voice as she glitters by

In an ancient ballad of love and battle

Set to the beat of a mystic tune,

And the faint stars gleam in the eastern sky

To herald a rising moon.

 

art by Valerie Greeley

and this:

by Hafen John

the place of caught breath

 

This is the solstice, the still point

of the sun, its cusp and midnight,

the year’s threshold and unlocking, where the past lets go of and becomes the future; 

the place of caught breath, the door

of a vanished house left ajar...

__Margaret Atwood

Every morning a new arrival

 On this glorious June day,  I share a quote from Hildegarde:

"O most honored Greening Force,

You who roots in the Sun;
You who lights up, in shining serenity, within a wheel
that earthly excellence fails to comprehend.

You are enfolded
in the weaving of divine mysteries.

You redden like the dawn
and You burn: flame of the Sun."

-  Hildegard von Bingen (1098-1179), Viriditas

and some recent photos from my garden:

June 17

June 15

June 21

June 21

June 21

 

 and this, from Rumi:

 

Everyone has been made for some particular work, and the desire

for that work has been put in every heart.

 being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

 

I had the Bell Telephone Company find him for me

 

The title for this entry is a sentence in Kurt Vonnegut's novel Slaughterhouse Five, which I teach in the Modernity class.

It reminds me of myself in these recent years... actually, during the last twenty years.

Technology has developed so that no one needs to call the operator at the Bell Telephone Company to find the address and phone number of long lost friends and lovers.  Now we have Google, and Facebook, among other resources.

So, late at night, I find myself searching for friends and connections I haven't had in decades. Lately I've been searching for Maureen McCauley, a high school friend who changed schools - from Bishop Shanahan to Cardinal O'Hara -  when the latter school opened close to her house in Newtown Square, Pennsylvania.  I think I've found her -  she's an attorney in New York State -  but I haven't actually called her.  Yet.  That's just one.

Facebook has enabled many more connections.

Some - old sweethearts-   have even emailed me because they saw my name on Google. After fifty years.

It must be our advancing age that impels us to seek these connections.  Especially since many of the older generation -  the eighty and ninety somethings-  and of course, the parents of our friends,  have passed through the veil.

More on this, I hope.