Found, 2/29/16

Spending the season of Lent looking for signs of the Divine in the world around me.

Maybe it means this: 

Count who you love. 

Count what you love. 

Count how you can love.

(Count what counts.)

These things do not run out.

These things are never done.

Maybe not, but maybe.

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Found, 2/27/16

Spending the season of Lent looking for signs of the Divine in the world around me.

The idea of transformation has been on my mind a lot recently. It has been there in the desire to take forgotten and discarded things and make them into something beautiful, and it has been there also in the attempt to change how I see things, and maybe even how others see things. Recently the more I see of the world around me the more insane it looks. This is my best response to all that. What I am trying to do here--I am going to keep insisting. And so far, the more I look the more incredibly hopeful things I see.

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Found, 2/26/16

Spending the season of Lent looking for signs of the Divine in the world around me.

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Found, 2/25/16

Among the challenges of this series of pictures: waiting for the wind to die down, convincing my camera (my phone) to focus on the thing right in front of it rather than the view off in the distance, worrying that I will run out of things to find/say/discover. Life lessons.

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Found, 2/24/16

Spending the season of Lent looking for signs of the Divine in the world around me.

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Found, 2/23/16

Found, 2/22/16

Spending the season of Lent looking for signs of the Divine in the world around me.

Sent seeds out into the world, once. 

I suppose this is the skeleton, all that's left, 

but all I can see now is a quiet forever explosion of joy.

I have been thinking about it all day.

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Found, 2/20/16

Spending the season of Lent looking for signs of the Divine in the world around me.

1. The hints of rose, feather, and scale in a pine cone--

that these patterns are threaded through our world.

2. Upon doing a quick search of "tessellations in nature*" one can learn

that they are not precise in nature, but rather mathematical approximations.

I find both of these things mysterious and comforting.

* tessellations.com

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Found, 2/19/16

The plan is to spend the season of Lent looking for signs of the Divine in the world around me.

Spent things, waiting things. Learning to see them differently.

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Found, 2/18/16

The plan is to spend the season of Lent looking for signs of the Divine in the world around me, and to share what I find.

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Found, 2/17/16:

The plan is to spend the season of Lent looking for signs of the Divine in the world around me, and to share what I find.

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Found, 2/16/16:

The plan is to spend the season of Lent looking for signs of the Divine in the world around me, and to share what I find.

I am fascinated by this right now--seed heads, ghosts of flowers, things left behind. So easy to overlook, and so they strike me as very patient. And wise. 

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Found, 2/15/16

The plan is to spend the season of Lent looking for signs of the Divine in the world around me, and to share what I find.

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Found, 2/13/16

The plan is to spend the season of Lent looking for signs of the Divine in the world around me, and to share what I find.

Re: music, and what finds its way in, and what finds its way out:

It does not matter what else happened that day, or is going to happen, or did not happen. If Tchaikovsky wrote a symphony 150 years ago, and wrote triumph into the final pages of the final movement, it is possible for an orchestra to play those final pages and create triumph right there on the stage. Not a ghost-triumph, but the real thing, living and breathing. I use the word magic a lot, but I think this is one of the reasons why. It is possible to become that thing written into the music for a time, whatever else you are. 

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Found, 2/12/16

The plan is to spend the season of Lent looking for signs of the Divine in the world around me, and to share what I find.

It is a special kind of finding, catching soft strains of Mozart coming from his room late at night. He first heard this music when he was four, on a story CD borrowed from the public library. We listened over and over, and I plan to never forget how long it always took for him to put his socks on in the morning, busy as he was singing "Der Holle Rache." For months now, he has gone to bed with this music playing softly in the background. I imagine how the notes work into head and heart, how rich it is to sleep with these phrases braiding through the body, vining along muscles, nerves, synapses. Bird man and prince, music and silence, the Temple of Ordeals. All of it finding its way in. Something new finding its way out.

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Found, 2/11/16

The plan is to spend the season of Lent looking for signs of the Divine in the world around me, and to share what I find.

Last week I took part in a 7-day nature photo challenge on Facebook. Not the kind of thing I usually do, especially since it involves tagging others. But the chance to see what I can find in my yard in February--I wanted that.

It turns out my yard is full of things left behind, and yes dead and brown, but also achingly beautiful. A testimony to what was there, and what was sent out into the world. A faithfulness to life.

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Ash Wednesday, 2016

I was not sure about doing a series for Lent this year, and for a while now I have both looked forward to and dreaded this day, simply because I would have to decide. I have enjoyed the daily practice of watching for the divine in past years, but my attention feels (is) so widely scattered these days. Every time I decide to do it again this year I immediately back away again, not trusting mysel--

I don't even want to finish that sentence. I am so sick of that loop in my head.

 And then this poem by Jan Richardson found me today, twice, and this stanza especially:

This is the day
we freely say
we are scorched.

Her words hit home, and I absolutely want to ask, every day, what the Holy One can do with dust.

Join me?




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