In the old cemetery . . .

. . . I sat for a while this morning and watched the sky lighten, while the wheel of the year circled around me.

It was drizzling rain and the morning came late, but it came at last. I sat back on the ancient metal bench and breathed the air of change, in and out, quietly in and out.

The gravestones glittered faintly in the dim light. Looking at them, I remembered my mother and father, god rest their souls, and my dear friends Penny, Mary, Ann, and Tom, dead of cancer every one, leaving me lonely in my aching body on this troubled earth.

Death itself is always quick. It took only a moment for each of my loved ones to leave this world and enter eternity, and after all my waiting and my fear, it will take but a moment when my turn comes at last. Then I will enter eternity and return to the world again in the blink of an eye. This world and the next, time and eternity, in the body and out again, are just one inspiration and expiration of the soul that lasts forever.

For now I sit on the unfathomable bench under the pine trees of the universe, breathing the air of change, in and out, in and out.
Love,
Lilly

Here is an image of the Ithaca cemetery in the daylight:

Doing nothing is a wonderful thing to do

After driving an hour each way to work and fighting my way through the day, I came home exhausted and discouraged . . . and then I went for a walk in the rain.

Just a walk around town, through the dark, deserted streets, in the pouring rain with my umbrella. I wandered, walking up one street and down another. I stopped often, just listening to the sound of the rain on the pavements, on the dying leaves, the water pouring down the drains, the swish of tires as an occasional car passed by.

I stopped by the creek to watch water rush under the bridge. I stopped in the little park with the playground and delighted at the glittering of the wet sliding board under the street lamps. I stopped for a long time by the side of a back street, watching bubbles form on the rain running along the gutter, running like a miniature river with leaves for boats, and watching the bubbles form and burst and run down in little eddies and currents and disappear under a pile of soggy, yellow leaves.

And I felt heartened and refreshed.

All day long, I did what was expected of me. I worked, I produced, I drove my car. I made money and I spent money and it drained my soul. Standing out in the rain, going nowhere, doing nothing, fed me, strengthened me, and made me whole again.

The irony, of course, is that the things I do that use me up are rewarded and the things I do that nurture me are considered wasteful. Doing nothing is frowned upon, because doing nothing is a subversive act in a social machine that uses our work like fuel.

And was I doing nothing of value? Is listening nothing of value? Is seeing the world nothing of value? Children should be spending whole days lazing about in back yards, watching the clouds change shape, or running along the sidewalks for no reason but the joy of running. These were considered normal childhood activities when I was a kid, but they are now no longer acceptable. We schedule our kids as pitilessly as we schedule ourselves, and in their “down time” they are expected to consume. The mind has no time to heal.

Who benefits when we are forced to produce or consume at every moment? Who benefits from our passive entertainments and the constant harassment of our minds and spirits?

Being in the body on the earth is not nothing. It is something—it's really something! It's special and wonderful and worthy of our time and attention. I would urge you to take some time, lots of time, to be unproductive, to sit and smile up at the sky, to walk nowhere, play with a twig, hum a little melody, stretch, skip down the street. Just look at the fascinating wonders of the world around you, just empty your ears of the human noise, and you will be strengthened and refreshed. Just rest.
Love,
Lilly

Soft and weak, we buy the dominators' comforts

We Americans have become soft and weak, accustomed to physical comfort and ease. Out of touch with our physical and spiritual sources of power, willing slaves to Mammon, we have forgotten what it means to be free and strong and brave.

We no longer take pride in service to the community, we no longer eschew selfishness. In our media we glorify cruelty and greed. Physically weak, spiritually weak, we are ripe for the world’s dominators to pluck and eat.

It doesn’t have to be this way. Look around you. Everyday, everywhere, people are being kind and cooperative with one another. People give and help and share, overcome trama, build and build again. People hold hands and make love. People feed their neighbor’s children and pray that even their enemies would someday come to a place of peace and abundance.

Why do we buy into the dominator lie that we are by nature lazy, greedy, and cruel? Why do we buy their comforts and securities with the rare coin of our freedom? Why is easier, faster, and more considered "good" and tough, slow, and less considered "bad?"? Who does it serve that we are suspicious and afraid of one another? Who decides what is real?

We have what it takes to recreate the world. Why don’t we? What stands in our way? Tell me, who decides what is real?
Love,
Lilly

Good morning!

The first snap of winter cold hits my face as I step down off the back porch and set out on my morning walk. The moon is small and hard and high up in the air, flooding the street with a light brighter than the street lamps, and the stars in Orion’s belt sparkle fiercely against a black sky.

I love the early morning world. Street lamps blink red and green for no one. I walk in the shadows of the trees. The air is fresher now than at any other time during the day, so that I can catch even the most subtle of scents, and I know as I pass in which house cigarette smokers are sleeping and which house embraces a family of cats. The windows are all dark.

And then, at 5:30, the buses start their runs down Cayuga Street, great lumbering beasts, lighted from within, empty except for the drivers. I see a black woman through the plate glass window of the laundromat, watching the dryer spin around, her head tilted sleepily to one side.

I drop my letter in the mailbox. The little door squeals and clanks. It feels good to swing my legs as I walk to the creek, where the water chuckles endlessly against the stones. A jogger goes by, his reflectors gleaming, and a light goes on in a bathroom, in a kitchen. Soon, there will be students walking to school, and cars and walkers of dogs and lines of wage workers, some angry, some defeated, waiting in lines at the bus stops. By then, I will be in my own car on the long drive to work, holding these quiet and shadowy moments in my heart.

I pause a moment on the back steps to send you a blessing—a blessing for you kids, for you friends, for you unknown reader.

Good morning.
Love,
Lilly

Concubines for the president

Hello Folks,
Here's a thought. One of the great pathologies of humankind in post-animistic society is the perversion of sex. We have taken something good and pleasureful and made it sick with digust and shame. And yet, we know that a sexually satisfied person is generally happier and calmer than one who is sexually numb or frustrated.

Therefore, I would suggest that we return to the practice of providing concubines for the king. In ancient times, we understood that the more sexually satisfied the king was, the fewer heads would roll and the less likely that the king would leave the comfort of his multi-marital bed to go off to plunder and murder in foriegn lands.

So, let's help our unhappy, insane president get laid. Perhaps then he would stay out of trouble.

The trouble is, would we be able to rustle up any volunteers? I recently saw a bumper sticker, here in our tiny circle of sanity called Ithaca, that read "Won't somebody give this guy a blow job so we can impeach him?"
Best wishes!
Lilly