Seed time

Everywhere, nature is shedding.
Flax plants stand up proudly along the coast. Their pods are cracking open, and raining black seeds on to the ground beneath.
I gather them, and make a basket shape from the leaves, wanting to contain and hold what is flying away.

The earth, which I've always thought of as stable and benevolent, has shaken violently: first in Christchurch and now Japan. The destruction from the recent earthquake and tsunami is overwhelming. I want to believe in the life force of seeds, to believe that all is well in nature, that the cycle of death-growth-birth will continue. I think of new flax plants sprouting up from these shiny black seeds, with  flame-like red and yellow flowers licking the sky once more, and the leaves offering themselves to be woven into baskets to hold fruits, vegetables, and hope.

Autumn seeds and flowers

On the hill, toi toi waving freely.

At the base, blackberries ripening.

In the bush, a bridal shower of houhere (lacebark).

Autumn is here on the coast, with its own rich beauty and contrasts.

Evening beauty

Sometimes nature is so beautiful that I forget her fierce aspect, that brings floods, earthquakes and cyclones.
There's something about a new moon that always moves me: seeing that clear slice of silver in the sky, and feeling a new cycle begin.
When the new moon is combined with a sunset like this, it takes my breath away.
And the following night, here it is again, though without the moon because the clouds were gathering.

The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone
with the heavens, nature and God.
 Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature.  I firmly believe that nature brings solace in all troubles.                                                                                   - Anne Frank 

Shedding

I spent the day getting rid of things, clearing my desk, throwing away old papers that were no longer needed.

I hadn't planned the day that way; it just happened. I had thought to continue working on my new projects, but somehow the mess had been interfering with the new work. I also cleaned the bathroom and kitchen, filled the recycling bin, then vacuum-cleaned everywhere.

Later, satisfied with my clear desk, I went for a walk and found this nikau tree. It too was shedding what was no longer needed: in this case, an old husk and a dead frond.

In the 70s, we used to retrieve the frond base that had been shed, varnish it and use it as a fruit bowl. Not now. I'm shedding, not accumulating.

As I looked at the beautiful bulbous shape emerging from the trunk, now smooth and unencumbered from the heavy old frond, I could see how the tree was now free to put its energy into ripening those droops of berries into the rich red of late autumn.

I too am now free of old fronds, and ready to ripen my new projects into mature fruit.

Autumn gift

Autumn is here; the days and nights have been nippy and the change in weather quite abrupt. I felt a bit caught out; not quite ready for this. But today I received a gift. After spending time being interviewed by a research student, talking about seasonal food for Matariki, the Pacific Aotearoa New Year that will be heralded in early June, I was given a jar of marmalade. She made it herself, from her own organically grown kumquats.
Here it stands, a golden feast in a jar. It's such a time-honoured tradition, to gift food as a way of saying thank you, or as solace for hard times. Within summer stored in my kitchen, I'm ready for the lengthening shadows, cool nights, and yellowing of the leaves. Thank you, Christine.

Rebuilding

I made shrines for the broken hearts of Canterbury today. The beach was empty, the tide receded; rain threatening. The sand was gritty with shell fragments. Pieces of glass had been sea-shaped into curious little objects. I placed green leaves for healing, as foundations for the work to come.

Rebuilding begins with making a home for the heart.
It won't be the same as it was.
Clinging to the old way will only increase suffering.
It is necessary to surrender, and find a new haven for the broken heart.

Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase.  ~Martin Luther King Jr.

Then, preparation for physical rebuilding can take place, beginning with cleaning and clearing.
New plans must be made.
The learnings must be incorporated in the new structure.
Eventually it will be stronger than before, and the heart can take up residence.

The work done, I left it on the beach, to be taken by the next high tide.

Catherine of Sienna said: Make two homes for yourself, my daughter: one actual home . . . and the other a spiritual home which you are to carry with you always.

Solidarity

Today in Auckland many of us wore red and black, the colours of Canterbury, as a way of showing our support.
Today at 12.51 pm, all over the country, we paused for 2 minutes' silence.
This afternoon I searched for red and black on the beach, and with the tide advancing behind my back, I made this symbol for Christchurch and all those affected by the earthquake.
It's the yin-yang symbol of eternal flux. It asserts that night becomes day, and day night; birth becomes death and death birth. Out of destruction comes creation.
Life reasserts itself; the cycle is endless; out of despair comes hope.

By not wanting, there is calm

And the world will straighten itself.

When there is silence,

one finds the anchor of the universe within oneself.

 (Tao Te Ching, 37th verse)