Serenity and gratitude

The sun came out again, and another mellow day unfolded. I took my writing to the beach, and sat there while the seagulls stood in the weed-covered sand, and clouds and yachts sailed by in sky and sea.

The sand was dotted with small mounds, created by tiny creatures. I thought about small worlds, and made my own small world, a sanctuary to contain my gratitude for another beautiful day.

Autumn equinox

Today is autumn equinox, and it's gently raining. I discovered the local grower's market yesterday and stocked up on produce: feijoas, which are beginning to appear, tomatoes which are finishing, farm eggs, many lush greens, and best of all, fat blackberries which bring back happy gathering memories from childhood. In Taranaki we picked them by the bucketload from the sides of the roads, in the days before spraying became common. At the end of the day we'd return home satiated from sampling, and with our fingers stained red and black.

A French woman was serving ratatouille from her stall, and after tasting this delicious dish filled with provencal herbs, I bought the last two pots. 'I won't be making it next week,' she said, explaining that the aubergines and courgettes are getting too expensive now.
Before the clouds drew over the sky I photographed the full 'supermoon', which is the closest it has come to the earth since 1993. Nature is showing her abundant, benevolent face once more.

Sunflower for Japan

Early autumn is a time of many festivals. Here in Auckland, the cultural festival is ending, and Ponsonby Rd was having a market day. The streets were lined with stalls, sizzling food, musicians, and many passers-by.
I bought this sunflower, which contains both summer radiance and autumn seeds, and took it to the Japanese restaurant where I often have lunch. They are always courteous and kind. Today it was my turn to offer something back to them, acknowledging the suffering of the Japanese people at this time.
These words come from Seneca, from a quote that our Governor General read out at the Christchurch memorial service yesterday:

In the presence of death, we must continue to sing the song of life.

Reflections on rebuilding

Today, on the edge of the gently lapping tide, I made another little shrine for Christchurch. In the golden light of early autumn the beach is still warm at the end of the day. The benevolence of the season helps me to embrace hope.

Rebuilding will happen.

It always does.

What is built from the ruins will benefit from hard lessons learned.

It will be stronger than before.

This one was made 7 days after the earthquake

Live in the present

Do all the things that need to be done.

Do all the good you can each day.

The future will unfold.

(Peace Pilgrim)

Making the most of it

Out at the coast over the weekend, the surf was still refreshing, but not too cold. There we were, not knowing if this would be the last swim or not, making the most of the golden weather.

Cabbage tree turning flowers to berries

koromiko flower

Pomarderis

karo seed capsules, bursting open to reveal sticky black seeds

Meanwhile, nature is busy making seeds, berries and pushing out the last flowers of the season.
I too am gathering up goodness, ready for the shift into a darker, cooler time.

Autumn's richness

The sun is shining; the days are warm. The oaks are shedding their acorns, which pop out of the little cups at their base. A feijoa tree drops fruit over a fence, on to the pavement.

Berries are abundant, and bright with colour.

Ivy leaves are shifting allegiance.

And in the shade of a huge oak tree, tiny toadstools lift their heads out of the ground.
Autumn is here, bringing a welcome sense of stability and benevolence.

Hearts for Japan

Last night, at an interfaith gathering, we contemplated spiritual teachings on the theme of uncertainty. This theme was chosen before the Japanese earthquake had occurred, and proved to be even more pertinent than expected. One of the readers was a Japanese woman, who had been about to make a trip home.
Going deeply into this theme and experiencing the discomfort of uncertainty together, brought unexpected comfort. Such a paradox.
As I contemplate nature, and the energy that is being put into making seeds in this season, I come into the presence of a great power. The kawakawaka, those green hearts that I love so much, from this plant used by the Maori for much healing, are full of greening, drinking up autumn's rain. The power of regeneration is ever present.
The power of love was also abundant last night as we lit candles for Japan. The Japanese rescue team was the first to be sent to New Zealand following the Christchurch earthquake, and this morning I heard that we have now sent a team back to them. This is love-in-action.

'Love is actually a state of being, and a divine state at that, the state to which we all yearn to return.' (Ram Dass).
My flax and kawakawa heart for Japan keeps me in the presence of love. I feel a great wave flowing towards Japan right now, carrying prayers for comfort, safety, healing and regeneration.