blessings ~

cosmic day ~

splendour in the grass ~

for linda ~

purification ~

*turkey vulture

imagine ~

an opening ~

the kimba cat ~

of gulls and things ~

Some of the last conversations I had with my dad before he died were about gulls. After many years of birdwatching, seagulls and seabirds had become his latest interest. He spoke to me of bill shapes amongst gulls and how they related to their different character. He liked the description that he had read somewhere of "dipped-in-ink" wingtips. We never got too far into these conversations because at that point his mind was unpredictable due to the illness that he had, but still he had a few tips he wanted to pass along to me.

One poignant memory I have is on one of the "wheelchair" walks along the Dee estuary in England when my dad heard a birdsong (I believe it was some kind of thrush). This particular song was one that cuckoos are known to mimic. My dad was convinced that it was a cuckoo that he was hearing mimicking the thrush and not the thrush itself. Even after looking through the binoculars he was adamant. After looking at the bird myself I was convinced that it was a thrush. Doubt about his judgement crept in. I had pretty much trusted his judgement my whole life until then, especially as it pertained to birds. He was always careful when naming things.

This is when I first felt I was really losing him.

When we returned home he went straight to his reference books. After hurriedly flipping through them he said with a sudden realization that it wasn't the cuckoo after all that he had seen. How could he have been so far off? I remember the look of puzzlement on his face. There was fear there too, for isn't it the mind that tells us what is real?

I have always wanted to know the names of things. It started when I was very young and has continued. My dad always made sure that he knew the names of things in nature for those times when I would inevitably ask. This created the known world for me. A place where everything had a name and things were always safe.

I am now living by the sea. Gulls are everywhere. I pick up my dad's interest. I start where he left off. The identification of gulls.

I soon discover that I am in very slippery territory. The lines between things begin to dissolve. One word for it is hybridization. This is what David Sibley has to say about it in his book, The Sibley Guide To Birds:

Identification of hybrid gulls is difficult and often conjectural. Most hybrids are intermediate between parent species, but individual variation and back crosses produce a continuum of variation.

He goes on to say of gulls in general:

Gull identification represents one of the most challenging and subjective puzzles in birding and should be approached only with patient and methodical study. A casual or impatient approach will not be rewarded.

Even when I think I have something to hold onto regarding identification, Sibley says this:

The shade of gray of the mantle of any large gull is an important identification clue, but assessing mantle colour is very difficult under sunny conditions, when the orientation of the bird relative to the observer changes the apparent shade of gray. Some individuals become darker when wet. Photographs can be particularly misleading.

Can gulls even be named? Is there anything to hold onto? When we try and grasp something like death we look into our hands and find that they are empty. My dad himself became more and more like a frequency and less and less solid. We could no longer connect. Near the end he could no longer speak.

As a child and into adulthood I followed my dad down many trails in the mountains. He led me through valleys, over glaciers, across streams and rivers. It seemed he always knew where he was going. It is only right then that he would show me how to die. I went down that pathway with him as far as I could go. And then he went off into the nameless.

Gone now, I still struggle without him. I can no longer ask him the names of things. I can't say to him - is that a glaucous gull tending towards a herring gull? He would have had an idea. He had a good eye and such a love for birds. We would have had fun discussing it anyway. Left to my own devices, I have yet to crack the spine of his heavy book entitled simply, Gulls.

I will though. My own judgement and discrimination will have to take up more space. I stand now in the balance between the known and the unknown. I know there is really nothing for me to hold onto. There is no ground beneath my feet. Reality is subjective and conjectural. The mantle of the gull shifts and changes depending upon the light and the position of the observer. And the cuckoo still mimics the thrush.

gannet acrobatics ~

out back ~

happy solstice everyone!

another cold one ~

brrrrrrrrr ~

we had to take sophie out before she ate all of our mitts ... it was pretty cold with vapour blowing off the ocean. beautiful lighting, but you have to keep your face covered for sure...

busy staying warm here ~ for alex ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

taking flight ~

for protection ~

that which is indestructible ~

Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us.

from Pema Chodron's book, When Things Fall Apart (this was a quote that Pema Chodron had pinned on her wall.)

a few more sophies - are you still with me Kay!?

to the waters and the wild ~

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you
can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you
can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,.
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For to world's more full of weeping than you
can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For be comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
from a world more full of weeping than you can understand.

poem by William Butler Yeats - The Stolen Child

small is beautiful ~

point yourself in the direction of home ~

out and about ~

This morning it was chucking it down with rain and a warm, strong wind was blowing from the south. Once the rain stopped we decided to get outside and walk. It was a good decision as we saw some purple sandpipers and were greeted by this lovely snail! In fact, there were many snails out and about, seemingly enjoying the wet ground after the rain.

bat girl ~

When I first saw Claudia she was a kitten in a box at a farmer's market. I couldn't resist her. Needless to say, she puts up with us most of the time.

northern gannet ~

These birds are so fun to watch. It is amazing how they torpedo themselves into the water by folding their wings...the splash of water on the bottom right area of the last photo is all the evidence left of the gannet as it plunges beaneath the surface of the water!

young northern gannet ~

awakening to ourselves ~

Once upon a time there was a very beautiful flower. Her name was Lily. She did not know what incredible beauty was contained within her. She felt that it was easier to hide her unique beauty. She thought that the very idea of opening was scary. She felt vulnerable and sometimes very alone.

But one day someone said to her: "Whether we open up or not, the beauty is always there within us. We can choose when it feels right to blossom. It is up to us and always happens at exactly the right time." This gave her strength and she found that she could no longer contain her closed stance. Her petals began to open, slowly, and all in good time.

And so it was that, in time, she found herself totally exposed, but not afraid. She was free and she was ready to share her beauty with the world.

it's official - i just turned into my father...

skuldoggery ~

Those of you with dogs in your lives might know this maneuver. To communicate the pressing desire to go for a walk or perhaps to get fed, it can be very worthwhile (and fun at the same time) to steal any item highly valued by the humans. Sophie knows that the dishcloth is one of these items (how i love doing the dishes!). By flagrantly waving the stolen item in front of us, she then allows us to chase her around and around the house...until we catch her.

She has learned over the last five and a half years that this method of communication is incredibly effective.


In fact, it probably works 99.9% of the time.

it's holy work to move past your own fear ~

spoken by Marianne Williamson, excerpted from her book A Return to Love

turkey vulture ~

I was planning on a more uplifting photo today after yesterday's post, but couldn't resist posting this turkey vulture as an addendum.

so many veils and illusions ~

So many veils and illusions separate us from the stark knowledge that we are dying. When we finally know we are dying, and all other sentient beings are dying with us, we start to have a burning, almost heartbreaking sense of the fragility and preciousness of each moment and each being, and from this can grow a deep, clear, limitless compassion for all beings.

sogyal rinpoche, from glimpse after glimpse - daily reflections on living and dying

mental slavery ~

If I don't know I don't know, I think I know. If I don't know I know I know, I think I don't know.

r.d. laing

on the road to freedom ~