Doctortayria's Blog

Moon shot from my porch

Hafiz wrote a poem about a wine bottle that fell off of a cart in a field and all of the beetles and insects got drunk on it and began to play music as they discovered seeds that they could drum upon. And this, he says, “made God happy.” Then one of them noticed the moon rising and said, “What should we do about that moon?” They put their instruments down and began to tackle together this “profoundly useless question.” And I ask tonight as I’m paralyzingly arrested in the middle of my chores looking out my back door at the mist hugging the mountain, “What should I do about that mist?” I listen to the crickets and night sounds and stop everything. “What should I do about these sounds?” The lightning bugs are just beginning to light up the forest from floor to ceiling. “What should I do about the lightning bugs?” These profoundly useless questions are haunting.

Family bluegrass band

 At the retreat I did for some folks in Georgia this weekend, the woman who arranged it hired an extraordinary cook and her husband to prepare our completely organic, vegetarian meals. In this I met one of the most unique and interesting families I have ever encountered. The wife is from Japan, and has a sweet and ebullient nature. The husband is from Georgia, a musician, carpenter, organic farmer and avid reader who it seemed you can have an interesting conversation with on just about any subject.  They have three friendly, charming, talented children. The family has an organic farm where they grow all of the vegetables they use in the cooking they do, and raise chickens for eggs. 

The cuisine they prepare is completely Japanese in flavoring, selection and presentation. Yet the greens and vegetables are those used in home style southern cooking. They looked familiar to me from eating at the tables of my Appalachian friends, while tasting like I was dining at one of the finest Japanese restaurants. 

For our entertainment on Saturday evening and Sunday lunch they brought their three children who play bluegrass music that will make you want to jump up and start clogging. The young boy plays the banjo, one sister plays ukulele and the other the fiddle. They know the music and lyrics to lists of songs, just like my mountain friends do. You look at them, see their sparkling little Japanese faces, and hear the absolute best of hillbilly culture’s music. Their father said it is “Jappalachian music.” 

He, the Dad, has dark brown eyes and hair, so I was curious if there might be Japanese somewhere in his lineage. I asked him about his ancestry, and he said, with a gleam, “My ancestors come from Africa.” I understood his point perfectly. All of our ancestors come from Africa, the birthplace of our species. We’re all one family. This weekend I got to meet distant Jappalachian cousins. Delightful.

Just had the first day of a retreat in Georgia, the day when everyone arrives and stories start being told. By the end of this evening in a forest setting, full moon, perfect weather, an extraordinary group of people with big hearts brought together, people so real, honest and open, I have fallen in love all over again. I fall in love all of the time. Once my daughter and a friend were talking about someone in a discriminating fashion. I said, “Oh, I really loved that person!” My daughter said with some exasperation, “Mom, you don’t count. You love everybody.” It felt like a compliment to me but it wasn’t meant to be one. I find every person to be a fascinating combination of qualities, absolutely unique in a thousand ways. New discoveries every day. There is magic in the air here tonight and I love being part of it.

This has to be an obvious and overused metaphor, but I can’t help myself. I planted an extensive garden, watered it well, and then left for more than 2 weeks to Colorado and Mexico. Now I am back tending the plants, excited about their sprouting, and watching big weeds growing close that could choke their roots and rob them of nutrients.

While I was travelling I was hoping to find new insight and perspective on big issues in my life that are harder to see while I’m actually in the matrix of everything here. The weeding session today felt powerful to me, like I was at the same time clearing my own psychic garden. Just like these plants, things that have started to sprout in my psyche need space, need a clear area in which to grow, and need to be identified as separate from the very naturally occurring other things that crop up to crowd out their life.

I find it hard to see which is which, the plant or the weed. I kept pulling up what I thought was a weed only to discover it is what I had planted.  With apologies I put their roots back in the ground. And I kept overlooking weeds. It’s tricky for me. Every seed just wants to grow and is beautiful. Which plants will support the garden (literally and spiritually), and which will choke it? For me, in both cases, discerning these is harder than it might seem.

As I look at the horror of the oil spill off the coast of New Orleans I see it as a disease, dis-ease, of grief that is entering the veins of our species. We have been operating out of a horrifying lack of vision and foresight on behalf of the planet. The birds trying to clean the oil off their wings, the shellfish that are filled up with oil yet still trying to move, the dying plants and ecosystems – and livelihoods – the fury of the oil unstoppably spewing; as big as the horror is, I hope it shakes us awake. How can we stay numb and in denial as this happens? Our habits and addictions are destroying our own lovely nest. I, as much as anyone, must wake up. Help me, let’s help each other, shock ourselves into a bright, brilliant and brisk response. As Rumi says, “The door is round and open, don’t go back to sleep.”

I have been gone for more than two weeks, and while gone my dog was boarded at the veterinary hospital facility. He got lost in the woods for two days and nights, a big first in both of our lives, not long before I had to leave him there. He’s been having seizures and health problems since then, so I felt I needed to leave him where a doctor could care for him if needed. We were both brave to leave each other’s company during this trip. When I re-united with him today he was so excited that he couldn’t stop jumping on me and pawing me. I literally have bleeding wounds on my neck and chest from the reunion. I have been treating them with antibiotic ointment. If they scar I will be pleased and proud of the scars forever. I have never been loved as passionately as this dog loves me. What prouder scars could a person wear? The love is so pure.

Home on my mountain after more than two weeks away, though it is only through the light of moon and stars, I see summer exploding into fullness, little plants I had put in the ground the week before leaving already growing tall. The miracle of it all astounds me. I kiss the ground.