Posted in Cats, Death, Family, Gifts, Grief, Love

Bella

Last night.

At approximately 2:00 PM today, Bella Cat died.  She’s been declining for a while and although we weren’t sure we were making the right call, we took her to the vet today to help her move on.  The vet, after examining her, reassured us over and over again that it was the right call.  Unknown to us when we made the appointment, Bella had a mass on or near her kidneys.  She seemed to be in pain whenever she would eat or drink or use the litter box and that, in addition to her diagnosed dementia, was why we made the appointment in the first place.  Her quality of life was not good except when she was in a stupor from drugs.  The dementia was causing her to be in panic mode nearly all the time.  The only time she wasn’t yowling and meowing as if in pain was when she was being held or high on drugs.

I want to write something up for Bella the way I did for Izzy last year, but I just can’t right now.  This year has already brought a lot in terms of my health adventures, some family news that isn’t great (but not unfixable), and the death of another of our furry family members is too much right now.  My photos are packed away, too, so I can’t really go through and find some of the old ones of Bella until we get settled (no idea when that will be — we’re still in Maryland for now).

I just want to mark the date.  My blog(s) are helpful when it comes to that.  And maybe I just want to start down the road towards grieving Bella.  Writing helps.  I don’t know how or why.  Just that it does.

One last note or two:  I could almost swear I saw Bella leave her body during her last breath.  Maybe Izzy was there to greet her.  I hope so.

Posted in Aging, Earth, Eastern Shore, Gratitude, Grief, Health & Well-Being, Heartfulness, How to love the world, In these strange times, Maryland, Perception, Photography, Poetry, Portals & Pathways, Spirit, Thresholds, Winter

A Monday meander: What are we doing?

The road to nowhere. (Assateague Island)

Where is God?
by Mark Nepo

It’s as if what is unbreakable—
the very pulse of life—waits for
everything else to be torn away,
and then in the bareness that
only silence and suffering and
great love can expose, it dares
to speak through us and to us.

It seems to say, if you want to last,
hold on to nothing. If you want
to know love, let in everything.
If you want to feel the presence
of everything, stop counting the
things that break along the way.

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Posted in Aging, Beginnings, Cats, Change, Death, Earth, Eastern Shore, Exploring, Gifts, Gratitude, Grief, Heartfulness, How to love the world, In these strange times, Life, Maryland, Nature, Photography, Quotes, Spirit, Spiritual practices, Walking & Wandering, Winter

A Monday meander: As the sun rises on another calendar year

Offerings, remembrances.

In the winter I am writing about there was much darkness. Darkness of nature, darkness of event, darkness of spirit, the sprawling darkness of not knowing. We speak of the light of reason, I would speak here of the darkness of the world and the light of… but I don’t know what to call it, maybe hope, maybe faith, but not a shaped faith, only, say, a gesture or continuum of gestures… Because my work day begins early, it begins in winter in the huge, tense blackness of the world.

— Mary Oliver

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Posted in A bit of history, Aging, Air, Cats, Earth, Eastern Shore, Exploring, Family, Garden, Gifts, Gratitude, Grief, Heartfulness, Home, How to love the world, In these strange times, Life, Love, Maryland, Ohio, Photography, Quotes, Sky, Spirit, Spring, The Bogs, Walking & Wandering, Weather, Wonder, Words

Omnivagant

Going back in time. (Izzy, 2012)

omnivagant: poetic & rare adj.  wandering everywhere or anywhere; Spanish vagabunda roaming

inscape: the unique inner nature or essence of a person or thing, esp. as expressed in poetry or other arts; the landscape of an indoor area

~ from “Epic English Words,” by Robin Devoe

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Posted in Air, Earth, Eastern Shore, Exploring, Garden, Gifts, Gratitude, Grief, Heartfulness, Home, How to love the world, In these strange times, Life, Love, Maryland, Nature, Photography, Portals & Pathways, Quotes, Spirit, Spiritual practices, Spring, Walking & Wandering, Water, Weather, Wonder, Words

Circumbendibus and other words

Round and round the spider goes.

“Circumbendibus” means an indirect or roundabout way or process, often used humorously. It’s a mock-Latin term, combining “circum” (round about) and “bend” with the Latin plural ending “-ibus”. Essentially, it’s a synonym for circumlocution, a way of speaking or writing in a complicated, indirect manner.

— AI overview of the word

circumbendibus:  in a roundabout way; an indirect manner of traveling, speaking, or writing; circumlocution

— Robin Devoe, Epic English Words

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Posted in Air, Beach, Earth, Eastern Shore, Exploring, Gifts, Gratitude, Grief, Heartfulness, Hiking, How to love the world, In these strange times, Life, Love, Maryland, Nature, On the mountain, Pennsylvania, Photography, Portals & Pathways, Quotes, Spirit, Spiritual practices, Spring, Travel, Virginia, Walking & Wandering, Water, Weather, Wonder

A Wednesday wander: There and back again

My first trillium.

For we live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; and our time should be counted in the throbs of our hearts as we love and help, learn and strive, and make from our own talents whatever can increase the stock of the world’s good.

― A.C. Grayling, The Good Book: A Secular Bible

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Posted in Air, Beginnings, Earth, Eastern Shore, Exploring, Garden, Gifts, Gratitude, Grief, Heartfulness, Hiking, Home, How to love the world, In these strange times, Love, Maryland, Nature, Pennsylvania, Photography, Portals & Pathways, Quotes, Spirit, Spiritual practices, Spring, Walking & Wandering, Water, Wonder, Woods

Rebellion or resistance?

Neworking

We need a different strategy—one that doesn’t just burn, but smolders, spreads, takes root. One that knows endurance is its own kind of rebellion.

Soft Rebellion is the mycelial strategy of weaving beneath the surface, unsettling rigid structures with slow, persistent entanglement. It does not meet violence with a mirrored fist but with the supple intelligence of the willow, bending just enough to redirect the force and send it spiraling elsewhere. Soft Rebellion is the way water carves stone—not through brute force but through patient insistence, through intimate knowledge of the cracks, through the whisper of time.

Its strategies are those of the trickster, the lover, the root and the reed. It listens before it moves, feeling into the hidden weaknesses of oppressive systems, understanding that no empire, no ideology, no monolith is without its fractures. It knows that control is a brittle thing, and that softness—fluid, adaptable, decentralized—is far harder to extinguish than steel.

Soft rebellion moves through stories, through the slow embroidery of alternative worlds into the fabric of the present. It cultivates beauty in places of despair, weaving small sanctuaries of aliveness that offer refuge and reimagine what is possible. It disrupts through delight, through care, through humor that turns the blade of power back on itself. It does not fight on the battlefield chosen by the oppressor; it shifts the ground beneath their feet.

To rebel softly is to refuse to be reduced. It is to remain tender in a world that would harden you, to insist on connection where division is sown. It is to plant seeds in the ruins, knowing that even in the shadow of collapse, life finds a way to creep through the cracks and bloom.

Soft rebellion is the mycelial antidote to the brittle, crumbling monolith of power. In the face of a slow-moving coup—where democracy is gutted in broad daylight, where fear is the chosen currency of control—soft rebellion does not play by the rules of the oppressor. It moves beneath, between, beyond. It resists not with brute force, but with the cunning of ecosystems, the resilience of roots breaking concrete.

Soft rebellion understands that the systems tightening their grip on power want us exhausted, divided, reactive. It knows that despair is an instrument of control, that urgency is often a trap. So instead, it cultivates deep, embodied resistance—rebellion that does not just fight against but builds towards.

~ Shannon Willis, Soft Rebellion

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