Archives for posts with tag: Ichi-go ichi-e

Odd morning. I slept well enough. I woke on time. The morning seems ordinary, another Monday. Still, I feel rather out of sorts and vexed with something or other, but I have no idea what, or why.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I sigh to myself, waiting on daybreak to start my walk. I haven’t yet replaced my headlamp. Is that what’s annoying me? Maybe, but if so more likely as a larger concern with not getting shit done “in a timely manner”, and some vague sense of being on a metaphorical hamster wheel in life. Maybe it’s just my exceedingly annoying painful left shoulder, which is being particularly annoying and painful this morning? Also? Omg fuck the “aches and pains” of aging. So over that shit.

…So, yeah, I’m pretty cross this morning, but there’s no noteworthy tale to tell, or anything obvious to do about it. Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Don’t take shit personally…

There is so much to do that I feel like I don’t (or can’t) get to. I sigh to myself. I could do more, work harder, burn more energy in spite of pain… It gets tricky when I attempt to stave off resentment by improving my self-care. There’s a balance to strike. At least I’m sleeping. That’s something. We all need sleep to keep these fragile vessels in working order.

Daybreak comes. I’m always strangely relieved when it does, as if there might be some real risk that it might not. I stepped onto the trail, testing my stability carefully before I proceeded. I Checked that my trekking pole is adjusted correctly and securely. Steps on a path. Nice morning for walking. I let my eyes adjust and start down the trail.

We’re each having our own experience. I reflect on that as I walk. However many times I walk this trail, each walk is still new, and is a unique experience. Each other person who has or will walk this trail experiences it differently than I do. That’s a lot of experiences.

I stop at my halfway point. The new hotel being built next to the air museum is visible from here. For now, it is still an eyesore of construction in progress, it’s blocky form inconsistent with the architecture of the museum. It’s ugly and ordinary, another revenue stream for the owner(s). I’d rather have seen more vineyards planted, personally, but I wasn’t asked. 😆

I sit with my grumpiness and discontent. It’ll pass. That is the way of emotions and moments; they pass. I sigh to myself and think instead about driving my RC car this weekend, which was delightful, and I think about the pleasant time spent hanging out with my beloved, or working on my next painting in my studio. It was a good weekend, generally speaking.

… What the fuck do I even have to be cranky about..?

I shift my position and feel all the twinges of pain at once: the shoulder, the knee, the new arthritis in my thumbs, the old arthritis in my spine, the headache, and the occipital neuralgia. I laugh, an actual audible expression of genuine amusement. How is the pain not enough reason to be a bit cross this morning? I shrug it off, satisfied that I’ve got reason enough to feel the way I do. I proceed to get some kind of start to letting that go; there is an entire new day ahead, and there’s no efficiency to be gained by dwelling on pain. I’ll just do my best to…do my best.

I watch the sky lighten. A new day. A new chance to begin again. A new chance to be the person I most want to be.

…No one said it would be easy…

I woke to my Traveling Partner’s voice telling me the weather and air quality are safe for walking. “Ideal” he may have said. I sat up groggy, and started dressing.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I reached the trailhead sometime between daybreak and sunrise. The morning sky is pink and blue, with just a bit of haze coloring the distant hills in shades of muted blues. The temperature is mild and quite comfortable for now, but hinting at another very hot day ahead.

Sometimes “better” will have to be enough.

I remember, with some frustration, that I had meant to grab some items purchased online that didn’t work out, so I could run the return errand today. I forgot them in my rush to leave, hoping to give my beloved at least some quiet time for himself. Shit. Probably have to go back for those later. It’s a short day; I have an appointment later. I walk with my thoughts, mostly working on figuring out the timing. Can I make it work?

“Can I make it work?” Sometimes yes, sometimes no, eh? It is a question that comes up a lot in a human life.

I get to my halfway point and stop. Shorter walk, but still walking. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and settle myself into this moment, here, now. This? Right here? This moment of quiet peace, contentment, and joy? It’s enough. I sit with it awhile, savoring the scent of summer in the air (instead of smoke). I watch the sun rise and a new day begin. I think my thoughts.

… The appointment is relatively early in the afternoon, I can do the returns afterwards…

My thoughts wander on. Life. Love. Joy. Sorrow. Work. Chores. Dreams. Plans. Recollections of jokes my partner has told, and lovely things he has said to me. I breathe, exhale, and bring myself back to “now”. This is quite a nice moment without any extras. I enjoy it as it is.

I sit quietly until I can’t avoid hearing my tinnitus screeching in my ears, and my thoughts become dominated by eagerness to have coffee. I sigh to myself and get to my feet. The clock is ticking, and it’s time to begin again.

Odd morning. Quiet. It’s fine. There’s a beautiful fat luminous full moon to greet me when I leave the house. It is slowly setting. By the time I reach the trail, it appears tangled in the tall oaks.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I try to get a picture of the moon as it sets. The composition is ruined by the placement of a streetlight relative to my angle of view.

There really is a full moon there.

I sigh to myself and just enjoy the sight of the full moon setting, before I set off down the trail.

I try again, zooming in closer.

The moon quickly disappears in the clouds as it sets. I start walking down the trail. Nice morning for it, clear skies overhead, mild, streaks of clouds here and there and a dense bank of clouds low on the western horizon.

I yawn as I walk, still shaking off the sleepiness of the night. I wonder if my beloved Traveling Partner managed to sleep through my departure this morning?  I hope so.

“Nothing to see here”, I think to myself as I walk.  I reach my halfway point and stop to write and meditate. Uneventful isn’t a bad thing, at all. I smile to myself. Breathe, exhale, relax; I make time for meditation. Finishing that, I take up my device and write a few words about nothing much on a pleasant, easy morning. I could skip it, but I don’t. It is a discipline, a practice, and also a means of reinforcing the frequency and utterly commonplace nature of lovely mornings such as this. It is far too easy to become mired in misery simply by not making a point to really be present for, and savor, beautiful quiet utterly ordinary moments.

…So here I am, doing the verbs…

…So many verbs.

The sunrise already comes later. I sit with that thought awhile. It’s not an uncomfortable thought. Change is. There is seasonality to life. It is a relatively comfortable morning, generally, aside from chronic pain that is, so far, mild enough to just ignore. I take notice of that, too, and make room in my awareness for it. It’s nice to be in less pain.

I sigh contentedly as I get to my feet and look down the trail. It’s a good time to begin again.

It is the actual 4th of July. What are you even celebrating? 250 years of… what, exactly? Or… are you celebrating something about the way things are, presently? Think about that. I’m not going to wait – this trail is ahead of me.

Where does this path lead? It’s an important question.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

What are you celebrating today? America’s 250th birthday? The destruction of democracy at the hands of the corrupt and the foolish? Something more personal? (For a long time I celebrated my freedom and survival from my first marriage every July 4th – totally worth celebrating.) What does the day really mean to you? Is it only a third day off, and a cookout, followed by lackluster fireworks and the sound of sirens after some careless idiot blows his hand off misusing fireworks at home?

…250 years of racism and misogyny?..

On a lighter note, my Traveling Partner pointed out, a couple days ago, that we are observing the six year anniversary of moving into our little small town suburban home. Wow – already? I remember that first 4th of July in a new place, still moving in, no AC, listening to our neighbors blowing shit up until well past midnight. The house was stifling hot, the windows open to a breeze that never seemed enough to cool things down. (I’m glad we had the AC installed. Worth it.) I’m grateful to be free from the constant nagging awareness that my rented housing wasn’t really mine, noisy neighbors and all. Worth celebrating. We worked hard to get here. We are fortunate to be here.

A view of the Willamette River from a convenient rock.

I find a spot to sit awhile and watch the river flow past. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I exchange good morning greetings with my beloved. The lovely pinks and golds of the sunrise that I enjoyed getting here are long gone. The day looks overcast, and there is no hint of sunshine for now, although the forecast indicates a sunny hot day. (Maybe the government should have kept their meteorologists and weather data gathering agencies intact after all? Shortsighted fuckwits.)

I inhale the scented summer air. Flowers. Clover, blackberries, and St John’s Wort mostly, and some wild roses here and there. The combination is pleasant. I exhale slowly, and repeat, filling my lungs and my senses. This is a lovely spot to sit with my thoughts.

I watch young squirrels playing in the branches that hang over the trail. The saplings sway under their weight, flexing and springing back as they jump from branch to branch. While my attention is diverted, a chipmunk sneaks up and tugs at the end of my bootlace, then darts away when I look down. I laugh out loud and startle all manner of creatures back into the safety of the underbrush. Noisy human.

Little birds flit about, landing nearby for a moment, singing a bit of their song, then flying away. This is a beautiful spot. Quiet. Peaceful. I sit enjoying it awhile longer, taking note of blackberry vines heavy with unripe fruit. The thimbleberries are laden with young fruit, too. Among the native shrubs, a twisted old apple tree also has young fruits on it.

I sigh contentedly to myself. I’m not inclined to celebrate the dumpster fire that is modern day American “governance”, but I’ve got this beautiful day, and I am fortunate to enjoy this moment before returning home to a life rich in joy and love. That’s totally worth celebrating.

Wherever you are is a great place to begin, again.

It is a gray rainy summer morning in the Pacific Northwest. Nothing particularly unusual about that. The temperature this morning is a mild 14C/58F. Comfortable. A muscle up the back of my right thigh is aching painfully. I mostly ignore it, but approach a favorite weekend trail from a different trailhead, with fewer hills. The more level ground is an easier walk.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

What’s your moment like? I wonder briefly how it is we each have our own experience, living our individual “now” moment, like pages in a book; so similar at a glance, such differences in the details, and still so common and familiar we are able to understand each other.

I walk with my thoughts, feeling a delicate spatter of occasional raindrops on my face. Not enough to call it “raining”. The marshy places are barely damp now, replaced mostly with meadow until the heavy autumn rains return. The tall grass is already brown. Most of the wildflowers are fading, dropping seeds for next year’s Spring bloom. The trees in the distance are many hues and shades of green, looking fresh and lush from where I stand.

Doesn’t matter where you are, you’ve got to start somewhere, and that somewhere is where you are.

There’s a delicious spicy herb-y floral scent that I specifically associate with Oregon. I don’t know what it is. I love the scent of Oregon. Meadow, marsh, forest, dunes, desert, savannah…it hardly matters to me. I love the places I have seen and been and traveled through. Oregon is special to me, though I have trouble being clear as to precisely why. Of all the places I have lived or visited, Oregon is one of only two that draw me back again and again (the other is “the Eastern Shore” region of Maryland, with her marshy flatlands and peaceful coves). It’s not that I don’t like (and even love) many other places, it’s more that these “two” (Oregon is pretty vast to be a single place) call to my heart to come on home.

I get to my halfway point feeling a soft gratitude just to be alive, existing, and able to experience the simple joy of a summer morning. Uncomplicated. Unbothered. From my perch on a fence rail, I watch a multitude of little birds flit about. They have their own way of enjoying the morning. I breathe, exhale, and relax. This feels like enough. Right here. Now.

…I am, of course, overlooking all the corruption, drama, and harmful bullshit going on in the US, and around the world. I’m ignoring, for the moment, all the violence and genocide. Drone warfare. The bombings of civilian targets. The fuckwittery of our gerontocracy. The obscene greed of billionaires. The commonness of hate speech and incivility. It’s much. We all need to take steps to preserve our individual peace, and our resilience; the future of humanity may depend on our persistence and endurance. This isn’t a sprint. I sigh quietly and let all that go, again, for awhile…

I spent a couple hours in the studio this weekend. I may go back for more. Painting fulfills something for me that nothing else does. It is soul-nurturing, healing work.

“Summer Sunrise, McMinnville June 2026”

I gaze across the meadow observing the changing light and thinking about palette choices, shade, tint, and hue. How best to capture a misty rain drenching a summer meadow, I wonder? I sit watching until the rain reaches me, then laugh with delight when it finally does, as if surprised. It passes by quickly, leaving me a bit damp, glasses spattered.

I grin at my happy predicament. I don’t mind the rain. I get to my feet and stretch. The trail through the meadow beckons me, and it’s time to begin again (already?).  This, here, now, is as good a moment as any to take a next step, to choose, to walk on, and to begin… but really, anywhere is, it’s simply necessary to begin. To walk on. The clock is ticking.

What are you going to do about it?