Archives for posts with tag: Vita Contemplativa
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Just a Glimpse

October 26, 2026 //
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I woke at my usual time, my usual way. I guess I’m over being sick. I dressed and headed out, eager to walk in spite of the darkness.

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

I spotted the full moon overhead as I left the house. It rested on a bed of clouds like a pearl on fluffed cotton. I could still see it as I arrived at the trailhead. It ducked behind the clouds before I could get my camera out to get a picture of the “Hunter’s Moon”. It’s been rainy, I keep an eye on the clouds hoping to see the moon again, as I put on my rain poncho.

As I set off down the trail, the moon reveals herself. I turn off my headlamp and walk in the moonlight.

Is it a great picture? No. It doesn’t need to be. It’s enough to remind me, later, of this beautiful moment.

I put my phone away, and walk on. As if aware I’m watching, the moon stays out, lighting my way.

I get to my halfway point, grateful that I made it so far, comfortably, after being sick for days. I breathe, exhale, and relax, grinning happily to myself as I recall the pleasant hours in the studio yesterday afternoon – a glimpse of what retirement might feel like. I smile to myself, like I’ve figured something out. I’m not certain I have, but there’s the hint of an idea, and the feeling of having turned a corner, or having set down some baggage. Something to do with the weekend painting on the coast, something to do with painting at home on a weekend afternoon – something to do with making things work in a meaningful way in spite of less than ideal circumstances.

… Maybe I just needed more restful sleep to process things? I’ve definitely gotten that over the past week! 😆

I sit watching the moon pass behind the clouds, then peek out at me again. I fill up on inspiration as I sit watching, breathing, and waiting to begin again. It’s not yet time for that. I meditate and reflect awhile. I watch the moon shining down so very brightly. “Can I capture that luminous glow in pastels?” I wonder.

“Foggy Autumn Morning”, 5″ x 7″ pastels on pastelbord, 2026

I’ve been painting foggy mornings. Maybe I will paint moonlight, next, after I figure out fog?

“Strangers in the Fog”, 9.5″ x 12.5″ pastels on pastel card, 2026

The moon disappears from view. The dense clouds remind me why I reliably bring my headlamp along. My rain poncho is another welcome addition this morning, as raindrops begin to reach me, sprinkling my glasses with tiny droplets. I sigh as I get to my feet. Apparently, it’s time to begin, again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being

Step Away From The Feed

October 14, 2026 //
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I get to the halfway point on my walk and take a seat on the bench that happens to be here. I breathe the autumn morning air deeply, filling my lungs then exhaling slowly. It’s a pleasantly mild morning. My breath is not visible.

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

This morning feels pretty good so far, although I’ve been slow to get going. I was awakened from a deep sound sleep and dreams that seemed snatched from another, other, life. Very real. Strangely practical. This morning feels better in spite of chronic pain, and in spite of my tinnitus. It feels better for what is missing more than what is going on in this moment; no feeds, none at all. I haven’t even looked at my calendar. It is telling how much difference it makes.

… I’m not telling you what to do, I am sharing what is working for me…

Scrolling feeds in the morning definitely fucks up my headspace, reducing my resilience and filtering my experience of “now” through all kinds of negativity and drama, and general bad news. It’s not actually good for “keeping me informed”, and hasn’t proven necessary at all. Any FOMO that develops reliably turns out to be as dumb as that acronym. People can and do live beautifully rich lives without doom scrolling through AI slop and advertisements.

I smile in the darkness, feeling light. There’s nothing newsworthy at all going on right here, right now… and that’s fine. It is a quiet, relatively dull moment. Life is full of such moments. Enjoy them! I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a nice spot to meditate and to reflect. I also don’t need feeds for that.

I see hints of daybreak in the lighter shade of the night sky. Cloudy. I wonder whether it might rain? I sigh to myself. I’d like to get my GMRS mobile radio installed in my car, weather permitting. I meant to yesterday and wonder where the time went? I remind myself again that I have an appointment this afternoon. I wonder what the traffic will be like? Oh sure, I could answer all those questions and more by opening one app or another on my device, but g’damn I am enjoying these “answer free” moments greatly, and really don’t care about the answers to any of those questions. It’s fine to wonder.

I sigh contentedly. I meditate. I reflect under the cloudy starless sky. It’s enough. I can begin again later – and I still won’t need a feed for that.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

I’m Okay, Are You?

October 1, 2026 //
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I’m okay, for most values of “okay”. It’ll have to do. It’s honestly not worth the effort to bitch about anything going on with me. Mundane stuff. How are you? I care and I’m curious. (Comment if you wish.)

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

I’m sitting at the halfway point on this hike, and probably life as well (if I’m lucky enough to be around to see 120-ish). I have felt as though I’ve been living life “at the halfway point” for awhile now, 15-20 years maybe. It has been a time of struggle, change, healing, and growth. I’ve made some good friends in this time, I’ve probably lost more.

…There’s never a guarantee that life’s scale would balance for me as an unremarkable individual human primate, one of many…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The cycle is a simple one. My day begins. I do my best. I survive the experience. I sleep, wake, and begin again. And again. And again. Eventually, the sands of time will run out on this one mortal experience. I’ve no idea what’s after that – no one has come back to say. I sit with that thought awhile. Uncertainty. Impermanence. Change. Big ideas that seem smaller under the black night sky. Doesn’t matter. My time. My thoughts.

I meditate. Enjoy the mild autumn morning. Watch for daybreak. Write a few words. I’d rather be setting up my easel for another piece, but it’s a work day. I think ahead to the weekend. Soon.

This is one of those mornings that feels almost like a throwaway moment, “nothing to see here”, as if it were a rerun, and not because I have a routine. It’s more that the moment is unremarkable, which is true in all but one way; the very ordinariness itself. The gentle mundanity is so spectacularly strange feeling to me sometimes, I find it remarkable. Very little of my life has been gently ordinary. I don’t really know whether (or quite how) to enjoy it. I wonder how many such moments I have undermined with unnecessary drama or emotional bullshit in the past simply because I didn’t know how to deal with the ordinary?

I sigh to myself and notice the trees seem more obvious, silhouetted against the sky, than they did moments ago. Daybreak soon, I suppose. Another sigh. I get to my feet and stretch, looking down the path. It’s only a moment. I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being

Watching, Thinking

July 30, 2026 //
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I’m already at the halfway point on my walk. It is some time between daybreak and sunrise. I’m watching the full moon sinking through the tangle of oak branches along the trail.

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

Streaky clouds begin to take shape as the sky lightens. I sit with my thoughts. I meditate. It is a gentle start to the day – until I start sneezing. Some meadow flower or tree pollen, dust, or spore, more than likely. I’m grateful to have shoved a travel pack of tissues in my pocket. I feel very human, and just a little grossed out by the time I’m over that. I sit contentedly watching the clouds evolve as the light changes. The sunrise is bland and not particularly interesting this morning, and I’m grateful for the new day, anyway.

Breathe, exhale, relax. Meditate. Write. Think. Repeat. It is a particularly pleasant morning.

Pleasant or not, the amount of pain I’m in this morning is ridiculous. It is very specifically osteoarthritis pain, and very specifically located at my spinal fusion and below it. This is new. Over the years more and more of the joints above my fusion (T12-L2) have become arthritic. The first year or two of pain in a given new area is the worst. After awhile it begins to blur with all the rest. I keep catching myself trying to flex or somehow move this area of my spine that does not move. It is futile and uncomfortable. I glare at the clouds thickening overhead. Rain? The pain says yes, or at least a strong maybe.

I sigh to myself and do my best to let it go. I accepted the pain a long time ago as a consequence of my actions. No regrets, I paid a high price for my survival and escape from domestic violence, and it has been worth that price and more.

I get to my feet, and rub my aching knee as I do. What the hell did I even do to that knee? I no longer recall. I sigh and stretch and look down the trail. Somewhere down the trail, around that bend, beyond this new beginning, is a whole new day. I wonder where this path will lead?

Ask the questions. Do the verbs.
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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

Full Moon Setting

July 29, 2026 //
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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.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, thoughts on AI
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