Threshold and Oak Walk
Last fall, before Cloistered Time (aka the pandemic lockdown), I began work on a handmade book with the familiar Rumi passage, “Let the beauty we love be what we do”. I had become dis-heartened; each day, our world felt more fragmented, our environment more imperiled. The Rumi line held an important reminder for me, a call from his 16th century writing, to attend to the present and to that which is – still – present, alive, simple and beautiful.
But Rumi’s preceding lines gave me pause: “Today, like everyday, we wake up empty and frightened. Don’t open the door to the study and begin reading.” Reading and a generous library have always been reliable and sustaining allies in my life. In an earlier post, Books Breathing, I wrote about my deep involvement with reading, a reading community and books themselves. (An early handmade book on the subject, Book Time, was referred to in that post.) Further, I resisted owning “empty and frightened” as my morning state.
The newspapers are the ones that were stacking up. The painter’s palette and beloved ceramic cup invite another focus. The cup folds out toward the reader.
Still, the process of tacking ideas, images, words and pages on the studio wall to get started on this project was begun. I felt a need to honor the whole quote, with its emptiness and fear as well as its beauty. I had taken several photographs of newspapers stacked high at the front door and realized that my own “empty and frightened” times were associated with an increasingly urgent reading of newspapers, news journals and digital media, a burgeoning case of “You can never get enough of what you don’t need.”
Rumi’s admonition to open the day with music and beauty renewed a resolve to begin our days with nature, early light, a quiet coffee in a turquoise cup, readings on art and nature and returning to the rich, contemplative offerings of Marv and Nancy Hiles’ An Almanac for the Soul, a gift from dear friends Barbara and Charlie. The reading of excellent (and, yes, alarming) books continues, but is more intentionally placed within the day – and balanced by lyrical and steadfast company.
Labyrinths have been of interest and significance to us for a long time; we love sharing the path with others.
The title page of This Day presents the photograph Threshold, a frog on the brass handle of our front door. The close presence of creatures and plant life in Florida are a gift, an education and a responsibility. The frogs on the front door are delicate, sweet reminders that here and now, we dwell in nature. After the baby owls fledged in the early months of the pandemic, two orphaned fawns took up residence nearby, grazing in the neighborhood at all hours. (Wildlife Care has shared advice and wisdom, as they did with the owls.) We have had the happiness of watching this pair grow, consider being adopted by a shy, young doe, confront massive Sandhill Cranes and investigate a preoccupied opossum. And, there has been the inimitable joy of sharing them with the children.
So, This Day begins with opening a blue door, being encircled by great oaks and graced with visitors.
Images and words © Diane Farris, All rights reserved.