🌀🐇 #271 chasing fog, navigating mystery, divine dance

Plus The Geography of Sorrow

⚡️ Enlightening Bolts

💃🏻 The Dance of Divinity, Matter, and Mind: McGilchrist’s Ontology Explained. Watch it here.

🤔 Navigating the Mysteries: Martin Shaw’s poetic guide to facing uncertainty by awakening imagination instead of clinging to certainty. Read it here

🌫️ Chasing Fog: The Science and Spirituality of Nature’s Grounded Cloud. Read it here.

🎇 Image of The Week

“Meet the emerald green sea slug (Elysia chlorotica), a remarkable marine creature often called the “solar-powered sea slug.” This tiny mollusk, found along the Atlantic coast of North America, possesses an extraordinary ability rarely seen in the animal kingdom — it can photosynthesize like a plant.” Read more.

Photo taken by Billy Arthur.

👁️ Newness in The Usual

This is your periodic reminder that in the immediate panorama of your perception, there is a panoply of details that have somehow escaped your attention.

These details have been glossed over as our routines become—well, routine.

What commonly surrounds us stops standing out. That which is pervasive becomes invisible.

Some of these details may seem boring, but at least a few of them, I promise, are well worth your attention.

I won’t spoil the fun by telling you what they are. I only hope to encourage your way of seeing to temporarily slip out of the conditioned grooves it tends to relax into when faced with the run-of-the-mill.

Become a neophile of the ordinary. Find the newness in the usual.

There is a richness around you, almost beckoning you to lend the gift of your witnessing. Resuscitate the dormant beauty—and find your eyes beginning to glimmer.

“I believe that there is luminosity hiding in the shadow of the mundane. And things that hover at the periphery of our vision. If that’s magic, then I believe in it.” ― Natasha Mostert

🎄 The Tree With The Lights

Savor this passage from Annie Dillard

“It was for this tree I searched through the peach orchards of summer, in the forests of fall and down winter and spring for years. Then one day I was walking along Tinker creek and thinking of nothing at all and I saw the tree with the lights in it. I saw the backyard cedar where the mourning doves roost charged and transfigured, each cell buzzing with flame. I stood on the grass with the lights in it, grass that was wholly fire, utterly focused and utterly dreamed. It was less like seeing that like being for the first time see, knocked breathless by a powerful glance. The flood of fire abated, but I’m still spending the power. Gradually the lights went out in the cedar, the colors died, the cells un-flamed and disappeared. I was still ringing. I had been my whole life a bell and never knew it until at that moment I was lifted and struck. I have since only very rarely seen the tree with the lights in it. The vision comes and goes, mostly goes, but I live for it, for the moment the mountains open and a new light roars in spate through the crack, and the mountains slam.”

🤓 Learn This Word

Fargin: A Yiddish word that means to wholeheartedly appreciate the success of others

🕸️ From Around The Web

The Geography Of Sorrow

“For a man who specializes in grief and sorrow, psychotherapist Francis Weller certainly seems joyful. When I arrived at his cabin in Forestville, California, he emerged with a smile and embraced me. His wife, Judith, headed off to garden while Francis led me into their home among the redwoods to talk.

I had wanted to interview Weller ever since the publisher I work for, North Atlantic Books, had agreed to publish his new book, The Wild Edge of Sorrow: Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief. Over the previous few years my father, grandfather, grandmother, father-in-law, and sister-in-law had all died, and I’d also moved across the country and was missing the friends and community I’d left behind. I’d been living with a free-floating state of unease, but I’d largely sidestepped direct encounters with my losses.

In his book Weller invites us to view grief as a visitor to be welcomed, not shunned. He reminds us that, in addition to feeling pain over the loss of loved ones, we harbor sorrows stemming from the state of the world, the cultural maladies we inherit, and the misunderstood parts of ourselves. He says grief comes in many forms, and when it is not expressed, it tends to harden the once-vibrant parts of us.”

🎬 Endnote

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With Wonder,

Mike Slavin