Sometimes you want to hear “it’s going to be okay” even if you aren’t sure it is, or maybe especially then. And you’re right in any case, because somehow or another it’s going to be okay even if it isn’t. Just knowing we’re all here together gazing up at these same stars, feeling scared and uncertain - and not knowing how, or if, we can keep our children safe, or ourselves, or each other. Time is still ticking away regardless. I hope your dad is okay. I hope your mom is okay. I hope your heart is okay, Steve. Thank you for this 🤍
I try to spend an hour or two each morning reading here on Substack - because I have found a community of good people, with interesting things to say, and sometimes beautiful poetry too, and I find the experience of reading their work enriching. It also helps stimulate my own creativity, and my poetry and other writing has benefited as a result.
Your own post today falls into a different category - because you are simply sharing, in a very thoughtful way, a reflection on what it means to live, and love, and to be connected to those closest to you, and to the natural world. It is a reflection, too, on mortality.
It is beautifully written, but it is also sincere - so my reply is to acknowledge and compliment the former (it really is a lovely piece of writing), and to send my best wishes, as one fallible human to another, because although you are correct that "it will be okay" - and the Buddha would agree too - I also know that day to day, minute to minute, the complex emulsion of joy and grief that we call life can sometimes be hard to bear.
This is soooooo beautiful, Steve! And I so love rain and nature, like you do. Especially when writers write about their exquisite experiences of touch, feeling and deep listening...which of course you obviously do. Thank you for sharing.
Oh absolutely! You might look into Elizabeth Bercovinci, I believe that's how she spells her name...she interviews Irish shamans, etc. about the trees in Ireland. One intuitive says that the dragons that protect the trees are real. Her interviews are sensational. Makes me want to jump on a plane and go to Ireland, the magic land.
I always appreciate your writing. It is going to be ok. It might not be what we envision it will be, but it will eventually be ok. On a related note, I love Sandhill Cranes and just went to see them last weekend. In solidarity to your dad and his crane sighting, I'm sending your dad lots of salty vibes so his sodium levels increase and he gets to feeling better soon.
I hope your dad makes it through ok, that your mom has what she needs, and that you can navigate this with continued strength. Our creativity is our salve. Yours is a strong one.
Definitely shared this, Steve, as I usually do. You write phrases and sentences that are deeply emotive, and that's the kind of writing I appreciate most--the kind that stirs me to feel something.
Your last paragraph reminded me of something I often say (and write) in my own reflections: "Look for what is good, beautiful, and true in the world. And when you can't find any of it, create it."
All will be well. And all manner of things will be well, said 14th century English mystic Julian of Norwich and those of us who do as you’ve done and stand outside away from the screaming screens. The solace of crisp birch leaves rustling last Friday taught me a gratitude lesson too. Thanks for your soothing beautiful words, again.
Sometimes you want to hear “it’s going to be okay” even if you aren’t sure it is, or maybe especially then. And you’re right in any case, because somehow or another it’s going to be okay even if it isn’t. Just knowing we’re all here together gazing up at these same stars, feeling scared and uncertain - and not knowing how, or if, we can keep our children safe, or ourselves, or each other. Time is still ticking away regardless. I hope your dad is okay. I hope your mom is okay. I hope your heart is okay, Steve. Thank you for this 🤍
🙏🙏 Thank you.
Hi Steve
I try to spend an hour or two each morning reading here on Substack - because I have found a community of good people, with interesting things to say, and sometimes beautiful poetry too, and I find the experience of reading their work enriching. It also helps stimulate my own creativity, and my poetry and other writing has benefited as a result.
Your own post today falls into a different category - because you are simply sharing, in a very thoughtful way, a reflection on what it means to live, and love, and to be connected to those closest to you, and to the natural world. It is a reflection, too, on mortality.
It is beautifully written, but it is also sincere - so my reply is to acknowledge and compliment the former (it really is a lovely piece of writing), and to send my best wishes, as one fallible human to another, because although you are correct that "it will be okay" - and the Buddha would agree too - I also know that day to day, minute to minute, the complex emulsion of joy and grief that we call life can sometimes be hard to bear.
Best wishes to you from (much warmer) Australia
Dave
Thank you for such a touching note, Dave. And more importantly, thank you for being someone who understands so deeply!
Ugh. You made me tear up. Thanks.
This is soooooo beautiful, Steve! And I so love rain and nature, like you do. Especially when writers write about their exquisite experiences of touch, feeling and deep listening...which of course you obviously do. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for reading, Ruthie! Kindred spirits.
Oh absolutely! You might look into Elizabeth Bercovinci, I believe that's how she spells her name...she interviews Irish shamans, etc. about the trees in Ireland. One intuitive says that the dragons that protect the trees are real. Her interviews are sensational. Makes me want to jump on a plane and go to Ireland, the magic land.
Thanks for this.
For some reason I find often myself saying “it’s gonna be Ok” when I go to hug someone
This was perfectly said, on connection. Thank you.
I always appreciate your writing. It is going to be ok. It might not be what we envision it will be, but it will eventually be ok. On a related note, I love Sandhill Cranes and just went to see them last weekend. In solidarity to your dad and his crane sighting, I'm sending your dad lots of salty vibes so his sodium levels increase and he gets to feeling better soon.
Thank you! I used to live in Nebraska & went to see them every spring. An amazing spectacle. 🙌🙌
I make my annual pilgrimage in February here in Arizona. This was last year’s crane trip, in case you’re missing all the wonderful sounds. https://youtu.be/ZIBLthmBi8U?si=xV5Hr3uzP7IEWLn9
I do miss those sounds! What a video. I actually have a pretty good crane call myself. 😂😂
It's days later and I am still thinking about that sound of sleet falling.
I hope your dad makes it through ok, that your mom has what she needs, and that you can navigate this with continued strength. Our creativity is our salve. Yours is a strong one.
🙏🙏
Wonderful imagery that helps me be still and know that…
I love the pace of this piece. It felt so relatable - all the various moving pieces of life and life stages. Thank you for sharing!
Definitely shared this, Steve, as I usually do. You write phrases and sentences that are deeply emotive, and that's the kind of writing I appreciate most--the kind that stirs me to feel something.
Your last paragraph reminded me of something I often say (and write) in my own reflections: "Look for what is good, beautiful, and true in the world. And when you can't find any of it, create it."
Glad to be doing this alongside writers like you.
Likewise, Jeannie! Thank you!
Simply beautiful, Steve.
Thank you. I needed that. Hope your Dad gets home from hospital soon
All will be well. And all manner of things will be well, said 14th century English mystic Julian of Norwich and those of us who do as you’ve done and stand outside away from the screaming screens. The solace of crisp birch leaves rustling last Friday taught me a gratitude lesson too. Thanks for your soothing beautiful words, again.