For your reflection.

We Make Things Holy
Gaston Bachelard (The Poetics of Space) says, "The world seeks to be admired by you." 
Martin Shaw notes that “We make things holy by the quality of attention we give them.” 

12 Secret Names
Level 1
Go outside onto the land, it doesn’t have to be exotic or far, the front yard or a local park is fine, and find something small and specific –  a single flower, blade of grass, a mushroom, an insect. Sit with it, admire it, and craft 12 secret names. Write them down. Speak the words out loud to that which you are admiring.

Is this easy or difficult for you?
How does this affect your experience of that small piece of creation?

Level 2
Bring to mind your spouse, sibling, friend, someone with whom you are close. Think about specific and discrete moments that spark your admiration. Again this does not need to be big things. A batch of cookies, a look, a conviction. Write 12 secret names for them. Or, like the poet of the scripture, name different attributes. 
Find a time when you can offer these names to them verbally, out loud. If they are deceased, speak to them as if they were there with you.

How does this “quality of attention” affect your perception of them?
As with the person at the birthday gathering, it’s difficult for some of us to receive compliments and admiration. Why do you think that is? How might we do so graciously?

There Is Not a Flaw In You
During the service you were invited to take a moment and say this to yourself. “You are wholly beautiful, my beloved. There is not a flaw in you.” Do it again now, imagining those words spoken to you. 

How do you react to hearing those words spoken to you?
Why do you think this is the scripture the Rabbi chose to speak over the bodies at the Tree of Life Synagogue? 
What might happen if we held this notion for everyone we encountered?

Angelic Intercession
Sometimes inexplicable things happen in our lives that seem beyond the realm of reason, like the random phone call in the early morning drawing attention to the sound of rasping breath. We often don’t want to mention these events because they seem “woo woo” and we may even dismiss them. 

Have you ever had something happen that felt like angelic intercession?
Did you tell anyone? Why or why not?

Die Well
The three months that Paul lived beyond this incident provided an opportunity to “die well.” 

What does it mean to die well? 
How might we support loved ones, and ourselves, to die well?
​

From the front window, I look beyond my lawn of leggy dandelions, past the expanse of park, to the ocean. Rarely do I think about the distant place that I'm looking at when I gaze out there, but I imagine that it's actually far. From my window, I can see all the way to the horizon of the Salish Sea.

Here on the edge of things on the border-land when I look that direction, I'm looking at what some one, at some long ago time, determined was a different country than the one that I live in.

I can't see that from here. From here, it simply looks like the expanse beyond the expanse. And I guess in some ways that is some kind of different place.

It is surely a different place. It feels like looking from this moment beyond to the myth, beyond to times so long past that my bones don't remember them, because my bones, the pieces, the essence that makes up my bones, landed here so relatively little ago.

Place is a funny thing. We can feel at home so many places. And for some of us, maybe particularly those of us who come from different diasporas, our roots, our bones, our ancestors, aren't here, come from other places. And some piece of us, some piece of me, still feels a connection to those places. And yet, this has been the land of my own birth and life, for my time immemorial. It is a both and. And I find, too, that places in context, sit differently.

I felt at home in new Westminster in the apartment. And I feel at home here. Differently. This place calls me to be different, to be in the soil of the garden. At the apartment there was urban-ness and urban life. Music at the Heritage Grill. There was long walks down and along the quay. But there was no garden.

It’s just interesting to think about, what would life be like if that ocean was a little bit closer. Some part of me feels drawn to the places at the margin of beach and water. It is as if at some time, some ancestor understood that place. The littoral zone.

But I find, too, when I go into the Interior, to those more arid places, that the smell of that tickle something in my nose to some deep memory. And I wonder if some ancestor lived in a place that was arid in that way. Or maybe it's just childhood memory. Smells really do trigger those memory feelings. And it's interesting, because sometimes it is, in fact, memory feelings, as opposed to memories.

There is a call in my body to root systems in the land and I wonder, I suppose, which land. Where those roots might be. All the places that they have been.

The things that grow in me depending on where I am rooted.

It poured the day I was invited to see the Shiro-fugen Cherry Blossoms. For a moment it seemed like the rain had abated, but when I headed out the door I had to duck under where it flowed off the roof. It’s the west coast. One expects wet.

The garden in the rain felt fresh and inviting. This is a two-acre oasis in the midst of the neighbourhood and I’m grateful to have been invited into the quiet beauty. Stepping through the gate from the road is like stepping over a threshold. Every time I do, and close the gate behind me, I just stand for a moment and breathe.

Of course the garden in Spring is in its glory. This is the second round of Cherry Blossoms. I love this time when the blossoms from the early trees have fallen and these ones are peak. Both fresh and fallen are so beautiful.

​Today I stood beneath the petalled branches listening to the rain fall. Then kicked off my sandals and walked the garden. Most of the green is moss rather than grass. Plush, thick, cushiony moss and I wonder why anyone bothers with lawns. This is so much nicer under the feet. I felt like a parched plant welcoming rain, as if I was absorbing the moisture straight through my feet. Beauty quenched my soul and water my arid body.

I don’t know exactly where I’m going with this, except to express gratitude. For welcoming neighbours, this small bit of lush west coast growth teaming with ducks, song-birds, eagles, squirrels, insects and blossoms, and a moment of refreshment.  ​