I was reading too swiftly and read "the buffered self" as "the buttered self." I was torn for a moment because the buttered self doesn't sound too bad.
As I smile and think about the porous self I am gazing at he morning sun shining through a newly green stand of trees. To the right the light is bright and vast; to the left there are mere glimmerings as the foliage is more dense. Sometimes the pores are wide; sometimes they are mere pin pricks. So it is with my soul; my openings vary. But here is the amazing and wondrous thing...grace always, always, finds a way.
Martha, in his book When The World Breaks, Jason Adam Miller says, p.37, " The soul is not a closed system. If we're going to allow the life of God to flow through us, we may have to unlearn some of the ways that we've come to defend our souls. For us to be conduits, there has to be something permeable about us." "We are conduits of God".
Gratitude for the framework you have shared today. Bouncing between supporting an adult child in severe mental health crisis and welcoming a grand niece into the world from a mother who is a thirty year old breast cancer survivor. The child has been named Violet which has me picturing the person who is hanging onto the delicate branch of the cliff and focuses on the beauty of the wild flower, with a raging river below and a tiger above. I will commit to reminder that “God is still at Work”.
My buffered self was caffeinating for the day when this popped up. I had just finished telling my partner about how I was accidentally too audacious yesterday and showed him the footage of a text thread with a colleague that I maybe went a little too hard on. As a middle school teacher in the throes of the last weeks of school, I’ve been in survival mode. Taking five minutes to just sit and hear the birds chirp and turkeys gobble (there is a mob of them in my neighborhood) was a refreshing respite before heading off to endure 7th graders who also need their summer break to start last week! Those five minutes helped me see myself through a more compassionate lens and forgive this girl who is really trying her best with the resources (and limited sleep!) she’s been given.
Christians can live for decades never knowing that Jesus' comforting words of, "I will give you rest," most certainly means rest from ourselves. He is the bishop and governor of our soul. He is not kidding around or speaking metaphorically. He is the Shepherd, little flock. Enjoy the sun, the still waters, the tender grass, the leaping lambs, the freedom from fear.
I will do this, absolutely, - I am actually lucky enough to be writing this from my bed with an incredibly view of the Hudson River from the middle on Manhattan so already beginning - but first, in a cavalcade of thanks - THAT BONNARD! Perfection. Stopped me in my tracks even before the assignment. Gratitude for everything, and I had already listened to that wonderful conversation (& not for the only time, I suspect) while gardening, in fact … (& you are correct about greengrocers, and the cellist point has resonated perhaps above many others) Abundant thanks.
As I was sitting on my couch beating myself up for not working on my to do list, I looked outside and caught my breath. The view was breathtaking. Bright sunshine, blue skies, sparkling water of the small bay at my doorstep and the channel. Forrested islands in the Salish Sea. I sat and engulfed myself in the beauty surrounding me and a voice spoke in my ear "Enjoying beauty is never a waste of time "
I step out onto my deck to breathe in the cold morning and cross my arms against the chill. It is May. It is supposed to be bright and warm. Instead, in northern Minnesota, it is 38 degrees and cloudy gray. The yard still looks like it just emerged from a long, hard winter. Because it did - the melting snow uncovered an errant shovel and a solitary winter glove and a buried baseball. I try to listen, but find myself shaking the furniture cover to break free a sheet of ice that formed overnight. I tell myself to be still. I listen. First, I hear the ripple, trill, and chatter of bird song. Then, an 18 wheeler rumbles east on Highway 61. Then the birds again. Then car wheels speeding to town. There is no wind this morning and the sky is a dirty cotton ball as far as the eye can see. I notice the branches lost to spruce bud worm: bare, brittle. I notice my overgrown rose bush and wonder about how to tame it - should I have pruned it last fall? Or can I do it now, before it buds? I notice tiny shoots of green on the birch trees and also that the bird feeders are empty - one is even leaning precariously aslant. The cords of wood we had delivered are taunting me - an unmovable chore, which I will pass on to my children. My children! I need to schedule a doctor's appointment for one and remember to attend a school event for the other. My brain is off on its to-do list rant...and I close my eyes, tired before the day begins...but there go the birds again. When I open my eyes again, I can see faint blue on the horizon, where the sky meets the lake, and I can tell it's starting to brighten. I take a deep breath in and turn to go inside. I have no idea if it's been 5 minutes or 20, but I resist the urge to check my phone. Another cup of coffee, I think, and a mental note to bookmark your podcast for my walk later...
kate-i think you would appreciate that I read your emails with too much excitement. Which is why I was so puzzles by our buttered self. ☺️☺️. I mean butter sounds joyful to me but I was still puzzled.
Such a beautiful expansion of your encouragement to put yourself in the way of joy. The porous vs buffered ways of moving through the world really land. It seems to me that they explain a lot, and help offer a specific alternative to our performative approach, which is so hard to actually get out of and not just optimize or spiritualize.
I’m eager to listen to the conversation you had with Rowan. Your comments really hit me at a place I needed it. I often try to be “an island unto myself.” It comes from being disappointed at times by people (and I’m sure at times I have let people down), so I purposed to be self-reliant. Which sounds good but is very isolating. I have built walls. I’ll listen to the conversation you had and will use it to be the more porous person you talked about. That person sounds wonderful.
I think I do this already when I nature journal. I also just wrote a list to how to botanize to energize. I plan on writing about it Monday on my substacks. Nature Journaling calls for your attention to Nature. Then put down on paper your feelings. It also turns to science when you record what you are seeing and when. By, counting how many birds you see during migration etc. Or Emily Dickinson when she made her book Herbarium in her teens. I feel like I do this type of practice when I press my flowers. But, many times I do this looking out my window with my tea. I am sure sometimes that lasts for 5 minutes. And, it does give me joy. And, I feel I longed to have time to do these things my whole life.
I was reading too swiftly and read "the buffered self" as "the buttered self." I was torn for a moment because the buttered self doesn't sound too bad.
Hahaha the buttered self may actually be the summer goal now.
If you were a teenager in the 80’s we literally buttered ourselves up for a good tan! Where was the research on melanoma back then? 🫣
Oh my gosh. Literally just posted the same thing.
Me too!
Joy, it wanders like a mist,
not for you to seek or find,
and not for you to resist
as it seeps into your mind.
It will settle there and wait
like a quiet curling cat
with its soft meows the bait
to make you say to self, "What's THAT?",
and then will come recognition,
and familiarity
from its colour and position
that it came, yes, "Just for ME!"
with its blinking amber eyes
that are both known, and surprise.
Joy, it wanders like a mist. I love this image, Andrew. A mist is always so refreshing.
Joanne, it brings me back to playing golf at Spyglass Hill, on the Monterey Peninsula, with the mist drifting through a cathedral of pines.
Joy wandering like a mist reminds me of the first line of Carl Sandberg's "Fog" poem: "The fog comes on little cat feet." Charming!
Nancy, I realized after posting this that Dr. Kate is Canadian, and that the sport of curling is a thing...
I just hope that she read this, and that the 'curling cat' metaphor gave her a good laugh.
When I was in high school girls glee club we sang that as a song-I’m reminded of it on foggy mornings!
Thank you for sharing this!
Joy wandering like a mist-such a beautiful way to think of joy!
Love this
As I smile and think about the porous self I am gazing at he morning sun shining through a newly green stand of trees. To the right the light is bright and vast; to the left there are mere glimmerings as the foliage is more dense. Sometimes the pores are wide; sometimes they are mere pin pricks. So it is with my soul; my openings vary. But here is the amazing and wondrous thing...grace always, always, finds a way.
Martha, in his book When The World Breaks, Jason Adam Miller says, p.37, " The soul is not a closed system. If we're going to allow the life of God to flow through us, we may have to unlearn some of the ways that we've come to defend our souls. For us to be conduits, there has to be something permeable about us." "We are conduits of God".
Gratitude for the framework you have shared today. Bouncing between supporting an adult child in severe mental health crisis and welcoming a grand niece into the world from a mother who is a thirty year old breast cancer survivor. The child has been named Violet which has me picturing the person who is hanging onto the delicate branch of the cliff and focuses on the beauty of the wild flower, with a raging river below and a tiger above. I will commit to reminder that “God is still at Work”.
That is so much life to hold at once. Little Violet already sounds like a sign of stubborn beauty.
My buffered self was caffeinating for the day when this popped up. I had just finished telling my partner about how I was accidentally too audacious yesterday and showed him the footage of a text thread with a colleague that I maybe went a little too hard on. As a middle school teacher in the throes of the last weeks of school, I’ve been in survival mode. Taking five minutes to just sit and hear the birds chirp and turkeys gobble (there is a mob of them in my neighborhood) was a refreshing respite before heading off to endure 7th graders who also need their summer break to start last week! Those five minutes helped me see myself through a more compassionate lens and forgive this girl who is really trying her best with the resources (and limited sleep!) she’s been given.
The turkeys gobbling while you practiced compassion toward yourself feels exactly right somehow.
Christians can live for decades never knowing that Jesus' comforting words of, "I will give you rest," most certainly means rest from ourselves. He is the bishop and governor of our soul. He is not kidding around or speaking metaphorically. He is the Shepherd, little flock. Enjoy the sun, the still waters, the tender grass, the leaping lambs, the freedom from fear.
I will do this, absolutely, - I am actually lucky enough to be writing this from my bed with an incredibly view of the Hudson River from the middle on Manhattan so already beginning - but first, in a cavalcade of thanks - THAT BONNARD! Perfection. Stopped me in my tracks even before the assignment. Gratitude for everything, and I had already listened to that wonderful conversation (& not for the only time, I suspect) while gardening, in fact … (& you are correct about greengrocers, and the cellist point has resonated perhaps above many others) Abundant thanks.
As I was sitting on my couch beating myself up for not working on my to do list, I looked outside and caught my breath. The view was breathtaking. Bright sunshine, blue skies, sparkling water of the small bay at my doorstep and the channel. Forrested islands in the Salish Sea. I sat and engulfed myself in the beauty surrounding me and a voice spoke in my ear "Enjoying beauty is never a waste of time "
I step out onto my deck to breathe in the cold morning and cross my arms against the chill. It is May. It is supposed to be bright and warm. Instead, in northern Minnesota, it is 38 degrees and cloudy gray. The yard still looks like it just emerged from a long, hard winter. Because it did - the melting snow uncovered an errant shovel and a solitary winter glove and a buried baseball. I try to listen, but find myself shaking the furniture cover to break free a sheet of ice that formed overnight. I tell myself to be still. I listen. First, I hear the ripple, trill, and chatter of bird song. Then, an 18 wheeler rumbles east on Highway 61. Then the birds again. Then car wheels speeding to town. There is no wind this morning and the sky is a dirty cotton ball as far as the eye can see. I notice the branches lost to spruce bud worm: bare, brittle. I notice my overgrown rose bush and wonder about how to tame it - should I have pruned it last fall? Or can I do it now, before it buds? I notice tiny shoots of green on the birch trees and also that the bird feeders are empty - one is even leaning precariously aslant. The cords of wood we had delivered are taunting me - an unmovable chore, which I will pass on to my children. My children! I need to schedule a doctor's appointment for one and remember to attend a school event for the other. My brain is off on its to-do list rant...and I close my eyes, tired before the day begins...but there go the birds again. When I open my eyes again, I can see faint blue on the horizon, where the sky meets the lake, and I can tell it's starting to brighten. I take a deep breath in and turn to go inside. I have no idea if it's been 5 minutes or 20, but I resist the urge to check my phone. Another cup of coffee, I think, and a mental note to bookmark your podcast for my walk later...
Glad to see I'm not the only one who wrote a lengthy piece.
kate-i think you would appreciate that I read your emails with too much excitement. Which is why I was so puzzles by our buttered self. ☺️☺️. I mean butter sounds joyful to me but I was still puzzled.
I'll never be able to thank you enough for this, or articulate adequately how much I needed it, or you, to find me today. Thank you so much ❤️
Me, too! Thanks, Kate! What a gift!
I recommend "Theo of Golden" for a book club read.
It is luminous.
V. Roberts-Toler
I loved it so much. It is one of the very rare books that I will reread.
Such a beautiful expansion of your encouragement to put yourself in the way of joy. The porous vs buffered ways of moving through the world really land. It seems to me that they explain a lot, and help offer a specific alternative to our performative approach, which is so hard to actually get out of and not just optimize or spiritualize.
Thank you 🙏
I’m eager to listen to the conversation you had with Rowan. Your comments really hit me at a place I needed it. I often try to be “an island unto myself.” It comes from being disappointed at times by people (and I’m sure at times I have let people down), so I purposed to be self-reliant. Which sounds good but is very isolating. I have built walls. I’ll listen to the conversation you had and will use it to be the more porous person you talked about. That person sounds wonderful.
@katecbowler writes, "But all of which to say, our suffering is never generic. We don’t grieve people in general;"
Oh there is nothing in general about it. There is a very real person on the other side of this.
Model 'A' Ford
Gently handed
small model
shaky hands once strong
enough to manhandle engine mounts
Asked what it was--"Dunno"
Every part number
known by heart
Taken apart,
pieced together
fiddled incessantly
Until ignition start and hum
Hands stained like oil
incessantly fiddle
invisible pieces
assemble, dissasemble
"What are you working on?"
'Carburetor'
beautiful word.
Went in
simple repair
Came back
Everything out of alignment
Fluids leaking
"How many of your friends
Have this car?"
Asking again
Assembling
"S'pose they all do."
Piecing it together
My father died three days later.
https://drjonathanewilson.substack.com/p/water-always-wins?r=1w04p2&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
I think I do this already when I nature journal. I also just wrote a list to how to botanize to energize. I plan on writing about it Monday on my substacks. Nature Journaling calls for your attention to Nature. Then put down on paper your feelings. It also turns to science when you record what you are seeing and when. By, counting how many birds you see during migration etc. Or Emily Dickinson when she made her book Herbarium in her teens. I feel like I do this type of practice when I press my flowers. But, many times I do this looking out my window with my tea. I am sure sometimes that lasts for 5 minutes. And, it does give me joy. And, I feel I longed to have time to do these things my whole life.