It is the new year, again. Much has been said about the one just passed, and some ideas about the one to come– but this morning I woke up to the new year with Mary Oliver's poem, Today. I just want to listen on this day, and see what happens.

“There’s no use trying,” said Alice, “One can’t believe impossible things.” 

“I daresay you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age I always did it for half an hour a day. Why sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

– Lewis Carroll

The combination of winter, holidays and the state of the world can be more than enough to overwhelm. There is a pervading sense of the impossibility of doing anything that will make a difference. And then, out of nowhere it seems, there arises an unexpected turn... in world events, in the painting you are struggling with, in a sister that is healed. It is as if spontaneity and effort are partners after all.  

A childlike curiosity is my ally in imagining impossible things, so I return to Alice, and her lesson from the Queen in acting as if... For winter is the time to plant seeds that will grow, as if they will bloom. All seeds: plants, trees, children, ideas, dreams and wishes– require this time of waiting–being hidden in darkness, in the womb, in the earth. In this way too, all losses can be planted and cared for as seeds or songs or prayers. This is the season of the darkest night, and we may as well inhabit it with our deepest longing.

This week my friend led a meditation on time... She began: "Close your eyes for a few minutes and contemplate time. (Pause) What do you feel when you hear the word time?  What energy does that word have for you? Where in the body do you feel it?"

How you experience time can be the difference between feeling stressed or relaxed. Another friend told a story this week of being stranded at a McDonald's in a poor neighborhood, where his sister had car trouble. He waited at the restaurant for four hours for help to come. There was a security man at the entrance to Mc Donald's. My friend became fully engaged in watching this man greet with friendliness each and every person who walked through the door . This attitude of openness was contagious, and my friend, who forgot about checking the time, was changed by the experience.

What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.

Burnt Norton I   – T S Eliot

Art is that which despite all gives hope. – Frederick Franck, Art As A Way

In the midst of uncertainty we have a culture that insists on everyone becoming an "artist". In the art world, as well as politics, it is disconcerting to see the confusion between what is false and what is true. It is difficult to distinguish between show-offs, pretenders and authenticity. Even being an artist today often seems more about the openings, exhibits, galleries and critics than the work itself.

What happens to the artist when the goal becomes how to make a splash? For this aspect of the art world my husband coined the word celebritrosity.

The pilgrimage of the maker is not about how you appear to the crowd, about fame or fortune, but rather the process of finding your place in the family of things. As Mary Oliver in Wild Geese said:

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Valerio, who is a PhD student in the philosophy of art, took us to the town where he lives in his grandmother's house, and where he was born. Collestatte is bulit inside the walls of a medieval castle. There is one grocery, a small post office and a "bar" which is where everyone in town, including the town dog, gathers in the morning for espresso and the evening for aperitivo. The contrast of a place that is built from eleventh century Roman walls and churches– with the most elaborate, immaculate espresso machine I have ever seen, is keen–and really magnificent for a coffee lover. 

I have Flannery O'Connor with me for my travels in Europe. I haven't read her before. I resonate with her fierce earnestness in wanting to clear her mind, to find her place in the world, to be able to do her work. But not just any work– the work that belongs to her, and connects her with spirit.

One of the paradoxes is that to find your place in the world you have to set down your fears and ambitions, at least for the moment. She writes in A Prayer Journal: 

Please help me to push myself aside.

I have the opportunity in teaching, at moments, to forget about myself and find the presence in the room. This would not be possible without the students who show up– willing to give full attention a try, to see what arises in an atmosphere of creativity and silence.

All across the country there is an opportunity to pause together, and be united by watching the solar eclipse on August 21. The scientists have named the trail where the complete eclipse can be seen–spanning from Oregon to South Carolina– the path of totality.

We are sustained by the bigger picture, by a source that is invisible to us. When this presence becomes felt in any way, our reaching is touched by what is timeless. Looking upward, seeing the vastness of sky, takes us out of our small world and into the unknown. Seeing a shooting star flame across the vast desert sky puts my achievements, and my losses in perspective.

In the case of the coming eclipse, being on the path of totality refers to being able to observe the full event, to be enveloped in darkness in the middle of the day. We get to witness a profound image of the dark being circled by light: the corona appears as a golden halo around the black sun. What an image of wonder this evokes– and the inevitable force of the necessity of both the darkness and the light.