#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Blue Flag Iris in full blossom on the meadow road
Dear George,
Today is the seventh day of my posting a black square in honor of your life, instead of my nature photos. This is my final letter to you. Writing my blog to you for the past week has opened my eyes and my heart to so many things. Especially today, because I was able to see a mistake I had made regarding race last night, an insensitivity I encountered, and take responsibility for it today. The person I reached out to responded to me with so much compassion. It’s a learning experience I am grateful to have experienced. Writing to you has been a way for me to explore issues I need to explore and might not otherwise have explored.
My daughter has, for different reasons, been holding her own week of silent retreat this past seven days. She lives with us, and she wanted to do this for her own personal growth and spirit. A few years ago, she and I went on a ten day silent Vipassana meditation retreat together. And, even though she was the only one silent this time, her silence has given all of us who live with her many gifts.
When I went downstairs this morning, and there she was in the kitchen, but speaking to me, I kind of gasped with surprise! I hugged her hard and laughed. And my husband joined us, and the three of us sat talking and listening, letting her share her insights, sharing her own awarenesses from the discipline of silence. One thing she noticed, she said, was she had a much more clear idea of each of our personalities. And then she poured forth with many insights. One of them helped me see the mistake I made while facilitating a group last night. She was there, and she helped me see that there was something I should have addressed that I did not address in that moment.
My daughter and I went for a walk, and I took only two lovely pictures for you, because we remembered to bring the trash bag we’ve been meaning to bring, and I was diverted by all of our talking and talking–a week’s worth! – and trash picking. One big bag full. I saw one of my favorites, the milkweed, and the sun was hitting it from behind and lighting up its velvety green leaf and there was the silhouette of the little bud blossom from which the pods will grow. And there was a lushly purple, full bloom blue flag iris, tall and gorgeous along the meadow trail.
I said I would put the pictures I took on my daily walks this past seven days in a secret place for you, and I have. I have not known what I would do with them until tonight. You enter the ritual, the ritual takes over. These pictures are like you, George. Here, and now gone.
All except one:
Milkweed leaf in sun with blossom silhouette