MarcoClicks Weekly

Clarity and illusion

The things that appear clearly to me are not always those to which I pay attention. Objects that sit just beyond the range of physical clarity often capture my attention with greater urgency. Sometimes this means not seeing what is directly in front of me and that is not always easy or comfortable. Or safe.

And yes, sometimes obscurity is at the root of this seeing, of the way I can make images as enigmatic and twisted as words, designed to confuse as much as enlighten. 

But here is my difficulty - how can I convey the multiple layers of shape and texture and color, intellect and emotion that truly come from places beyond myself without calling on veils and mists? It seems self-evident - this is not so much to obscure as to emphasize the complexity of the commonplace, that is at the heart of this invisible seeing, this on-going exploration into a hidden landscape. I don't always do it with sufficient courage to allow incongruity to become large enough to encompass - and transcend - the familiar. Yet all I can do is the best I can do. And keep on trying.

Blessings,

Marco

Noticing grace

Let me ease into the grace. When it comes, it will enter easily and slowly, without effort or even awareness. And let me stay focused and balanced even in the turbulence that makes its home near me.

Let me remember that disconnections occur without regard to my convenience and that my practice is to notice the fullness, to balance myself, and then to move along.

Yes, I can allow myself to be captured by the grit and grace of this day, and I can learn to rejoice in seeing it clearly, no matter what is contained.

Come, be less serious, laugh more, sway in the wind, even at the risk of taking a tumble. Does it really matter that much? Is the risk really that high? Might it not be refreshing?

Blessings.

Marco

Patience

It inevitably comes as a profound surprise to me when I easily slip into hopefulness. It is as though my trust in the goodness of this life is so shaky that I will believe in the permanence of whatever uncomfortable reality happens to be sitting in front of me.

And yet, in truth it doesn't take much to brighten my world, to shift me out of my guarded stance and allow me to appreciate my suddenly gentle, soft, easy surroundings.  And, of course, I will notice sooner or later that hopefulness slips away just as easily. Is there a pattern?

Yes, and not the first I've noticed it. What I am learning and relearning endlessly is that the name of the game - or at least MY game - is sitting with what's in front of me, knowing that my role is to cultivate patience and equanimity that is distinct from the rightness or wrongness of the feelings or actions that confront me, to hold that in my heart, knowing that I have been here before and will be here again.

Blessings

Marco

Making do

I come to this time - in my life and in the life of the world - with curiosity, a touch of humility, and some hard-earned, if erratic, wisdom. This stance is an odd partner to the crystal-clear dissonance of my momentary but engulfing fear. Together they throb in a disjointed rhythm. They dance, awkwardly, joined without consent.

In my heart, I know that all moments and every moment are ones of transition. And yet I notice that I dwell in that reality only when I am active considering or undertaking profound change. Ah, this is no surprise.

What I know is that I have nothing to do but move along. I pretend to direct this current that is pulling at my body, moving me into the mainstream of my life. After all these years, I am sinking and swimming both, alive to the possibility implicit in failing in new ways. It is what my life, this world's moment, has given me.

Blessings,

Marco

What changes?

I can remember coming here, I can remember walking here often over the years. It is quiet amid the million greens, and I take in the reflection of trees and more. Yes, I know what is hidden just beyond sight, hidden and surrounding this dark and comfortable place.

Are both real? Yes, both are real. I come to this place, this urban primeval sundered from the fast city and welcoming the return of foot-tangling vines and plants native and otherwise. Yes, that's the place. And yet, It is not far from my warm, bright, electrical home to this place.

Walking here, remembering this place that is both far away and so close to my everyday world, I imagine the wild ones walking, crawling, flying, finding this place, recognizing it, making it home, bringing a distinct reality to this spot.

And I wonder at what our people have done. What of it can be undone, what is irreversible, it's impossible for me to know. Yet, at this moment, it doesn't matter, it is all the same: everything changes or nothing changes.  

I walk around this pond, this simple body of city water that hides behind the parkway, behind the more familiar pavement. It is sufficient that it is here, that it was here and it will be here. That's all that is needed.

Blessings,

Marco

Allowing

I'm learning about the irrepressible natural world, about how you can stand there on the wind's beach, facing its ferocity, leaning into it for as long as you can. I'm learning how that wind, no matter the strength of your muscles and your commitment, that wind can simply outlast you.It has no judgment, no sense of overcoming you; it is surprisingly neutral (or, rather, it surprises me, who expects all things to echo my expectations). It is humbling that even in the midst of wind's drama, it is only me who is concerned with the contortions within my little life.

So how do I find myself, keep myself, in all of this? How do I walk into the wind or relax or stand firm or laugh while allowing myself to be both myself and part of that wind? It is a puzzle, sorting out that middle ground, aiming to stay connected to myself even as events and circumstances bite at me in ways I simply cannot understand.

Yet I know - or is it that I hope? - that my virtue is in my stance and in my stumble, that I am not required to do more than I can do and only as well as I can do it. Sitting with that, standing with that, allowing that in the face of life's winds is sufficient.

Sounds like a prayer...

Marco

Coming, going

Perhaps we are always surrounded by mist, without knowing it. Perhaps there is always a subtle distortion that fosters the illusion of clear sight. Those are the sorts of thoughts that can capture me, eat away at my time.

In this moment, there is no time for playing with words, twisting meanings, searching for the indirect and the obscure. There is enough of that in the world already, little reason to push to increase its store.

But however long it may be, the time has come for me to make a stand for celebration beyond inward musing. Oh, I can decide to spend it some other way - indeed, I often do - but what better creation is there? Certainly it feeds me many times over.

So remembering this moment, this cutting wind with just enough moisture to grab and bite, I can invite pleasure - at both the memory and this present moment.

Blessings

Marco

Both, always dancing

There isn't much reason for us to notice. It is, after all, part of the background of our world and it is not likely to go away. Our actions suggest we believe the fence and what lies behind it doesn't offer us that much, doesn't call itself to our attention. Still, while we probably notice in some vague, inattentive way that we pass this place, it barely makes contact with our awareness, we pay no real attention to it.

Ah, yes, it does happen - it does happen that we hardly notice elements of what surrounds us, easily and often. We might as well be gentle with ourselves about it. Even though this is part of our world, we explain, it's hardly an important part, hardly anything that requires us to pay attention.

And I won't say otherwise, how can I? And yet there is something here worth a bit of our attention, some fragment of clear seeing from us. What we might find in this forgotten place is the silent dance between hard and soft, between warm and cold. It is worthy of our consideration, worth spending some of our fractured and unfocused moments to look closely and wonder about. Those dances are always surrounding us and it is our loss when we move so fast that we miss their music.

Blessings

Marco

Still slow

There is nothing about this that is easy. Whenever the day seems to be simple, there is something I am not taking into account. And as though the challenge itself weren't enough, I notice that when I work at understanding or learning or even just sorting out what is going on, it simply adds dark clouds and confusing mist, the threat of rain.

Can I move beyond my obvious discomfort when I am captured by this process, left only with the appearance of control? Can I find a way to retain - or regain - my balance in this moment or the next?

What I know - or, rather, what I hope proves to be the case - is that there is no failing here. There is no thought or feeling or action that I ought to be engaging that I am not. Often, that calms me. And I find myself remembering the little practices - one step, one breath, one moment; that thoughts and feelings are just that and nothing more - all those tools I've been shown to move me along and through.

So I sit, in discomfort and as much as possible without judgment. I sit, waiting, watching for a gentle breeze and soft sunlight.

Blessings

Marco

Slowly

As this miraculous being slowly emerges, as you notice it in the midst of your day, you find yourself holding your breath momentarily in its presence. This vibrant, glowing green speaks of fresh and open possibility as things newly out of the earth can.

And as you live with this companion, coming upon it at stray moments, you begin to accept its presence, letting go of its unique grace and its gentle touch on your routine. It's not that you love it less, simply that it has morphed into a close and familiar piece of your life.

And then comes the decline, when, to the eye of some (and with some surprise), its beauty is renewed, its impact is enhanced, your connection is strengthened. These sober moments can bring insight as well as tears. As you recall that initial miracle, you are transfixed by this slow procession of which you are a part. And you wonder whether your grace will match that which sits in front of you in this very moment.

Blessings,

Marco

Coming to terms

On this bright, chill day, I am attracted to images of age and growing old. Today there's no tinge of sorrow to it, although I confess there sometimes is, perhaps often. But today feels like something akin to the warmth of quiet insight that can come from simply observing reality, just as they say...

You see, I can conjure the debilitation of getting older, I've experienced it already, if gently. Yet, I also notice there is a growth of my skill. So as my eyesight fades, my ability to guess the letters improves. Or i say the word I can find rather than the one I seek. Not the same, perhaps, but good enough for this moment.

My worship can extend to my loose folds of skin, back spasms, wrinkled hands. It can move on to a more internal non-physical vision. How pleased I can become with who I truly am and what is in truly front of me. How pleased to touch and softly hold this moment and then let go.

Blessings

Marco

Indoors

If we look closely, before the momentary blossom blinds us, we can sense that there is much to explore here. Yes, we know there is more to come. There is the bloom that is folded in upon itself, yes, and we know, we expect more.

Oh, this bloom is patient in ways that we do not understand and, sadly, it seems unlikely we will emulate. It paints this moment, our moment, as profoundly sufficient, without our ever-present need for more.

So in this moment, what is here is small, tender, easy for our eyes to miss. Yet if we are attentive, we will notice the texture and the blush of color among the quiet openings of this bloom. It does not require anything of us, simply to see what is in front of us in this moment. That's all and it is enough.

Marco

Cold

This time of year is when we make our own warmth, within our homes and hearts. We watch the water dance into ice while continuing its flow. It seems simultaneously to encompass both solid and liquid. How can I do that? How can I stay fluid and moving and connected while still harboring my old and frozen places?

Part of it, I suspect, is remembering that these two states are really an endless series of in-betweens. We have little reason to expect to live our life at either of these ends - we are more likely to inhabit the regions in the middle.

With that in my heart, I wonder why I berate myself for the frozen places when I might choose to see them as thawing. After all, both states are present and all the ones in between. And I wonder whether I can shift myself so that my practice of gratitude contributes to the melting of these familiar and frozen places. My heart says that as I come to accept the cold, the warmth that I make - my own warmth - grows. It's the same practice, yet again...

Blessings

Marco

Quiet tumult

Without the wild wind, yes I can hear the quiet. It resembles silence, a cousin perhaps, yet it has grown in a different direction. And yet without the wind, why would I observe the ripples on the water? And that's what attracted me to this image in the first place, if not to the moment.

What's here for me, what attracts me, is the difference between the image before us and the reality of that moment, which lives now only as a memory. How do I balance these? I shudder as I remember the emotional frame within which this image began. I can feel how it contrasts so powerfully with the slow and contemplative moment my camera found. Such distinctions!

Oh, the need to rationalize these two - where did that come from? Perhaps it's sufficient to notice this complexity, how the same moment (I suppose it's the same one) can convey such unique feelings, points of view. Perhaps we can use this insight to see a single moment, a single life, through so many lenses. And we can decide that's a blessing.

Marco

Boundaries

The cold has marched ahead, about as far as it is going to go this day. What a mix of salty wind and fierce trees singing with it. Yesterday the gentle ponds that cradle this place were tranquil in the false calm of late December. Now we see those ponds are captured by the cold's advance and no surprise.

We live on a razor's edge distinction between water almost frozen and ice. What is the difference? Nothing and everything - after all, just a single step and you are present at that change of state. That moment, that boundary defines the transition.

In a human life, perhaps the boundaries are more subtle, more vague, redolent of emotion and reeking of thought. So perhaps we are less attuned to seeking out, feeling, understanding those distinctions. Or perhaps they are better experienced, witnessed, without words, simply by looking deeply. One might profit from doing more of that.

Blessings,

Marco

Walking wet

I still feel beset by the torrents that fell in the past few days, the walls of water that seemed endless. I am quiet now, after the moments of ending. Sitting here, I imagine how the last leaves of autumn parted from their familiar trees. I know we all face a moment resembling that, face it will more or less dignity than those tired, dirty, yellow leaves.

In this longer autumn, I notice I sink into bleak aging - the small changes in my body and my mind seem to be magnified and to sit uneasily within me. Oh, I suppose this is not uncommon, passing as I am into the middle-sixties. I am aware of the richness and blessing that surrounds me - just as I am aware of the incessantly transitory nature of this cycle. If I am completely honest (am I?), I will own the pungent mix of fear, aversion, with just a touch, a minor key, of wonder.

There it is - so small, so common, so human. I wonder: will acknowledging this melody in its full richness bring some version of comfort? And my answer is that it will - when I am able to add my gratitude for all the known and hidden blessings that fill my life to overflowing, even within my  bleakness. As ever, it is a choice. I will breath and stay connected to my hope. I pray that balance and understanding and courage and even comfort and joy will come to me, and to you as well.

Indeed, my deepest blessings to you

Marco

Not new and new

November, coming to a close, brings such a fullness of color and texture. It is the richness of this particular place on our planet that shines forth in front of us, inviting us to witness. How much we can see or feel or touch depends upon our willingness to get into it, to let ourselves get messy by diving deep into the day exactly as it shows up.

Oh, it's our time, especially in our blessed north, a time of hunched shoulders and hands thrust in pockets, wind biting the ears and thoughts of warmth tingling our toes. Yet it happens every year in just about the same way and at just about the same time. So how do we find the core, the kernel that reflects both new and not new? That's the dance right now: when we have that we can celebrate, recognize, honor both of those parts. For as we look more deeply, it becomes clear - this is a meaningless distinction, like so many that we make.

So in this moment (this one, this very one) we scan across the water, we watch the glorious blessed light give grace to all it touches, and we are filled with gratitude.

Blessings,

Marco

Becoming whole

Can I find the words? I was in pieces and I am becoming whole. All week, I have watched myself redefine my world. There was nothing here,only it turned out to be everything.

Yes, it is confusing. See how quickly the world has changed before us, and how hard it was for us to believe it was even possible, after all we've been through? So what does it say - about us, about the world - that we, as a people or as a planet, can let go of fear, after having been so mired in that sticky mass for so painfully long?

I suppose there are other interpretations of what we are experiencing and perhaps other, milder stories will prove more accurate. Yet my heart tells me that the love was never gone, never as overwhelmed by the fear as we felt it to be. So the transformation is as much in our feelings as in the larger world.

And yet, who cares! Can we not celebrate this moment, deciding that it reflects true transformation, something beyond politics or even governance? Can we not revel in the fullness of the circle and the ease of lighting a candle rather than cursing the darkness?  Can we not acknowledge that as hard as it has been, in the end, it was almost easy?

Yes, dear ones, yes we can.

Blessings,

Marc

Calm

The air is still and warmer than we expected. Yes, autumn is upon us, it has been for some time. And that is October's blessing. This is the time of preparation, of regrouping, of sorting through, of bundling.  It brings us closer to  the rigor we know is ahead. Oh, we have noticed this, experienced it and it is not new, in this year or any year.

Yet what is new, always or so it seems, is the pace, the slow letting go of warmth. And the blessing, what makes it delicious for us humans is that the surprise of warmth comes to us, we need not go to it. Our October sun reminds us of the deeper power of grays that can capture and transform all the coming whites and blacks. it transforms quietly, with great ease, while the winds of winter practice somewhere off stage.

So from time to time, we remember - sit, just by the sun; sit, ease yourself, take a moment. We remember as if for the first time that there is, even in this season of preparation, nowhere to go and nothing to do. And with this breath and in our scurrying haste, may we remember this connection, even if just for a moment.

Blessings,

Marco

This is all

The fall air holds few secrets - it is direct and clear about what it brings and that is the blessing of this northern time. We can see or imagine that we see the future from this moment of comfort. Of course we never see the future, it is just an illusion that comes on a chill, early fall morning. Yet, why so focused on the future? Is it time to gather nuts and berries, firewood? What is it that closes in on us with the shortening days?

Walking in this sunlit fall moment, balancing on the edge of expectation of falling leaves, it is clear, if just for now: this is our only moment. For just an instant, it stops being a spiritual text and sits in our viscera as a physical, felt reality. It is quiet and yet it makes such a difference. If this is all, then our striving, our greedy focus on what comes next, that no longer works, no longer serves us.

So try it on: no improvement, no better luck, no planning for grabbing the ring next time around. For the best effect, do this with with a light heart and as part of a joyous celebration, with some uplifting and very public fancy dance and not alone or with resignation! Remember: every day is your birth day.

Blessings,

Marco

Solitary

The day is rich with texture and sound, even though it is quiet. My surroundings move and pulse, yet the activity is invisible, internal. It is sensed, not seen, the work of natural forces I walk among endlessly, often without noticing.

Today is different. As my physical body gently drops into a fluid congestion, I become more attentive. With the clarity of decreased capacity, I slow down so that I might search out moments of connection – with my heart, with all my body – so that I can focus more directly on what is needed.

 And what is needed, more often than I realize, is this attentiveness. The play of body’s shifting needs can align with how I spend my days. I am brought closer to understanding presence beyond this physical moment and its limited definitions. 

I pray that I may manifest this awareness more fully in my life, to move into acceptance and pleasure even in the face of distress. Our lives are filled with sensations: may I find peace and healing in them all.

Blessings,

Marco

Time and again

This is the time of transition. Ah, yes,it is that, although it is always. Yet in this moment, it is more clear, more focused, more immanent. We move from the languid moist air of summer into something drier, more chill, and we sense the changes that will come.

Oh, the power of moving into the dying time! It is a relief from the abundance of creation, because it forces our attention onto what we will decide to treasure. There are parts of the world where opening and blooming are always apparent. Here, in this place, it requires great attention to see the abundance and the rich, delicate life that is retained within the dying. 

Ahead lies the wicked weather. The joy of coming in from its torrential hold on us is a northern blessing. At that moment, we are meek in the face of this natural world, a stance that we might treasure rather than attempting blandly to overcome or ignore its force. 

Ah, and all of this from some dying leaves, as common in July as this September day. Yet I know, in my heart and after sixty-odd rotations, I know what is coming. I cannot fool myself and, indeed, I have learned not to try. Instead, I work to become radiant in its chill.

Blessings,

Marco

Rough and smooth

There is nothing to know, at least nothing I can focus on in this moment. I can only remember the first truth, supposedly noble, and look for some comfort there. Hard to find. Hard to even look.

Yet here I am, in this place surrounded by what I might see as beauty, unable to focus my eyes to see anything much less beauty. And as I slow my breathing, I can recall, dimly, that this must be my choice. There must be some lesson here for me.

And here is what comes to me: There is nothing you can do to stop the decay or the illness or the discomfort that assails your world. In truth, it is not your job, much though it feels like it is. Instead, your job is to love, your job is to surround the fear, not in order to contain it but to love it. 

Oh, to sit in the fire of your fear with open heart, to sit in those moments and radiate as much love and kindness and compassion as you can. Tears come and, more slowly, small smiles. These are all a recognition of your lineage of worry that may yet transition into something more skillful, more beautiful. This is the dance, dear one, the sacred only dance - to love in the face of whatever steps into your path. That is all you need to do. Now or ever.

Blessings

Marco

Wonder

I am blessed this day and the walk in the sun reminds me, especially as the light brightens just as I am ready to shoot - sun out from behind a cloud. I had just decided that it is fine to work with a cloudy sky and I believe that, strongly. Still, once the light started to strengthen, I feel great joy at the freedom it brings, the freedom to shoot the way I'd started out thinking I would.

There are accommodations we can make as we experience what is in front of us, ways that we can alter how we stand in our life to allow for feelings or situations that we had not anticipated. Yes, that is a strength, that flexibility. And yet, I can't deny that I started with a preference for things other than the way they were. Ah, what complexities I invent.

Yet what I know is that when I shoot, I have an object, a scene in front of me and a day that surrounds me, envelops me. I could wait for some pre-defined perfect moment or I could shoot where I am, deciding that that moment is perfect. And when I listen to my heart, that is what I do.

The wonder of this process is that the mechanical taking of pictures and the fluid making of art merges into a delightful, sometimes-graceful dance - me and camera and software and printers and paper, all making an image that echoes the light and can, sometimes, begin to sing. It's a wonder.

Marco