I is for Invitation
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click here Invitation to Sit a Spell © 2013 Bo Mackison
When I see a bench in a garden, it’s an invitation for me to slow down and sit for a while.
click here “Dawdling” my grandfather would have said, but gardens are meant for strolling, sauntering, absorbing, meditating, observing. I always think a garden bench is the fine invitation to stop and sit a spell.
enter site https://www.brigantesenglishwalks.com/ya7zdoo8ium ~~~
J is for Journeys.
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source site Journey Life Map 2013 Bo Mackison
On my cross-country trip last May, I stopped at Agate Fossil Beds National Monument in Nebraska.
follow link The ranger spoke extensively of this replica pictograph created the Lakota Sioux. A single drawing, the most significant of happenings, would summarize a year or a decade or even a hundred years. Over time the Lakota told their story in a spiral of tiny drawings.
Their journey begins with a simple drawing, representing the creation of the world.
https://danivoiceovers.com/hjhbata1f Next is a drawing of a mastodon, then the animal’s fossilized bones. Hundreds of drawings make up the pictograph, drawn on animal skin. It is a pictorial map of their history.
follow Wouldn’t it be an impressive project to capture memories passed down from our ancestors, add our own, and create a spiral map like this.
It would be an illustrated, spiraling journey of a family.
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K is for Kettle.
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https://geolatinas.org/11cz5hngr Kettle © 2012 Bo Mackison
There are times when nothing will do except to put the kettle on and brew a pot of tea.
follow site If I’m in the mood for to settle into a good book, or write a few letters, or perhaps I just want to sit and daydream, a cup of tea is always a welcome addition. And the brewing of the tea itself is one of the best mindfulness practices I know.
https://purestpotential.com/066hm5hbzas A slow practice, a sacred ritual.
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L is for Labyrinth.
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https://getdarker.com/editorial/articles/fkfq2zu Labyrinth © 2013 Bo Mackison
I am a seeker of labyrinths.
https://alldayelectrician.com/19r4q13j I walked a labyrinth on the edge of the Sonoran Desert in early spring. What an extraordinary experience, connecting with the rhythm of the labyrinth pattern. Now I seek other labyrinths to walk. I journal after walking the labyrinth, and then I work my journal writing into poetry. Here is one from earlier this year:
Labyrinth, A Journey Tramadol Medication Online
https://www.elevators.com/zhyykf48u I walk in circles, around and back, around and forth.
https://www.mbtn.net/?p=a5c9wyl1 There is beginning, middle, end.
Guided by lines of crooked rocks,
an invisible hand on my shoulder,
encourages me, presses me onward.
Take a step,
One more turn,
Approach the center.
And there I stand immobile, my breath fragmented.
The labyrinth’s center, a large pock-marked rock
resting place for mementos and memento mori
small rocks, rings and bracelets, dog tags, holy cards.
Center – the farthest distance from beginning or end.
I move on.
But no longer do I walk a meditative pace.
I am anxious to leave,
ready to bolt, yet
I do not disregard the worn path
the labyrinth’s unspoken boundary.
I stumble to its exit, blinded, my feet guided by the rocky lines,
expelled from its sacred interior
into the other world. My world.
A ghost keeps vigil, its eyes the eyes of the cactus wren
perched on the spire of a tree cholla.
Its whisper, low and moaning, travels the arroyo
carried on swirling winds.
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Want to read Part II? Here it is — Elephants to Highways
Coming tomorrow, Part IV : Metaphors to Place