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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1439094-Nurture-your-Nature/month/9-1-2021
Rated: 13+ · Book · Nature · #1439094
Look around. Let Nature nurture your Soul. I record images I sense and share them here.
NURTURE your NATURE

For my blog "Nurture your Nature"


Nature can nurture our writing, can nurture our soul. What is the language of Nature? And how do we learn it?

We look at the natural wonders around us and do not see them, hear, taste nor smell them. They do not touch us anymore than we dare touch them. And then we wonder why we feel so dead. To breathe in and live like a child again opens the Land of Wonderment. It's still there after all these years.
September 30, 2021 at 3:24pm
September 30, 2021 at 3:24pm
#1018419
Robert Waltz recently wrote a blog about change. My thoughts (added and edited):

It's the end of September and Autumn is my second favorite season. In Montana it's a mix of green and gold with splashes of red and rust. The bears have been visiting the apple trees to bulk up. I have to remind myself not to hibernate as days shorten. It's a time of change.

We change even as the landscape changes. For instance, those of us of a certain age become wrinkled and then the wrinkles get crinkled. Some deal with it by buying cosmetics, others by surgery, some by proudly embracing every crack and crevice. Blessed is the lover who says "I wish to caress each wrinkle". But what about parts that, like autumn leaves, fall off?

Personally, not all change in my life came about by my efforts. I did not beg to have head injuries from a car accident. And although I suspect it actually helped later with my ability to think in Spanish I shouldn't wish that on others (seems a bit drastic). It may be a factor in my present mental slippage. And yes, I'm at a point that I need to acknowledge that and hope that it's temporary.

In 1849, French writer Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr wrote "plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose." Yes, even change can look like it isn't changing as humans tend to remain human over millennia and individual and systemic changes can be very slow. Some folks remain recognizable decades later! Regardless, they have changed.

Part of my personal struggle is remaining flexible enough to adapt to internal and external changes. The River of Time keeps flowing.

Yesterday I wrote a serenade to the sunset I just missed.

Serenade to a dying September

Nothing to say ...
you blush the horizon
and move on.

I'll abandon you then
and descend to the bathtub
where waves lap gentle
and wet warmth soothes,
a decadence
my worn-out feet
have begged for.

I may turn out the light,
may light a candle,
inhale the fragrance
of last season's lavender,
in the quiet
remember your blush,
savor your hush,
and bathe in the moment
of a dying September.

© Kåre Enga 2021 [164.235] (29.september.2021)

~370 words
Posted in "Blogville
September 15, 2021 at 9:38pm
September 15, 2021 at 9:38pm
#1017484
Leaf-cutters

As underneath the canopy
a trail of leaves I spy,
I bend my body, bow my head
to the parade that passes by.

In obeisance to love of life,
in admiration I can't hide,
I applaud each ant that balances
a piece of green in stride.

© Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.229] (15.septembre.2021)

September 14, 2021 at 6:22pm
September 14, 2021 at 6:22pm
#1017422
I'm dying (we all are). But am I living?

What does being alive really mean? What is the point of staying alive past one's expiration date?

Are we-who-still-live willing to embrace our mortality and immortality?

Out of circulation.

The coins minted the year I was born are scratched, discolored, worn, the copper tarnished, the nickel dulled and whatever was silver melted down long ago. No bills remain that aren't tattered, torn. What was once of some use in exchange for a cookie or a glass of milk, is now deemed worthless and tossed in a jar or abused, flattened on tracks as trains pass or stretched and molded into trinkets at a hot tourist spot (now closed).

Is it my time to go? If so, why do I hang on.

I'm old. Not so much by the calender date. That's just a reminder that I've survived thus far. So many haven't. Am I old because I remember when songs first came out — fifty years ago? Am I old because I remember, albeit vaguely, how things used to be done? No, I'm old because I can't zig and zag and zog like the youth I once was. I just can't keep up as my body gives out.

But I'm not dead yet. Just slowly dying. Like wasps in autumn, a final frenzy before a frost puts their sting to rest. Am I resting when I nap or merely practicing lying prone before I'm laid out? In the morning, do I look like I've slept in a coffin? Some days it takes more than sunlight to get me up and more than coffee to wake me.

My expiration date cometh. Sooner if I don't take better care of myself and fall off the shelf. I'll have to embrace that reality now or later, like it or not. And I will. We all do at the end.

Until then, I may as well keep learning — and living.

But do I look beyond? Realize that my life is a gift not just to myself but to others. What kind words or wisdom, still unspoken, need to be said. What inspiration I wrote for someone will be stuck in a book and forgotten, to be read and bring forth smiles decades or centuries later. Beyond the Veil of Death will my actions still matter in the material world. I remember my mistakes and shudder.

My Muse might know, but he remains as mute as the angels that pass overhead, those who will return at the proper hour to chant the final poem.

~425 words
"Blogville
September 12, 2021 at 9:46pm
September 12, 2021 at 9:46pm
#1017307
I admire well centered and calm people.

Those that remain unperturbed or oblivious no matter what. Me? I'm always on alert.

I am a wounded person. Layers and layers of woundedness from my own insecurities and sensitivity. ผมอ่อนไหว

I'm not sure why but I suspect I was nervous as a child, shushed, 'half-blind', clumsy, funny-looking, clueless. I was made fun of. My parents protected me but failed to build my self-esteem and didn't quite grasp how I was different. Looking back? I was. In some ways I was more like my grandparents than my parents. But they didn't live close and frankly, no family except for my mother's sister and some cousins of my father lived near. I was to be seen not heard, had to be careful with my glasses at age 6, and was supposed to stay clean. We were poor, but no one was supposed to know that, so nothing could be broken, ripped or torn. None of this helped.

I was chatty and loved playing in dirt.

So I played with close neighbors but admired other kids from afar.

These days? There are so many to admire... from afar: Gare, who is unflappable like my father; Nick who is well centered with a good moral compass; people who glow.

I keep my inner light hidden under a basket.

I fall in love with rational people, centered people, even those who share my passion; but, I can never be them and whether they love me is questionable. I never felt lovable, so even when they do, I have a hard time accepting that.

I fall in love with characters in books and movies. I can even love the flawed characters I create.

But famous people? They are role models for others, everyday people matter to me.

"30-Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT September 13th: Who do you see as role model of yours, either a professional or 'everyday' person, and why should everyone else know about this person.

~325 words
In "Blogville
September 3, 2021 at 5:43pm
September 3, 2021 at 5:43pm
#1016700
Merit Badge in Blessings
[Click For More Info]

Just cause I read some of your writings and like it.

A favorite given to me by Apondia.

Blessings: never to be 21 again. I was blessed to turn 22. The hellish year continued but I survived it. 22 is still my favorite number.

With 364 days to celebrate my life there's no need to focus on that one day I reserve for myself. Needless to say, I don't do birthdays. But, if you really don't like me being here then maybe I should schedule my own euthanasia on that day to save space on my headstone. Month/Day will suffice. If not, then my name or no name, just "Fred".

Too late now to die young and leave a good looking corpse. I looked real good at age 23 cutting shatter-cane in the milo fields of Kansas.

Funny... P'Med... died on his 22nd birthday in "He's coming to me". Makes me want to write "Forever 22" (ตลอดไปยี่สิบสอง)

I'll keep posting this until someone watches and comments. *sigh*



Now, this is another kind of blessing.



A surprise from Kittiara. My first awardicon for this 13 year old blog. She liked "Opening the garden ... of the heart [109] (36 lines) a story-poem of 36 lines for: "Share Your Faith - Closed.

Opening the garden ... of the heart

The garden opens its gates each year ...

as the gardener watches in anticipation,
as frost and freeze have finally yielded ...

yet early visitors want a carpet of color
(its not quite spring) and holler to each other,

"How little these bushes, how ugly this stream,
how useless they seem."1

The gardener knows better and calmly explains,
"in time we will harvest bushels of berries.

these will be red and juicy, those black and loved by bears
we'll be lucky if they don't glean them first."

"Well, this one tried to grab my purse!"
"Ah, to love a rose we must forgive its thorns,

to inhale its fragrance we must nourish its nature,
cherish it for whatever it offers... and never scorn.2

They walk through the drizzle under umbrellas,
sidestepping the puddles, avoid every wet frond.

"Why don't you drain this dank muddy pond?"
"I'm fond of the blossoms that rise from the muck each summer."

The visitors wrinkle their noses. "Yuck."
"Well, lets move on and not block the view for those behind us."3

Around the back bare trees overshadow slick paths,
shading the promise of ferns and moss.

"I like flowers. I have no use for forests."
"This tall tree pelts us with nuts by the hundreds; these twigs ease pain;

this straight limb will give its life to provide us shelter;
these beckon with golden leaves come autumn;

they have earned my respect
and deserve to remain."4

And so the gardener gently guides his guests
breathing deep to put his own anger to rest

as he remembers his teacher, a master gardener,
who showered him with patience over the years

and taught him how to overcome inner fears
by showing him how to tend the garden

and make it his friend.5

© Kåre Enga [177.109] (29.juni.2020)

posted in "Blogville
1151

Footnotes
1  Overlook the shortcomings of others: The friends of God should become the manifestors in this world of this mercy and love. They should not dwell on the shortcomings of others. Ceaselessly should they be thinking how they may benefit others and show service and co-operation. Thus should they regard every stranger, putting aside such prejudices and superstitions as might prevent friendly relations. – Abdu’l-Baha, Star of the West, Volume 1, p. 9.
2  Practice forgiveness: We must look upon our enemies with a sin-covering eye and act with justice when confronted with any injustice whatsoever, forgive all, consider the whole of humanity as our own family, the whole earth as our own country, be sympathetic with all suffering, nurse the sick, offer a shelter to the exiled, help the poor and those in need, dress all wounds and share the happiness of each one. – Abdu’l-Baha, Divine Philosophy, p. 41.
3  Stop backbiting and dwelling on the bad qualities of others: Waste not your precious time in fault-finding and backbiting. Polish the surface of the mirrors of your hearts from the dross of human frailties. – Abdu’l-Baha, Star of the West, Volume 4, p. 104.
4  Instead, search for and affirm their praiseworthy qualities: One must see in every human being only that which is worthy of praise. When this is done, one can be a friend to the whole human race. If, however, we look at people from the standpoint of their faults, then being a friend to them is a formidable task. – Abdu’l-Baha, Selections of the Writings of Abdu’l-Baha, p. 169.
5  Try to be patient, kind and merciful: …ye must show forth tenderness and love to every human being, even to your enemies, and welcome them all with unalloyed friendship, good cheer, and loving-kindness. – Abdu’l-Baha, Selections from the Writings of Abdu’l-Baha, p. 21


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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1439094-Nurture-your-Nature/month/9-1-2021