Steadying ourselves with Beauty, Truth and Goodness

November 2024

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times.
But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what
to do with the time that is given us.”

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Good morning from my blue chair,

Continuing to work with holding steady along with taking swift action, I’m writing to share my annual November reflective writing practice with you . . .

This November practice invites you to reflect back carefully over the year through the lens of Beauty, Truth and Goodness. On this fresh morning the world does seem to be in a ruckus — and when I dropped into this writing practice myself, I found the ruckus as well as some solace. These are hard times to keep our hearts strong and open. It appears that collectively we are not doing so well with sharing power. There are winners and losers everywhere. So finding the beauty, truth and goodness has become all the more compelling as we seek to steady ourselves and find a way to contribute somehow.

For those of you who have dropped into this practice in years past, you will see that I’ve kept it the same, confident that these questions will always bring a fresh response as we look back over the past year to find the Beauty, Truth and Goodness that is there.

Carve out some time to reflect on the last year in your journal. (Pulling out your calendar to jog your memory might be helpful.) With pen in hand or fingers on your keyboard, soften your gaze as you scan back over the past year and respond to the prompts below. You can do this for the year in one sweep or take each season as I suggest below. The invitation here is to be responding to these prompts four times, beginning with the winter a year ago. (Could take you as long as an hour or so to complete . . . ) Significant milestones or intimate moments in your answers are all appropriate. I think you will find that specificity gives wonderful depth to the process.

For each of the seasons, Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall:

Describe a time that you experienced beauty.
In what way(s) were you the cause of something beautiful?

In what way(s) was a hard truth revealed to you?
In what way(s) did you reveal or speak a hard truth?

In what way(s) was a beautiful truth revealed to you?
In what way(s) did you reveal or speak a beautiful truth?

In what way(s) were you on the receiving end of goodness?
In what way(s) were you the cause of goodness?

Upon completion, give yourself a little time to let your responses settle in you. Take a walk or a bath, if you can, and take in the beauty, truth and goodness that you found when you put pen to page. Stay with the hard truth that may have surfaced and seek support from wise loved ones if you feel the need. You might want to capture some further reflections before moving into the fullness of your day or evening.

I’ll be posting my annual year end practice in December, which will give you an opportunity to look ahead and consider any reorientation, renewed commitments, or actions that all of this may inspire in you.

May we all find our way to contribute. May we all wage peace . . .

Warmly, Lyedie

One final note: Yesterday morning in our writing group a friend read this poem and it landed for me, so I thought I’d share it with you.

How the Light Comes

I cannot tell you
how the light comes.
What I know
is that it is more ancient
than imagining.
That it travels
across an astounding expanse
to reach us.
That it loves
searching out
what is hidden
what is lost
what is forgotten
or in peril
or in pain.
That it has a fondness
for the body
for finding its way
toward flesh
for tracing the edges
of form
for shining forth
through the eye,
the hand,
the heart.
I cannot tell you
how the light comes,
but that it does.
That it will.
That it works its way
into the deepest dark
that enfolds you,
though it may seem
long ages in coming
or arrive in a shape
you did not foresee.
And so
may we this day
turn ourselves toward it.
May we lift our faces
to let it find us.
May we bend our bodies
to follow the arc it makes.
May we open
and open more
and open still
to the blessed light
that comes.

by Jan Richardson

Beauty, Truth and Goodness on this fresh morning, in this broken world . . .

it is a serious thing
just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in this broken world

- Mary Oliver

Good morning from my blue chair,

I’m writing to share the first in a series of my annual reflective writing practices with you. This November practice invites you to reflect back carefully over the year through the lens of Beauty, Truth and Goodness. On this fresh morning the world does seem broken and when I dropped into this writing practice myself, I found the brokenness as well as the wholeness — These are hard times to keep our hearts strong and open. So finding the beauty, truth, and goodness has become all the more compelling as we seek to steady ourselves and find a way to contribute somehow.

For those of you who have dropped into this practice in years past, you will see that I’ve added a new element this year — prompting you to look into both the beautiful and hard truths which are revealing themselves.

Here is the revised practice: Finding the Beauty, Truth and Goodness in the Year

Carve out some time to reflect on the last year in your journal, and then ideally to take a walk or a bath. Pulling out your calendar to jog your memory might be helpful. Then I suggest just softening your gaze back over the past year and responding to the prompts below. You can do this for the year in one sweep or take each season as I suggest below. The invitation here is to be responding to these prompts four times, beginning with the winter a year ago. (Could take you as long as an hour or so to complete . . . ) Significant milestones or intimate moments in your answers are all appropriate. I think you will find that specificity gives wonderful depth to the process.

For each of the seasons, Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall:

Describe a time that you experienced beauty.
In what way(s) were you the cause of something beautiful?

In what way(s) was a hard truth revealed to you?
In what way(s) did you reveal or speak a hard truth?

In what way(s) was a beautiful truth revealed to you?
In what way(s) did you reveal or speak a beautiful truth?

In what way(s) were you on the receiving end of goodness?
In what way(s) were you the cause of goodness?

Upon completion, give yourself a little time to let your responses settle in you. Take a walk or a bath, if you can, and take in the beauty, truth and goodness that you found when you put pen to page. You might want to capture some further reflections before moving into the fullness of your day or evening.

I’ll be posting my annual year end practice in December, which will give you an opportunity to look ahead and consider any reorientation, renewed commitments, or actions that all of this may inspire in you.

May we all find our way to contribute. May we all wage peace . . .

Warmly, Lyedie

Every morning you rise, I want you to remember this:
there are amazing things
to be a part of,
and fight for,
and feel,
because the world
will unlock hundreds
of doors when you
give this day
all the courage, love,
and intensity
you can.

Victoria Erickson (author, The Edge of wonder)

Photo credit goes to Gay Foster with gratitiude

Look for the Glimmers

Here is a little noticing practice for living in the midst of this gorgeous ruckus.

As you go through your day look for the glimmers*. Your list may be long — filled with things to figure out, problems to solve, tasks to accomplish, people to get back to, groceries to shop for, but there’s always room for a glimmer. What constitutes a glimmer you might say . . .

A glimmer is the opposite of a trigger

A glimmer is a small moment of goodness, truth, or beauty

Glimmers inspire your thinking

Glimmers warm your heart

Glimmers cue a degree of safety, serve to regulate your nervous system

Glimmers can transform busyness into fullness. Each day brings with it hundreds of glimmers. Noticing glimmers is a powerful healing practice that adds up over time. Becoming a glimmer seeker will change your brain and your life

Remember to look for the glimmers. It is easy to forget until you make it a habit.

Warmly,
Lyedie

Photo by Elizabeth Ungerleider, with gratitude
* The concept of glimmers from Sarah Jackson, with gratitude

Where was the Beauty, Truth and Goodness in this tumultuous year?

Good morning, 

I’m writing to share my annual reflective writing practice with you — Finding the Beauty, Truth and Goodness in the year. 

Last week, the Gingko tree out in front of my office here in Putney was shining a brilliant yellow and then one morning when I came to work, she had shed her leaves creating a glorious circle of yellow in the bright green grass on the common. This is her autumnal habit, prompted by the first night that the temperature descends to precisely 29 degrees. My autumnal habit is to reflect back as I collect the leaves from the ground with a practice I developed that is inspired by a passage I found in Jean Yves Leloup’s translation of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene*. This late autumn reflection prepares me to turn towards next as the solstice and calendar year-end approaches.

Here is the practice: Finding the Beauty, Truth and Goodness in the Year

Carve out some time to reflect on the last year in your journal. Pulling out your calendar to jog your memory might be helpful. Then just soften your gaze back over the past year and respond to the prompts below for each of the four seasons. The invitation here is to respond to these six prompts four times, beginning with the winter a year ago. (Could take you as long as an hour or so to complete . . . ) Significant milestones or intimate moments in your answers are all appropriate. I think you will find that specificity gives wonderful depth to the process.

For each of the seasons, Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall: 

Describe a time that you experienced beauty.
In what way(s) were you the cause of something beautiful?

In what way(s) was the truth revealed to you?
In what way(s) did you reveal or speak the truth?

In what way(s) were you on the receiving end of goodness?
In what way(s) were you the cause of goodness?

Upon completion, give yourself a little time to let your responses settle in you. I invite you to feel the interplay of these three fundamental threads in the tapestry of your life. Take a walk or a bath and take in the beauty, truth and goodness that you found when you put pen to page.

I’ll be posting my annual year end practice, Turning Towards Next, in December, which will give you an opportunity to look ahead and consider any reorientation, renewed commitments, or actions that all of this may inspire in you.

Enjoy, and may we all wage peace . . .

Warmly, Lyedie

November 11, 2022
Putney, Vermont

*(Click here to find that passage on the About page of my website)

Do you have the patience to wait
until your mud settles,
and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
until the right action
arises by itself?

 — Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching

Photo credit: Elizabeth Ungerleider

Finding Beauty, Truth and Goodness in a Year of Grief

Good morning from my blue chair,

I’m writing to share an annual reflective writing practice again with you — Finding the Beauty, Truth and Goodness in the year.

Yesterday, the Gingko tree out in front of my office here in Putney was shining a brilliant yellow and this morning she shed all her leaves at once in a snow-like flurry. This is her autumnal habit, prompted by the first night that the temperature descends to precisely 29 degrees. My autumnal habit is to reflect back over the year as I collect the leaves from the ground. This has been a particularity exquisite year for me. Painful, beautiful, and heart opening, it has been both difficult and fulfilling. Just a few days after Thanksgiving 2020, my dear mum’s delicate heart gently gave up and she passed away peacefully. With a lot of good help and a measure of luck, we managed to care for her in her Florida home while navigating all the complexity of the pandemic. Today, I’m gently giving myself permission to relive her last weeks. Reliving the beauty, the hard truth, and the goodness of that time we had together tending to mum as she went out ahead of us.

For many, this has been a year full of loss. Working with grief is a capacity these times are calling forth in us. During these tumultuous times, loss is not only felt when we lose a loved one. Many of us are also grieving for a lost way of life, for relationships we thought we could depend on, and for the health of the planet, among other things. Dropping-in to the reflective writing practice I’m offering here may squeeze some necessary grief up onto the surface of your attention. If so, embrace it as best you can. Scroll down to the musings on grief that bubbled up for me, which I’m sharing in the hope it may be helpful somehow.

Here is the practice: Finding the Beauty, Truth and Goodness in the Year

Carve out some time to reflect on the last year in your journal. Pulling out your calendar to jog your memory might be helpful. Then I suggest just softening your gaze back over the past year and responding to the prompts below for each of the four seasons. The invitation here is to be responding to these six prompts four times, beginning with the winter a year ago. (Could take you as long as an hour or so to complete . . . . ) Significant milestones or intimate moments in your answers are all appropriate. I think you will find that specificity gives wonderful depth to the process.

For each of the seasons, Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall:

Describe a time that you experienced beauty.
In what way(s) were you the cause of something beautiful?

In what way(s) was the truth revealed to you?
In what way(s) did you reveal or speak the truth?

In what way(s) were you on the receiving end of goodness?
In what way(s) were you the cause of goodness?

Upon completion, give yourself a little time to let your responses settle in you. I’ll be posting my annual year end practice in early December, which will give you an opportunity to look ahead and consider any reorientation, renewed commitments, or actions that all of this may inspire in you.

Enjoy this and all that you uncover as you put pen to page.

* * *

Selected Notes from my Beauty, Truth and Goodness journal writing session today:

This year, I have been learning to live without my mother here on the planet. That is the arc that stretches across my year long experience. Throughout this year I have been carrying a softness, a tenderness in the region of my heart that often wells up with a wavelike force and then subsides. Along with the tears that brimmed over in the grocery store aisles and at other surprising and inopportune times, a certain strength has emerged that perhaps I gained from having been with the truth of having witnessed her last breath. I don’t really know, though — the source of the strength remains a mystery to me.

This year I have been walking with grief and also joy. Held by the rhythms of life and the reliable embrace of gravity holding me onto this earth. Steadied by my work, good friends and family. Comforted by regular visits with the natural world. Cheered by the flurry of Gingko leaves.

Winter -

Beauty: Turning inward and tromping in the woods visiting old trees — oak, cherry, white pine, mulberry —

Goodness: Dear friends rallied around me with song and comfort food

Truth: Needing time alone - Daddy’s health faltered

Spring -

Beauty: Gloriously beautiful Sarasa chamber music concert at Brattleboro Music School in May

Goodness: Tentatively unfolding into reveling in the palest greens, spring breezes, and the company of loved ones. Spontaneous gifts left on my porch

Truth: That day I reminded myself that she isn’t there to answer the phone. Recognizing the need to pace myself

Summer -

Beauty: Feeling deeply filled up by being out on my paddle board on South Pond in the evenings

Goodness: Joy in spending time with my rowdy kindle of grandchildren — and then with a dear friend on the Vineyard for a few precious days

Truth: Feeling the impact of my family being so far flung - Portland OR, Colorado, Florida and Norway . . .

Fall -

Beauty: Returning to the hearth fire, collecting Ginkgo leaves

Goodness: Helping my dad travel for the first time in years. Remembering the last bowls of fruit my mother carefully prepared for us

Truth: This morning I spied an owl up in a now leafless tree at the edge of the field I walk past most mornings. Has it been there quietly all along? Onward we go . . .

Musings on grief:

How stunningly hard it is to live through grief. How deeply personal the experience is. How grief forges our hearts if we let it . . .

How grief is a many splendor ed thing — a direct result of love, a doorway to caring more about each other and this extraordinary planet that is our home.

How when I feel my grief, when it visits me and I can allow it to well up, my mother as well as my late sister, Katie, come in closer in some inexplicable way. So, too does the natural world I find myself so deeply connected to.

Grief comes in waves. With mum I watched it come towards me for years. With the sudden death of my sister Katie, almost forty years ago, it came in rogue form, — out of nowhere, quick and devastating. Now they are both part of the ebbing and flowing ocean that is my grief.

Feeling held by life allows me the courage to feel grief and to let it wash through me. For that I’m deeply grateful.

* * *

Sending strength to your heart as I complete this post. Thank you for taking the time to read it.

Warmly, Lyedie
November 11th 2021
Putney, VT

Photo credit: Leslie Williams