Last Day of 2022: Making Peace with our Earth

Saturday 31st December 2022 into 2023

 

With the now departing year
May your cares &sorrows ease
May the new year drawing near
Bring you happiness and peace.  SC. Foster

 

 

IT IS TIME TO STOP DEFINING PEACE

AS THE ABSENCE OF WAR

AND START DEFINING IT

AS THE PRESENCE OF LOVE

 

 Making Peace

by Denise Levertov

A voice from the dark called out,
             ‘The poets must give us
imagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiar
imagination of disaster. Peace, not only
the absence of war.’
                                   But peace, like a poem,
is not there ahead of itself,
can’t be imagined before it is made,
can’t be known except
in the words of its making,
grammar of justice,
syntax of mutual aid.
                                       A feeling towards it,
dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have
until we begin to utter its metaphors,
learning them as we speak.
                                              A line of peace might appear
if we restructured the sentence our lives are making,
revoked its reaffirmation of profit and power,
questioned our needs, allowed
long pauses . . .
                        A cadence of peace might balance its weight
on that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,
an energy field more intense than war,
might pulse then,
stanza by stanza into the world,
each act of living
one of its words, each word
a vibration of light—facets
of the forming crystal.
PhotoS taken 29 th December 2022..
Thomas and Eleanor walking the cobbled lanes of St Ives, Cornwell.UK

December 26: Our month to be at peace with the world by Colleen Keating

Wage Peace

If you want to see change in the world you have to be that change..

With this year coming to an end we look forward to another chance,
What can i do to be that change?
How can any of us BE that change?

A poem by Judyth Hill  speaks for today

Wage Peace

By Judyth Hill

Wage peace with your breath.

Breathe in firemen and rubble,

breathe out whole buildings

and flocks of redwing blackbirds.

Breathe in terrorists and breathe out sleeping children

and freshly mown fields.

Breathe in confusion and breathe out maple trees.

Breathe in the fallen

and breathe out lifelong friendships intact.

Wage peace with your listening:

hearing sirens, pray loud.

Remember your tools:

flower seeds, clothes pins, clean rivers.

Make soup.

Play music, learn the word for thank you in three languages.

Learn to knit, and make a hat.

Think of chaos as dancing raspberries,

imagine grief as the outbreath of beauty

or the gesture of fish.

Swim for the other side.

Wage peace.

Never has the world seemed so fresh and precious.

have a cup of tea and rejoice.

Act as if armistice has already arrived.

Celebrate today.

Our month of December has come to its peak which for many is Christmas day, a festive holiday,  a coming together of family and friends,  a celebration of the Summer Solstice  with the balmy longest day of the year, or for some  asad lonely day or just another day with lots of hype and traffic and food .

After a  year  afflicted by terrorism and war we need a critical mass of ‘yes’  for a new year bringing in peace.  Let peace be the way of our world.

December Days summer gardens, friends, parties, art galleries by Colleen Keating

Decembers Days

 Making peace with our earth, our world of humanity and ourselves

A friend who is in Assisi for Christmas sent this photo. A reconstruction of the simple story of The Nativity. In the darkness of the shortest day of the year when we wait . . . .in  the dark . . .   the new light
 rises and begins its return. ‘And the Light shall overcome. That is our Hope that the Light shall overcome.  Nature shows us over and over that life conquers death . And so we believe.  On the shortest day and the longest night may this blessing make its way into our hearts. However that being said we are here in Australia so we have to turn it all around and find another story  of symbolism.

OUR SUMMER SOLSTICE

We have always had to imagine the deep dark cold of Christmas night here in the Southern Hemisphere.

Our Kind of Peace

One kind of peace is a state of life that is free from chaos and turbu- lence, from violence and institutionally le- gitimated death. That kind of peace happens often enough in histo- ry to show us that such a thing is possi- ble. But don’t be fooled: that kind of peace can be achieved as easily through force as well as through jus- tice. In that case, little is gained by it.

But there is another kind of peace. This kind of peace does not come either from the denial of evil or the ac- ceptance of oppression. This kind comes from the cen- ter of us and flows through us like a conduit to the world around us.

One kind of peace is a state of life that is free from chaos and turbu- lence, from violence and institutionally le- gitimated death. That kind of peace happens often enough in histo- ry to show us that such a thing is possi- ble. But don’t be fooled: that kind of peace can be achieved as easily through force as well as through jus- tice. In that case, little is gained by it.

But there is another kind of peace. This kind of peace does not come either from the denial of evil or the ac- ceptance of oppression. This kind comes from the cen- ter of us and flows through us like a conduit to the world around us.

Summer Days

Friends

Parties

Art Gallery: New Modern extension

Inspirng Art for Michaels  A story that he is fond of  still chokes up tlking of it.

F

Family

 

y

Vale Robert Adamson May loving arms hold Juno through this time

December 18th 2022

Vale Robert Adamson.

One of Australia’s great poets and  poet of our Hawkesbury River. An inspiration to so many of us. My friend  asked me to share this poem with all who mourn his loss. She wrote it in 2013 when she was reading on a platform with Robert. She sent it to Robert and he replied with his thanks and affirmation. Now our love focuses on dear Juno for the empty space will take time to reconcile.
Enjoy Pip’s poem:
The poet redux
(for Robert Adamson)
Love is what he’s about
this gentle man
who draws birds
writes poems about them
and the woman
who told him once
to choose between
the drugs and her.
Whatever he was then
she could see
the love in him.
He gives it now to us
words dancing
from his fingers
from his lips
and from his generous poetic heart.
©Pip Griffin 22 September 2013
Clear Water Reckoning
I write into the long black morning,
out here on the end of the point,
far from my wife in Budapest –
as the river cuts through a mountain
in Sydney a poet is launching
his new volume Under Berlin
and I feel like Catullus on Rome’s edge
but this passes and I turn to face
the oncoming dawn, the house
breathes tidal air as the night
fires outside with barking owls,
marsupials rustling, the prawn bird
beginning its taunting dawn whistle;
I burn the electricity
and measure hours by the lines –
I have strewn words around the living room,
taken them out from their
sentences, left them unused wherever
they fell; they are the bait –
I hunch over my desk and start to row,
let the tide flow in, watch
the window, with the door locked now
I wait – hear satin bowerbirds
scratching out the seeds from bottlebrush.
Dawn is a thin slit of illuminated
bowerbird blue along mountain lines,
in this year of cock and bull
celebration the TV goes on unwatched
upstairs, I hear it congratulating us
for making Australia what it is –
the heater breathes out a steady stream
of heated air – I go deeper
into my head, I see the Hawkesbury
flowing through Budapest, the Hungarians
do not seem to mind, they are bemused,
the river parts around their spires and domes,
I see other cities, whole cultures
drawn from territories within,
though with this freedom
comes a feeling of strange panic
for the real; so I get on
with it, writing out from this egg
holding my thought in a turbulent knot,
a bunched-up octopus. I steer
away from anything confessional,
thinking of Robert Lowell crafting
lines of intelligent blues,
his Jelly Roll of a self-caught mess
deep in spiritual distress.
Outside the river pulls me back,
shafts of light disintegrate into clues,
flecked symbols shine with order –
the bowerbirds have woven colour
around the house, through
bushes blue patterns of themselves
traced about the place; half
the moon can topple a mountain,
anything is possible here
I remind myself and begin to hum,
flattening out all the words that were
impossible to write today. I hum
out all the poems I should have
written, I hum away now also
the desire to write from memory –
there is enough sorrow in the present.
I look out over the incoming tide, dark racks
of oysters jut from its ink.
– Published in The Clean Dark 1989

DECEMBER 17: DECEMBER DAYS BY COLLEEN KEATING

 

SATURDAY 17TH DECEMBER

DAY 17

I found the following quote for peace on google while wanting  to read some of the lyrics of Bob Dylan
on my December theme  Peace.  IT WAS A DOONA DAY FOR ME.


Jimi Hendrix famously said,

“when the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.”
That was over fifty years ago, and the world hasn’t moved on much since then.
A glance at the news and you’ll see there’s still far too much suffering in the world.

We still have poverty, wars, famine, corruption, etc., despite massive advancements in technology.
We still have to fight for peace, though.
We can’t give up. “

My 11 year old Grandson who lives in England and who has just completed year 7  has read a Michael Murpugo book  called Private Peaceful ,which involved him in the life of Tommo who confrounts the execution of his brother for being a coward  and refusing to go over the hill into the fire. 

Thomas has written and reads here a poem in response to his English set text.

https://www.facebook.com/messenger_media?attachment_id=997986667785134&message_id=mid.$cAAAAAHOxGauLNrxY82FBXKKKnqXq&thread_id=583285485

https://www.facebook.com/messenger_media?attachment_id=997986667785134&message_id=mid.$cAAAAAHOxGauLNrxY82FBXKKKnqXq&thread_id=583285485

 

 

 

DECEMBER 15: OUR MONTH TO BE AT PEACE WITH THE WORLD by Colleen Keating

Thursday 15th December

Day 15 

The peace dove is a birthday gift from my sister. How special for this month of being in peace . . .another symbo, the dove, birds on wing that speak to us of being in peace.

Today it was a beach walk allowing the balmy ocean to wash and wave  over my sandy bare feet .

Attending to the SWW work I need to do and to send 3 poems to Blue Heron Review.  

If you are depressed you are living in the past,

if you are anxious you are living in the future,

if you are at peace, you are living in the present.

Lao Tzu

When things change inside you, things change around you.
Anon

 

And Mary Oliver tells us:

When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

 

DECEMBER 14: OUR MONTH TO BE AT PEACE WITH THE WORLD by Colleen Keating

Wednesday 14th December

A year older today . Happy birthday to me. Above is  Michaels gift  –

A new White Peace Lily 

Day 14

It is not enough to have peace. We are meant to extend it to others,
to increase the amount of it in the world,
to be signs of the quietude it brings to those who spread it.

And from Mary Oliver something I often share with others
just the perfect poem for a birthday
it is not too much
not too little
it is the goldilocks birthday poem  . . .  just right.

Birthday

I wish I was twenty and in love with life
and still full of beans.
Onward, old legs!
There are the long, pale dunes; on the other side
the roses are blooming and finding their labor
no adversity to the spirit.

Upward, old legs! There are the fo and there is the sea
shining like a song, like a body
I want to touch
though I’m not twenty
and won’t be again, but ah!  in my seventies  And still
in love with life, And still
full of beans.

Mary Oliver from Red Bird

This day, my birthday was set down as the last SWW meeting with a workshop with Jan Cornell, and a Book selling market . I took 3/4 books of the two verse novels and only sold 3 books all up as there was as many sellers as buyers. At least it was great to see all the books we as a group have written.

Pip at our selling table                    Jan Cornell giving the key note address

BIRTHDAY EVENING SEA FOOD DINNER AT THE DOLPHIN HOUSE

DECEMBER 13: OUR MONTH TO BE AT PEACE WITH THE WORLD by Colleen Keating

Monday 13th December

  

   

Day 13

A day in the garden.

We planted out 4 new mandevillas, dark red,   checked out and marvelled at our two Kangaroos Paws, Bush Bonaza, and Bush Blitz,  our lettuce and herbs

. . .  all doing so well and our soft pink rose opens each new bud with a gentle sigh .

When we come to peace with our own limitations, we come to understand and accept

the limitations of others.

“As we learn to have compassion for ourselves,”

the Buddhist nun Pema Chödrön writes,

“the circle of compassion for others becomes wider.”

 

DECEMBER 12: OUR MONTH TO BE AT PEACE WITH THE WORLD by Colleen Keating

Monday 12th  DECEMBER

Day 12

Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry – Mary Oliver from  A  Poetry Handbook

1.When you feel conflicted    read Wild Geese

You do not have to be good. 
You do not have to walk on your knees 
for a hundred miles 
through the desert,
repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal
of your body 
love what it loves

2. When you are feeling down or grieving   read Starlings in Winter

I want to think again
dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful
 and afraid of nothing, 
as though I had wings.

3. When you want to put up boundaries  read Lead

I tell you this to break your heart,
by which I mean 
only that it break open 
and never close again
to rest of the world.  

4. When you feel you are living without purpose  read The Summer Day 

Tell me, 
what is it you plan to do 
with your one wild and precious life?

5. When you are too caught up in your own thoughts and worries   read  I Go Down to the Shore

I go down to the shore in the morning
 and depending on the hour 
the waves are rolling in or moving out, 
and I say,

Oh, I am miserable,
what shall 
what should I do?
And the sea says in its lovely voice,
Excuse me, I have work to do . 

On a practical level we had one of our youngest grandchildren staying with us for the weekend. 

Today, Sunday morning, began with reading of books in my bed, a game of banana using the letters in patterns, then building, then finding a target to shoot foam bullets , then he needed the plank set up and to play cars with Pa. And it was only 9 oclock. so setting out on the adventure slowed us down a little, except the weather was wild with blue sky changing to a wild windy storm gone as quickly as it arrived.

We took him on an adventure  – three train, one train took in 4 stations to Beecroft with an awesome childrens park . Then train  with 5 stations to Hornsby and a visit to the library with a great childrens section for reading, and train three of one station and walk home. We were all very tired at the end of the adveneture.    Back home it was playdough then  colouring in a monster.  (for about 10mins. ) coits , and then we stopped . Then his dad arrived from an appointment he had in city and they set back off for Coffs Harbour,

    

  1. Playing cars on Pa’s special ramp.  2. Adventure a train ride to the Hornsby library .

DECEMBER 11: OUR MONTH TO BE AT PEACE WITH THE WORLD by Colleen Keating

 

Sunday 11th DECEMBER

Day 11

And the miraculous comes so close   (Written in Russia in 1921)

“Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold, 
Death’s great black wing scrapes the air, 
Misery gnaws to the bone. 
Why then do we not despair? 
By day, from surrounding woods, 
Cherries blow summer into town;

At night the deep transparent skies
Glitter with new galaxies. 
And the miraculous comes so close 
To the ruined, dirty houses—
Something not known to anyone at all,
But wild in our breast for centuries.” 

-Anna Akhmatova (1921)
A young Russian poet writing this in 1921 in a country at war with itself. And yet she could write this hope . . . 

When we use violence as an answer to violence, all we manage to do in the end is to become what we hate. “Actions initiated in anger,” Sylvia Boorstein wrote, “perpetuate suffering.”

I remember my beautiful Aunty Tess who would be 90 today. Since I was young we have shared our birthdays. And I miss her friendship and her wisdom very much. 

 

And Master D arrived with his Dad to stay for a few days with us. His Dad has a funeral on Monday so we are having him. So far great fun looking for our frog, feeding Mr Kooky, counting the cockatoos