I went to Genesis Farm, an ecological learning center in western New Jersey, for a workshop on how to build resilient communities in light of the coming ecological and economic instability. Here is the main farmhouse at Genesis Farm:















The oldest part of the farmhouse was built in the early 19th century, and you can still see the hand-hewn beams in the (now modernized) kitchen.












The Dominican Sisters who own and operate Genesis Farm have tried to make their place as self-sustaining as possible. They grow chickens, raise bees, grow big gardens -- of course all the food they serve is vegetarian, much of it produced on or around Genesis Farm.

Here are the solar panels that provide much of the electricity. The building in the background is a library/conference space.














They've put in an open-air tipi, and one of the rituals we did started there, and included a welcome from the land. In the foreground you can still see part of the sacred circle the conference participants cast on the ground to make a ritual space.


















This charming hermitage is a straw bale house! Note the solar panel.













And of course no tour of Genesis Farm would be complete without a view of the composting toilet. ;-)
















The conference--about 20 participants--learned a lot about peak oil (i.e., the time when oil exploration/extraction/refining will reach peak capacity; we've probably already passed that point). But we focused on very hopeful visions of what our communities might look like as we power down from the era of cheap fossil fuels. Here is one of the break out groups being visionary.













I loved that the conference was at a place where we could practice much of what we were learning to preach. We built a hopeful, resilient community right there on the spot! Some of the more local participants brought things like homemade yogurt, applesauce, garlic, and other tasty delights to share with the group.


And OK, I knew New Jersey was called the "garden state," but I thought that was kind of a joke. I expected to see an industrial wasteland. I guess they let that stereotype go unchallenged to keep the riff raff out.












Next stop: New York City!

Whirlwind Washington D.C.!!

What a great trip to Washington D.C., with terrific hosts (Kent and Beth) and an old friend (Jeanna) helping me find my way to some spectacular stuff. Pictures are worth a thousand words, so...

Beth and I were standing at the Lincoln memorial, right near the spot where Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. gave his "I Have a Dream" speech.


What a thrill to see FLOTUS' inauguration gown!!




A pilgrimage to see national treasures doesn't get any better than this:


Beth and I went to the Holocaust Memorial, which was awesome and very moving. Very well done--even those of you who think you know that story, put it on your Washington D.C. "must see" list. And we went on the anniversary of the OKC bombing, so seeing The McVeigh Tapes (Maddow's special) that night was a strange bookend.

Fortunately, there is hope in, and for, the world. Kent and Beth and I went to All Souls Unitarian Church last Sunday.



Imagine gathering and worshiping inside this eye candy each week.



They are warm and joyous, and diverse in every way. And their music program is unbeatable.















And I guess part of what it means to be Rev. Rob Hardies, minister there, is that every visiting minister from Podunk USA wants to pose with him when we're in town! (In the background is the Rev. Dr. Susan Newman, a nationally recognized preacher, the day's guest speaker.)


My friend Jeanna took me to the Congressional Cemetery, where many illustrious people were buried (including some members of congress. No, I won't suggest any names of current congressional "leaders" who should hie them hence.) The most moving one to me was the grave of decorated veteran Leonard Matlovich.



He also had a bench next to his grave with this quote:
If you have done nothing to erase prejudice wherever it exists, best weep for yourself and your country. Cliff Anchor


Washington, D.C. has been a wonderful stop on this journey!

Ocean and life and death

It’s a blessing to be near an unspoiled corner of Earth (thanks to the federally protected National Wildlife Refuge). I won’t even go into the strangeness of protecting chunks of land while exploiting others right across an invisible boundary –– I’ll save that for a later post. Meanwhile, I’ve had many good long walks and a picnic lunch on the sand overlooking the Back Bay (the water between the sandy barrier island I’m on and the actual edge of the continent).





The ocean has revealed several distinct aspects of its faceted personality this week. When I arrived it was tranquil and gentle. As a squall blew in mid week, the ocean churned and tossed (bringing the “oceans, white with foam” image to this simple mind). The ocean’s sound is variable, too, going from a soothing whoosh to a roar to a pounding presence.



As I’ve watched and listened to the waves this week I can’t help but think of my aunt Joan (pron. joANN), who passed away Monday morning. My thoughts are drawn to an image of life, death, and eternity that a friend once shared: He said that, in his mind’s eye, all life is part of a vast oceanic reality. Individual lives are like waves that rise and fall, crest and crash, and ultimately return to their source.
I watched the waves and thought of Aunt Joan, and others whom I’ve loved and bid farewell. Though it’s easy to miss the distinct character of each wave within the larger context, there are definite differences between them. Some pound and crash, often nearly spending their energy by the time they reach shore. Others are more gentle and soothing. All bring gifts from the depths.



Joan was like one of the subtle waves. She seldom raged or pounded (at least not in my hearing), yet she inexorably sculpted the landscape of my life and left a lasting presence. She was a smart, self-possessed, well-educated woman in a time and place where that was not common. She and her husband were in a relationship of equals, something that was fostered by her economic independence but was not only because of that. I think she wouldn’t have accepted anything else. Joan was clearly in love with Uncle John throughout their long marriage, but I got a sense that he’d had to court her, to win her. Somehow the courtship never quite ended –– and she seemed worth the effort.
Joan had style all her own; she was a gracious hostess and a good cook and it seemed she could make any plant grow and flourish. Her indoor kumquat tree bore fruit every year, which seems now like a metaphor for a life that bore fruit through patient tending and nurturing. Her life brought gifts forth from the depths, and deposited them on the sparkling shore. (No small example is her modeling for me a relationship that could embody both fidelity and romance over the course of a lifetime.)
I’m sad about the loss of my aunt, but not sad for her. She had been increasingly affected by Alzheimer’s in recent years; it had settled across her mind like a scum of oil over an ocean wave. For her I imagine death to be a blessed relief in which the body’s propulsive energy plays itself out like a wave reaching its fingers up the beach, finally giving in to the pull of the ocean, the power of returning (and, one hopes, joyously reuniting).
Go in peace, noble spirit. The many who have loved you now walk along the shore and lift up your gifts, collect them like bright shells in baskets. One day I hope we meet again in the mysterious depths.

Beach, doing nothing.

"...There should be places, and times too, in which we do nothing." --Wendell Berry

Too bad I can't get the video of the beach to upload. Picture a pristine beach in the morning light, with no one but me and a few gulls on it. Sea oats blow, waves crash. Got it? Great. Someday I'll figure out how to post my .MOV file. Meanwhile, here's a still photo.

Photons from the road

Having a great time, and some great dreams indicating some renovations to interior architecture to accommodate growth. Here are a few of the photons I've captured along the way.

Esther Miller and Mina were wonderful hostesses in Black Mountain, NC (just East of Asheville).



And who doesn't love a giant red penguin??

A practice of Presence

Asheville is an arty, wonderfully weird community nestled in the Blue Ridge mountains. The mornings are cold and frosty, but once the sun rises above the mountains things warm up and the pines breathe their intoxicating scent into the air. There are lots of neat restaurants that specialize in local and organic food, plenty of accessible art, and terrific, independent bookstores. What’s not to love? Especially for an Enneagram Type 7 like me (nicknamed “The Epicure,” Type 7 is interested in everything to the point of distractibility).
I’ve been meeting with Sandra Smith, a consultant in the Enneagram (a conceptual system for understanding personality). The Enneagram doesn’t claim to describe The Truth about a person, it just offers a model for understanding one’s cognitive/emotional structure and the way it functions. Some traits are hard wired, and others are adaptations we developed in childhood that may be maladaptive in adult life. Understanding and awareness can lead one to a sense of being truly at home in one’s inner world, and can offer a way to continue to progress in a human journey of ongoing personal growth and transformation.
One of the features of my type structure is living in the future, reaching out for all the bright possibilities there. A positive consequence is that I can see a clear vision of a preferred future, and I can see the path that connects there to here. A hindrance is that I don’t always appreciate the here! Sandra says: Practice the muscle of Presence.
Today I’m strengthening that muscle by regularly reminding myself to be here, in the now. As I soak in the sunshine and wonders of Asheville, I’m practicing groundedness.