Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe

Love and truth will meet;

justice and peace will kiss.

Truth will spring from the earth;

and justice look down from heaven.

                                    --Psalm 85

Non-attachment

Cut down the banyan tree of desire with the axe of non-attachment, and it will vanish utterly.                   

                   --Swami Vivekananda‎

Fruit of the Seasons

We have had a surfeit of fruit this summer and early fall, first from the peach trees, then the apple trees, and now the prickly pear cacti.  (Soon the oranges will ripen as well.)  This has been the case even though the birds have taken their share.  But they also contribute--for example, I’ve seen them picking cochineal insects off the cacti, and aphids off the apples, which they presumably feed to their young. 

Feast of St. Francis of Assisi

A nobleman from the area of Siena sent a pheasant to blessed Francis while he was sick. He received it gladly, not with the desire to eat it, but because it was his custom to rejoice in such creatures out of love for their Creator. He said to the pheasant: "Praised be our Creator, Brother Pheasant!" And to the brothers he said: "Let's make a test now to see if Brother Pheasant wants to remain with us, or if he'd rather return to his usual places, which are more fit for him." At the saint's command a brother carried the pheasant away and put him down in a vineyard far away. Immediately the pheasant returned at a brisk pace to the father's cell. The saint ordered it to be carried out again, and even further away, but with great stubbornness it returned to the door of the cell, and, as if forcing its way, it entered under the tunics of the brothers who were in the doorway. And so the saint commanded that it should be lovingly cared for, caressing and stroking it with gentle words.

     A doctor who was very devoted to the holy one of God saw this, and asked the brothers to give it to him, not because he wanted to eat it, but wanting rather to care for it out of reverence for the saint.

     The doctor took it home with him, but when separated from the saint it seemed hurt, and while away from his presence it absolutely refused to eat. The doctor was amazed, and at once carried the pheasant back to the saint, telling him in order all that happened. As soon as it was placed on the ground, and saw its father, it threw off its sadness and began to eat with joy.

                            --Vita Secunda, Tommaso da Celano

Dripping Springs Natural Area

Here are some pictures from Dripping Springs Natural Area, part of the Organ Mountains-Desert Peaks National Monument.  This is one of the places threatened by the Trump Administration’s “review” of recently-created national monuments.  Although the comment period on the Interior Department’s “review” is over (and millions commented in favor of keeping our national monuments intact), it is still essential to keep the pressure on.  It is also important to support organizations like Earthjustice, who will be involved in opposing any attack on national monuments in court, if necessary (in addition to all the other crucial environmental justice work that they do).  There are a number of other organizations actively working to defend our public lands, from the local to the national level, and all deserve our support.

a very camouflaged horned lizard

collared lizard

west face of the organ mountains on a hazy morning

Morning Star

Bright and steady

The wind’s lantern

Lily of the east

Open hands and eyes

Fox face, water on rock

Door and heart

Banishing darkness

rock hibiscus seed cases

Vision

In the legends of the saints and the prophets, either a desert or a mountain is pretty sure to figure. It is usually in the middle of one or on the top of the other that the vision comes or the test is met. To give their message to the world they come down or come out, but it is almost invariably in a solitude, either high or dry, that it is first revealed.

                                                                    ― Joseph Wood Krutch, The Desert Year

Krishna Janmashtami

He is the devotee who is jealous of none, who is a fount of mercy, who is without egotism, who is selfless, who treats alike cold and heat, happiness and misery, who is ever forgiving, who is always contented, whose resolutions are firm, who has dedicated mind and soul to God, who causes no dread, who is not afraid of others, who is free from exultation, sorrow and fear, who is pure, who is versed in action and yet remains unaffected by it, who renounces all fruit, good or bad, who treats friend and foe alike, who is untouched by respect or disrespect, who is not puffed by praise, who does not go under when people speak ill of him, who loves silence and solitude, who has a disciplined reason.                                                                                                                            --Mahatma Gandhi "On the Gita"

‘Why Leap Ye, Ye High Hills?’

“I’ve got it now,” cried Bull, “it was because he was so fat and so light. Just like a balloon. We always think of fat people as heavy, but he could have danced against a sylph. I see now what I mean. Moderate strength is shown in violence, supreme strength is shown in levity. It was like the old speculations—what would happen if an elephant could leap up in the sky like a grasshopper?”

     “Our elephant,” said Syme, looking upwards, “has leapt into the sky like a grasshopper.”

     “And somehow,” concluded Bull, “that’s why I can’t help liking old Sunday. No, it’s not an admiration of force, or any silly thing like that. There is a kind of gaiety in the thing, as if he were bursting with some good news. Haven’t you sometimes felt it on a spring day? You know Nature plays tricks, but somehow that day proves they are good-natured tricks. I never read the Bible myself, but that part they laugh at is literal truth, ‘Why leap ye, ye high hills?’ The hills do leap—at least, they try to.... Why do I like Sunday?... how can I tell you?... because he’s such a Bounder.”

                                                                                    --G. K. Chesterton, The Man Who Was Thursday

Rains

The monsoon rains arrived early this year, and the desert is again in bloom.  For those who have depended on the desert for survival over the centuries, the rainy season has always brought abundance.  The desert adorns itself in green--a green that seems to appear out of nowhere.  Plants that looked dead spring back to life.  Drought evaders rise up out of the rocky soil.  The cacti swell and take on more rounded forms.  Overnight, the ocotillos that had looked like dead sticks adorn themselves in tiny leaves.  Birds, reptiles, and mammals take advantage of the tender new growth, the grasses and ripening fruits.

These barrel cacti are crowned with fiery orange buds and blossoms,

and this cluster of nipple beehive cacti are also in bloom,

as is this solitary specimen.

The southern goldenbush (which I recently misidentified as rabbitbrush) has bright flowers that attract bees and other insects, including some type of longhorn beetle.

The Apache plume makes white flowers and pastel-pink plumes that are actually long, hair-like, seed-carrying appendages, which develop from the style of the flower and are attached to a tiny fruit (achene).

And even this cactus in a pot at home (Echinopsis x [?]) has joined in the celebration of the rains.

Hawks

A pair of Swainson’s hawks were circling above a desert hillside near my home.  As soon as one of them noticed me, it began to swoop down and sail just inches above my head.  It would cry out as it climbed back into the sky--a sharp, high-pitched cry.  I don’t know if it was protecting a nest, or simply guarding its hunting grounds (as the recent rains have brought out plenty of insects, lizards, and small mammals).  I was surprised how close it came to me, but its gracefulness and precise navigation were truly spellbinding.

Desert Wisdom

A certain philosopher questioned the holy abbot Anthony.  “How,” he said, “do you content yourself, Father, as you are denied the comfort of books?”  He answered, “My book, philosopher, is the nature of created things, and as often as I have a mind to read the word of God, it is at my hand.”

                                                       --Verba Seniorum (The Sayings of the Fathers)

The Desert

I never tire of the desert, its spaciousness, its vistas, and the mystery of life that survives in it.  This evening, a solitary quail sat in a mesquite tree calling out in a plaintive voice, a sharp, touching cry.  You seldom see a lone quail—they are usually in little flocks scurrying across the desert floor.  I don’t know if this bird had become separated from its flock and was calling out for it, or if something unfortunate had happened to its covey and it was crying out in distress.  As I walked away, it continued its insistent call.  Perhaps it was simply looking for a mate.

Every day there are new things to discover.  Eagle’s claw (Turk’s head) cacti are usually solitary

but today I found this little cluster.

The Texas rainbow cacti have finished blooming and are now making fruit that is slowly being eaten by birds, and perhaps small rodents as well.

Ox Mountain

The woods on Ox Mountain were once beautiful!  On account of its being on the edge of a large country, it was attacked with axes and hatchets.  How could it remain beautiful? The refreshing breezes of the night spirit and the dawn's breath, and the moisture provided by rain and fog, did not fail to give rise to sprouts of vegetation from the stumps of the trees.  But cows and sheep were repeatedly pastured there, and for that reason it has remained desolate.  People observe its denuded state and assume that it never had any woods at all.  But how could this state be the true nature of this mountain?
                                                                                                        — Mencius

Meditating today on the Ox Mountain story of Mencius.  There is so much in it that speaks to our relationship with nature, to faith (of all kinds), to our understanding of truth.  It is especially pertinent in the era of the Trump Administration--of people who believe that the only way to relate to others and nature is to possess and to violate, to consume and destroy; people who loathe and deny the truth at every corner ("there never were any woods at all").  Thomas Merton says this about Mencius' parable in his book Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander:

Without the night spirit, the dawn breath, silence, passivity, rest, man's nature cannot be itself.  In its barrenness it is no longer natura: nothing grows from it, nothing is born of it any more.
                                                                                         

The Desert in Bloom

The desert near our home is bright with wildflowers--and quail, roadrunners, and mockingbirds are going about the business of hunting and raising their young. The rain we got this winter means there is a bright carpet on the desert, and the awakening cacti, like this cob beehive cactus, are either blooming or getting ready to bloom.

This nipple beehive cactus blossom is just opening.

The prickly pear will continue blooming for weeks.

The Texas rainbow cacti have showy yellow flowers that attract a variety of insects.

This one attracted a little skipper.

Many of them were attracting wild bees that were completely covered in the abundant, sticky pollen.

The bees would completely disappear amid the stamens, only to emerge almost drunk with nectar.

Spring in the desert, with the help of winter rains, is a time of quiet beauty and renewal.