John Wiercioch
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Reflections on the Art of Living

Water is Life

12/25/2019

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Picture
Water is life.

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I’m so fortunate to have this Roanoke River coursing through my neighborhood. It’s affords me a chance to walk along its banks and connect to some of the energies it collects along its hundreds of miles journey. Springs, creeks, and streams far away contribute to the waters in such a way that the accumulation up in the mountains south of here merge to become this river. A river which then itself continues to move southward, passes between our nearer Blue Ridge Mountains, through the heart of this “young” city, my 100 year old neighborhood, and onward to NC and then the Atlantic ocean. Incredibly its soul here in Appalachia is threatened by insensitive beings ignoring the big picture with heinous pipelines built for short term gain. Yet even still she acquires energies and shares her bounty all along the way.  She has shared with me so many times in so many ways. This beautiful precious gift sustains life.

For me, this year has been as rich and full of transitions as any — seemingly more in some ways. As the earth makes its grand arc around the sun, suspended in the cold black space beyond, the teeming life here feels more precious than ever. Like all of us, I have said goodbye to friends and loved ones. Some have died and transitioned beyond what we can know with our literal minds. Sometimes such changes can throw us off our center, especially when we ignore the larger view. 

This year, someone I barely knew for over decade gushed into my life. About a year ago, each of our streams shifted direction, and for a few months in the chill of winter, we briefly merged. Our needy souls were replenished and our hearts warmed.  It was a rich, beautiful unexpected gift. For unclear reasons, an understanding that’s beyond my literal grasp, she suddenly veered back onto an old course. Whether consciously acknowledged or not, we both were changed. Such mergers change the flow of our lives. By both the wonderfully rich joy of sharing with another, and her painful sudden departure, my open heart was further expanded.    

In the following months, life placed me in the flow of dozens of friends and strangers who were being challenged by major, life-threatening issues. My small grief was humbly transformed. I encountered and learned about unassuming people going through truly heroic journeys to simply be able to stay alive. For many, their efforts continue; you also changed me. I’ve tried to acknowledge your gifts too. You may not read this, nor even be aware of my tapping into your flow of energies, but I am grateful. 

Grateful too for this amazing gift of life as the Light returns in this approaching new year; this sun hurtling in our one galaxy of billions of suns, with this planet following an ancient arc, teeming with organic life that surges with vitality each day. And for the people whose paths have intersected my little trail, who have opened me, made me more aware of the preciousness of living, the crucial importance of savoring the joy and beauty. You gifted me with the most precious gifts, a heightened awareness and appreciation of simple things: snuggling on a chilly rainy walk with a trusted friend; silently sharing in the communion of being with a heron; sharing a pre-work coffee on a sidewalk table with good friends in one’s hood; toasting a beverage in a foreign land with one’s child who (incredibly) is now become a man; sharing porch time with conversation with dear ones; building unspoken bonds with feline and canine friends; sharing pillow talk with a dying friend;  having another year able to engage in long conversations with the kindest mother in the world; experiencing the soul of a waterway... accepting the flow and deeply recognizing the thousands of delicate and incredibly precious joys of life. 

As this fluid, ever-changing, nourishing current of life carries us inevitably forward, let’s savor and share its rich and beautiful energies as generously as we are able.
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Winter Soul

12/22/2019

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Winter river bank
A simple Roanoke River Greenway stroll can be especially potent on these shortest days of the year. Here in southwestern Virginia the sparseness reveals the underlying beauty, the foundation that will support next summer’s bounty. Sparseness implies a lack of richness, but this isn’t so. Maybe the jewels are just easier to spot when there’s not as much packaging. 

With less bodacious colors clamoring at our senses, textures are afforded room for their voices to be felt. Although “traditional” snow levels and expectations of “used to be” temperatures can no longer be counted upon, fortunately the leaves still generally let go by this time. The undergrowth bushes and grasses have withdrawn, gone inward, in preparation for the cold that will come. 

The sun rises late now, hangs low all day, so the horizon views are more expansive because the skyline gets extended with less framing foliage. Yet the view is also more intimate, as the individual trees, formerly draped in garments of green turned gold and crimson, finally get to show off their hard-earned new figures, after enduring three seasons of growth. It’s easy for me to imagine their roots are secretly all holding hands under the table top of Earth, where we can’t see. The skies always feel to me a bit crisper on these clear December days.

The earth itself is dormant, asleep perhaps, but clearly still breathing. The frozen ground often suspends the melted snows, frosts, or rains on its surface. The little pools become cameo mirrors, underfoot pockets of shifting sky. The tender but stalwart silver and golden ochre grasses wave softly when the winds are passing a whisper along. For some reason when I choose to wander along the river’s edge at this time of year, I seem to encounter few humans. This generally suits me fine—I know I can find them in the coffee lounges, or our village shops, or online. On some of these restorative walks, I may not see them because I try to make time to step off the paved path (if only for a few moments) to be near the water’s edge. It’s kinda become my own way of honoring this ancient conduit of life.

I love how walking slows us down and puts our body in sync with our heart, mind and soul. It takes me inward and at the same time opens me to the “soul” of life beyond me. When the cold is bearable enough and I’m sensibly layered enough, and can stand keeping still for a bit, very occasionally, within the palpable winter quiet I may notice the delicate twitch of a stalk or the hint of grasses rustling. I like to imagine it’s a shy mouse discreetly waving at me. More often a brazen field sparrow emerges, flitting, chirping and darting to the next patch in search of seeds. That particular twitching is a familiar sound of old, from the days when I was a (not entirely typical) teen boy “hunting” for mice in the fields and industrial park lots near our home. We’d flip over the discarded cardboard that served as “roofs” to the mouse compounds below. Any critters would race away in a gray-umber blur, leaving behind a soft, loosely woven nest of soft, cozy bedding materials. It was never quite clear how we’d catch them, nor what we’d do with one if we did—but we were thrilled by the hunt!

It’s odd how memories and sensations acquired nearly fifty years ago remain vivid. The decades of experiences that accumulate within us, become a part of us — or perhaps we become them? I wonder if our seemingly unique personal experiences can serve a purpose opposite how we normally frame life. Rather than marking us as individuals, sometimes I feel they’re nudging us to shed the covers of our arbitrary individual identities, our own protective and necessary layers of foliage, and instead recognize how connected we humans are to the whole. 

I long ago let go of the desire to catch any critters physically, but I do love catching the sights and sounds and sensations of the fields, and breezes, and distant soft bird songs echoing against the gray winter skies, and allowing it all to penetrate into and through me. And especially, being accepted without pretense or judgment into the presence of this quiet, ever-unfolding majesty. 

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    About ​John's Blog

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    Writing offers an opportunity to clarify my thoughts and feelings. Often these relate to my art and may offer insights about my work. I learn from engaging with others and welcome comments. 
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