Willow report

 When I was a rower, I love flat water, calm, no waves, no wind.

There white fuzzy balls falling, with little seeds in them. The carp said hello to my meditation. No tortoise nearby though, peaking their heads above water. I can identify red wing blackbirds. A bird announced my existence, birds are the scouts of the natural world. 

Spirituality and nature

 

Chanted a Buddhist puja, the Triratna Sevenfold Puja to the birds flying around, the tortoises who popped their head above the water for a breath, and the carp smashing around in the reeds. I sat and digested the articulated positive spiritual aspirations that is part Tibetan Buddhism with mantras, part Shantideva's Bodhisattvacaryāvatāra and the Heart Sutra.

Henry David Thoreau

“He was born on a colonial-era farm into a subsistence economy based on agriculture, on land that had sustained a stable Anglo- American community for two centuries and, before that, Native American communities for eleven thousand years. People had been shaping Thoreau's landscape since the melting of the glaciers. By the time he died, in 1862, the Industrial Revolution had reshaped his world: the railroad transformed Concord from a local economy of small farms and artisanal industries to a suburban node on a global network of industrial farms and factories. His beloved woods had been cleared away, and the rural rivers he sailed in his youth powered cotton mills. In 1843, the railroad cut right across a corner of Walden Pond, but in 1845 Thoreau built his house there anyway, to confront the railroad as part of his reality. By the time he left Walden, at least twenty passenger and freight trains screeched past his house daily. His response was to call on his neighbors to "simplify, simplify. Instead of joining the rush to earn more money for the latest gadgets and goods from China, Europe, or the West Indies -feeding an economy that grew mindlessly, he wrote, like rank and noxious weeds - he called for mindful cultivation of one's inner being and one's greater community, a spiritual rather than material growth through education, art, music, and philosophy. When he wrote that "a man is rich in proportion to the number of things which he can afford to let alone," he meant not an ascetic's renunciation, but a redefinition of true wealth as inner rather than outer, aspiring to turn life itself, even the simplest acts of life, into a form of art. "There is Thoreau," said one of his closest friends. "Give him sunshine, and a handful of nuts, and he has enough."”


Henry David Thoreau: A life by Laura Dassow Walls

Thoreau trivia from book: 

Walden could have been named Flint pond, after the family that owned it before Emerson, or maybe it was the next pond over.

Saffron Walden was the town some of Thoreau’s family came from.

Thoreau measured Walden Pond to be 102 feet deep.

Thoreau was of Huguenot extraction unlike the Puritan English around him.

His father died when he was 14 but lawyers and creditors drained the estate. His mother died earlier, and he was left with a stepmother, and 7 siblings.

Homage to you, Tara

Homage to you, Tara, the swift heroine,

Whose eyes are like the instant flash of lightning,

Whose water-born face arises from the blooming lotus

Of Avalokiteshvara, protector of the three worlds. 

Homage to you, Tara, whose face is like

One hundred full autumn moons gathered together,

Blazing with the expanding light

Of a thousand stars assembled. 

Homage to you, Tara, born from a golden-blue lotus,

Whose hands are beautifully adorned with lotus flowers,

You who are the embodiment of giving, joyous effort, asceticism,

Pacification, patience, concentration and all objects of practice.

Homage to you, Tara, the crown pinnacle of those thus gone,

Whose deeds overcome infinite evils,

Who have attained transcendent perfections without exception,

And upon whom the sons of the Victorious Ones rely. 

Homage to you, Tara, who with the letters Tuttara and Hum

Fill the (realms of) desire, direction and space,

Whose feet trample on the seven worlds,

And who are able to draw all beings to you. 

Homage to you, Tara, venerated by Indra,

Agni, Brahma, Vayu and Ishvara,

And praised by the assembly of spirits, raised corpses,

Gandharvas and all yakshas.

Homage to you, Tara, whose Trad and Phat

Destroy entirely the magical wheels of others.

With your right leg bent and left outstretched and pressing,

You burn intensely within a whirl of fire. 

Homage to you, Tara, the great fearful one,

Whose letter Ture destroys the mighty demons completely,

Who with a wrathful expression on your water-born face

Slay all enemies without an exception.

Homage to you, Tara, whose fingers adorn your heart

With the gesture of the sublime precious three;

Adorned with a wheel striking all directions without exception

With the totality of your own rays of light.

Homage to you, Tara, whose radiant crown ornament,

Joyful and magnificent, extends a garland of light,

And who, by your laughter of Tuttara,

Conquer the demons and all of the worlds. 

Homage to you, Tara, who is able to invoke

The entire assembly of local protectors,

Whose wrathful expression fiercely shakes,

Rescuing the impoverished through the letter Hum.

Homage to you, Tara, whose crown is adorned

With the crescent moon, wearing ornaments exceedingly bright.

From your hair knot the buddha Amitabha

Radiates eternally with great beams of light.

Homage to you, Tara, who dwells within a blazing garland

That resembles the fire at the end of this world age;

Surrounded by joy, you sit with your right leg extended

And left withdrawn, completely destroying all the masses of enemies. 

Homage to you, Tara, with hand on the ground by your side,

Pressing your heel and stamping your foot on the earth;

With a wrathful glance from your eyes you subdue

All seven levels through the syllable Hum.

Homage to you, Tara, O happy, virtuous and peaceful one,

The very object of practice, passed beyond sorrow.

You are perfectly endowed with Svaha and Om,

Overcoming completely all the great evils. 

Homage to you, Tara, surrounded by the joyous ones,

You completely subdue the bodies of all enemies;

Your speech is adorned with the ten syllables,

And you rescue all through the knowledge-letter Hum

Homage to you, Tara, stamping your feet and proclaiming Ture.

Your seed syllable itself in the aspect of Hum

Causes Meru, Mandhara and the Vindya mountains

And all the three worlds to tremble and shake. 

Homage to you, Tara, who holds in your hand

The hare-marked moon like the celestial ocean.

By uttering Tara twice and the letter Phat

You dispel all poisons without an exception. 

Homage to you, Tara, upon whom the kings of the assembled gods,

The gods themselves and all kinnaras rely;

Whose magnificent armour gives joy to all,

You who dispel all disputes and bad dreams.

Homage to you, Tara, whose two eyes – the sun and the moon –

Radiate an excellent, illuminating light;

By uttering Hara twice and Tuttara,

You dispel all violent epidemic diseases.

Homage to you, Tara, adorned by the three suchnesses,

Perfectly endowed with the power of serenity,

You who destroy the host of evil spirits, raised corpses and yakshas,

O Ture, most excellent and sublime!

source: Lama Yeshe

Overlook trees

 Horse chestnut

Muskrat love

 

It’s only 60 degrees but it’s supposed to get up to 77 today. I hear splashing, maybe a muskrat. I can’t see beyond the invasive reeds. I’m invasive, Northern European mutt. Today is Thomas Pynchon’s birthday and I’m thinking about the rat priest in V. Am I the muskrat priest meditating by the man made lake?

Maybe it’s a fish, I see a fish mucking about. Taking a risk, lots of birds, but maybe the eagle is gone, I can’t see it in the Willow tree with my bare eyes. So scary when something comes from underneath the water, it’s like unwanted unconsciousness. No sharknado today.

Not everyone gets in lightened. Ananda hung out with a Buddha for decades, and had an eidetic auditory memory and still wasn’t enlightened.

After the ecstasy, the laundry...

Walking out I came across my birder friend, and told him how freaked out I was by fish jumping out of the water, twice. He wondered if they were trying to breath, but I thought they got stuck chasing little fish in the shallows and reeds. I asked him what birds would eat the fish that seem suicidal to me, and are asking to be plucked out of the lake. He said cormorants, the sea ravens, and Osprey, the fish hawk. He hadn't seen the bald eagle that sometimes hangs out there.

Saw a bird pop out of the water, and I thought loon, and he said might be a tern, but it didn't look like any of those photos. It didn't look like a loon. Looked like a double crested cormorant. Not sure if that kind of cormorant could eat that big fish that was breaching the surface, it was bigger than a hero. I mean I know they can really open up and swallow. 

Told him how I thought this area was the valley of the ashes from Great Gatsby, but they're saying it's over where they're building the stadium off Northern, where the chop chops used to be. He said this makes sense, it's off Northern Boulevard. He thought they used to try and play baseball in this area, he was guessing. He said there are random fence posts. He said in the 7 years he'd been coming there, it's filled in with greenery, used to be more sparse.

Asked him if he saw the article in the Times about Anhinga. Someone sent it to him. I hadn't seen any but they're supposedly in Prospect Park. More evidence for global warming, he doesn't deny but sometimes you just see birds expanding their territory.

Rising waters

When the waters rise because of global warming, Willow Lake might end up being part of Flushing Bay. I've seen an estimate of 1-10 feet rising of the sea level. My home is 95 feet above sea level, but 85 would surely be in a different world. 

Birders can't deny global warming because more southern kinds of birds are showing up in New York. The Times has an article about how the Anhinga is showing up in New York City. "Anhingas in the United States generally range from the Southern states along the gulf coast to Texas, stretching into the Carolinas in the summer." They've been spotted in Prospect Park. 

There's a memoir I want to read by Camille Dungy called Soil that I want to read. (NPR)

Thoreau quotes

After rain

 

I used a stick to try and drain the puddles on the path. It didn't really work, when I came back hours later the puddles were smaller, but I think it was soaking in and evaporation. 

Met a guy birding, said he’d seen warblers. He had Sibley’s guide. He didn’t know the eagles had stayed longer this year.

Further down the path a woman got off a bike and practiced her snare drum. When I came a few hours later, she was still practicing her drum.