One may understand the cosmos, but never the ego;
the self is more distant than any star.
~G.K. Chesterton
Minus four degrees whisked by a wind chill for a frigid
winter day in Maine. No nature
walk today! A weak sun
occasionally peaks through the grey clouds, but adds none of its distant warmth
to this colorless day. It is
Saturday. I awakened slowly this
morning, remaining tucked between my cozy French linen sheets for a while and
savoring the comfort. I take a few
moments to be come centered and focus to carry this balance into the conscious
existence of the day. A quick
video call from my granddaughter put me in a happy mood for a moment. Then she hung up .. without warning ..
off to do some adventure of the moment.
She is just six after all.

Yes, these are how our texting conversations often run.
Meanwhile, as I wait for his responses, I am off watching
Carl Sagan YouTube videos.
Compilations of “Ten Times Carl Sagan Blew Our Minds”. Now I’m off on a science and spiritual
contemplative hour. Language,
science, spirituality, the cosmos, and Life.
No surprise that I run across Liz Gilbert a bit later in the
morning, touting the importance of self-love:
Go
outside and look up at the sky, and know that you came from atomic stardust,
from worlds that exploded billions of years ago. Look at a tree, and know that
you are part of nature's endless story, and remember, as Chief Seattle said,
"We know that sap which courses through the trees as we know the blood
that courses through our veins."
Find
that knowing.
I glance around and focus on my paja-toquilla hat (called
“Panama” hat) hanging on the wall.
It reminds that I was in Ecuador just a couple weeks ago, but those two
and a half weeks seem like months.
Since the abrupt return from my South American trip, I have been
occupied mostly with caring for my 90-year old mother (who had contracted
pneumonia and was very sick in the hospital – hence my early homecoming). My older brother had born the weight of
most of her care and visits, so I hoped to give him some relief as well. My father, 90, is also struggling with
health issues.

Here am I –
as many friends are -- pin-balling amidst contemplation and tasks of the
beginning, the middle, and the end of Life. Such in-my-face thoughts have me swirling in a dense murk.
A cup of coffee and a pale yellow primrose keep me company
as I write. The pale sun fades
even more behind the snow-spitting clouds and does not invite me outside into
this bleak day.
Quietly I sit here
in my room, alone in the house, and ponder Life and the Cosmos.
~
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