I had thought, the second snowfall of the year would be it for a while; after all it was the real deal. Little did I know that the mother-nature had surprise for us all, up her sleeve… On the fifth day of Christmas that surprise is waiting for me on my porch. Two more inches of snow have puffed up my porch and more is falling, this time in fluffy big flakes. I wish I could drop everything and start strolling through the streets and visually and sensually devour this miracle. Alas, I have responsibilities I have to attend to until mid-afternoon today that I cannot postpone.
When I am done with my duties, I am delightedly surprised
that not only the snow is still falling, but doing so with fierce force. One
more time, all the gray and black mud and ice are being smoothed out; velvety
soft becomes the name of the game again. A wild question rises in my mind: I
wonder how the Terry Trueblood Park would look like under the white cover? As I
approach my turn to the park, a snow truck moves faster and turns into the park
ahead of me. I follow the truck and realize how very fortunate I am that the
truck’s timing was perfect.
The land, the lake, the sky are all but one
The tire tracks are the only sign that there is a road in the park. I follow the truck and find a safe spot, which I assume to be the parking lot from the stones potentially located on the sidewalk. This is the power of white: When it takes over the sky, the earth, the water, the boundaries disappear, everything becomes one. This is the first time, I am sensing this dissolution of boundaries including those between my “self” and the nature. I sense something close to “lack of self” that Buddhist scholars teach often, for the first time in my life.
Humble sentient beings against the white of the lake
There is some peace in this sense of my boundaries dissolving in those of the road, the parking lot, the lake, the shore across the lake, the park, the sky… Shades of gray all the way to black interrupt this dissolution here and there, in the form of naked trees, bushes, dried tall grass, lamp posts, walls of the park facilities… I can't help but appreciate the beauty of stark contrast of delicate, naked low-rising trees, freeze-scorched, petrified small bushes against white.
Gray white contrast
This park was man-made with a lake covering three quarters of the park by the company that quarried this land for many years. Certainly they were mandated to complete this task when they were ready to leave the quarry. In the last several years, the park has become a favorite for hikers, bikers, sailors, kayakers, canoers, or simply picnickers. In the summer, it has a variety of appearances, colored with blue and green in mid-day, yellow, orange, pink, and red at sunset and sunrise… I hadn’t seen it this white before:
Vanishing boundaries, revisited...
Had I not been to this park many many times before, it would have been very difficult to guess where the land ends and the lake starts. It still is almost impossible to identify the boundaries of the lake. Disappearance of sharp boundaries must be the reason why there is such peace, calm and serenity in the air… Then I see something, color: The glass fencing of the patio that belongs to a recreation facility in the park with its ice-blue color brings a surreal sense to this ambience. I spend several minutes there absorbing this cold but warm, artificial but so fitting, geometric, yet, very soft and artistic installation almost shimmering in the middle of this huge white expanse.
Lack of "self" may feel something like this..
My meditation now has become “color”. As I almost drink the vastness of the white, its density and intensity, its weight and lightness, I feel a childish joy when I catch the glimpse of color within its bosom here and there. A fire hydrant or a kid's fallen mitten with their red contrast against the snow is almost a rose shooting out of the earth. Traffic lights of red, yellow and green against the white sky are like specks of paint dashed onto the canvas of a painter. A not so natural looking small red-brown cabin nestled against the woods on the way back to town becomes a postcard-quality contrast against the white background.
A child was here, perhaps not today, and his/her mitten is awaiting a pick up..
The harsh temperature is tearing my eyes. I see a spherical icicle forming at the tip of my eye lashes on the left side. I watch it from 1 cm distance forming, growing bigger, and with its own weight rolling down my cheek onto my shawl to its demise with a smile. Then the wind blows a few strands of my wild hair in front of my right eye. The icicle on that side grows bigger, acquires a coma shape; it is trying to roll down as well. But the nest created by my eye lashes plus the strands of hair has embraced it so well, I can see from behind that although it is now turning into a question mark, it probably won't find its way to where its sister might have melted in my shawl. When I finally return to the parking lot, I see four Chinese college students. One of them, who will become one of my color objects chuckles with "You have iced up!". She takes a picture of my icicle hanging down my hair and eye lashes. A first in my life...
Icicle hanging down my eye lashes doesn't look as romantic as it seemed to me from behind
The four Chinese students are from the Theater Department of Cornell College in Mount Vernon. Although, not studying music, two of them know my good friend James Martin, who teaches at the Music Department, at Cornell. . She is wearing a long other two seem to move on, so I don't "interrogate" them about where they are form in China, what brought them here, why Cornell, etc... After all, we are here for the snow, the white, and I, now, a bit for color, too. And she has it, Sguyhu (hope the spelling is correct). She is wearing a bluish gray long coat with a big hood. The hood has pink fur trimming! I ask her if I can take a picture of her as she is admiring the lake. She turns her face to the lake, poses for me with energy of youth and a dramatic embracing the earth pose, she is a theater major after all! I love it.
Pink against the white expanse
As I leave the park, I notice a small red cabin tucked into a wooded area, what a contrast with its environment all in shades of white, gray and black. Lanes on the road are just suggested by the tire traces. The cars emerge out of the thick layer of still-falling snow with their headlights that look like pupils of a cat with orange reflection of a flash... As I approach my neighborhood, I recognize the specks of unique colors of the homes in my neighborhood, thanks to the white contrast.
This is not the Alps, Iowa City...
A snow shovel against a garage door becomes the highlight of the façade of a house. Shutters and gutters with colors contrasting with the subdued colors of the windows and walls they are attached to, create such a beautiful contrast with the white around them. And then, doors, doors, doors… Many homes have such lovely doors with colors defining the front of the home they belong to. I want to take close-up pictures of these beautiful doors like my dear friend Noyan, who does exactly that in his urban photography journeys. However, that is not American style, without having permission to do so, I don't feel comfortable doing it, except for one, which is the door of my dear friend Joan's house.
My friend Joan's front door: Her heart is a sanctuary to all sentient beings
Thus, comes the true reason why I call Iowa City “home” for the last 16 years. Many yards have added color to their lot with the signs they host: “Black lives matter”, “Whoever you are, wherever you come from, we are happy you are our neighbor”, “Sanctuary everywhere”, “Love trumps hate” among others. I am so happy and proud that these are my neighbors. These are the men and women, I will say “Happy new year” to throughout my hike in my neighborhood. They are all good, caring, loving, sensitive and sensible people. I have seen many of them in the protests that erupted after Trump's election as a result of fear-mongering and 2010 gerrymandering. They care about their children, their family, their neighbors, community, society and the globe with no discrimination.
As Rumi stated: "Come, whoever you are, wherever you come from; come." inviting people to his temple...
That is why I love living in this “Republic of Iowa City”, as it came to be known during Vietnam war; an oasis in the middle of nowhere, in the Midwest. You can easily bump into a doctoral student working on his thesis as a taxi driver, with whom you may have a very philosophical discussion on the way to the airport in this city! Half the population either goes to college, or teaches at the University, or is working for a master's or doctoral degree... Although my daughter misreads my passion for good education as elitism, I do not agree with her and will continue seeking people, with whom I can have deep intellectual conversations all my life...
Although snow is still falling, shoveling is under way along with supervising kids playing in the snow
I bump into families shoveling the snow with their kids. I play with the kids, chat with the adults, feeling safe, accepted, welcomed, and treated kindly. I hope they feel the same way, too. White is still falling, still accumulating, and puffing up the blanket it has been laying out for a week now. My coat, shawl, gloves are gradually turning into white. I feel the caressing coolness of each flake as they land on my face.
Light is adding a different dimension to white
The sensation comes and goes just like fleeting thoughts during my meditations. I see the white globules at the tip of my eye lashes. I wonder if there is any color about me since I am dressed all in gray and black. Volla, my shawl is blue, my favorite color! I am glad the Chinese students at the park took a picture of me admiring the lake, too, just like I did of the young artist with the pink hood...
My silhouette is still relatively sharply outlined, but in fact, my self is dissolved in the beauty around me
As the day gives in to an early settling evening, snow has slowed down. Neighbors are out and about with their shovels. Most of them are young people and have their kids around them. The kids are just playing with and in the snow, finding the fattest snow heaps and jumping into them as if to become one with the snow. Snow does that to anyone, who has preserved their core nature of having come from mother nature.
Light, color, and white, perfect combination!
The kids and their parents playfully going about their chores, the elderly, standing strong and doing their own shoveling, all bring a smile and loving kindness to my heart. They all add their own color to pure white. Then comes the light! Houses of the east side come to life in a different sense. Some with their Christmas lights, some with their living room windows, some with Holidays ornaments on their doors or windows…
Light in one of the unique homes of the east side
White is transformed, yet, once again. Shades are longer, pink or orange hue from windows is reflected on the trees, bushes, and the white. A chimney here and there is letting me know that there is a fireplace going on in some. There is life and warmth in these houses. What I see unfold before my eyes takes me back to my childhood. Having grown up in Izmir, where it snowed once throughout my childhood and a few "spoonful" of it at that! Craving for snow, I loved and collected winter postcards: The scenery in my neighborhood is transforming into my childhood postcards, is that the reason this little girl in my soul is blissfully joyful.
Back to my cul de sac, it is pretty much dark now
What bothers me just a bit is the knowledge that there are homeless people even in this peaceful city that cares about its people. I wonder if every one of them found their way to the shelter in town, if they have enough food, if there are resources to help them get out of being homeless. Then there are many more, who may have a roof over their heads, but are essentially homeless, jobless, some with fatherless kids... Some of whom I may end up seeing at the hospital... I know, if there is a next homestead for me, it will be somewhere with white and light, AND humane equanimity…
The tire tracks are the only sign that there is a road in the park. I follow the truck and find a safe spot, which I assume to be the parking lot from the stones potentially located on the sidewalk. This is the power of white: When it takes over the sky, the earth, the water, the boundaries disappear, everything becomes one. This is the first time, I am sensing this dissolution of boundaries including those between my “self” and the nature. I sense something close to “lack of self” that Buddhist scholars teach often, for the first time in my life.
Humble sentient beings against the white of the lake
There is some peace in this sense of my boundaries dissolving in those of the road, the parking lot, the lake, the shore across the lake, the park, the sky… Shades of gray all the way to black interrupt this dissolution here and there, in the form of naked trees, bushes, dried tall grass, lamp posts, walls of the park facilities… I can't help but appreciate the beauty of stark contrast of delicate, naked low-rising trees, freeze-scorched, petrified small bushes against white.
This park was man-made with a lake covering three quarters of the park by the company that quarried this land for many years. Certainly they were mandated to complete this task when they were ready to leave the quarry. In the last several years, the park has become a favorite for hikers, bikers, sailors, kayakers, canoers, or simply picnickers. In the summer, it has a variety of appearances, colored with blue and green in mid-day, yellow, orange, pink, and red at sunset and sunrise… I hadn’t seen it this white before:
Vanishing boundaries, revisited...
Had I not been to this park many many times before, it would have been very difficult to guess where the land ends and the lake starts. It still is almost impossible to identify the boundaries of the lake. Disappearance of sharp boundaries must be the reason why there is such peace, calm and serenity in the air… Then I see something, color: The glass fencing of the patio that belongs to a recreation facility in the park with its ice-blue color brings a surreal sense to this ambience. I spend several minutes there absorbing this cold but warm, artificial but so fitting, geometric, yet, very soft and artistic installation almost shimmering in the middle of this huge white expanse.
My meditation now has become “color”. As I almost drink the vastness of the white, its density and intensity, its weight and lightness, I feel a childish joy when I catch the glimpse of color within its bosom here and there. A fire hydrant or a kid's fallen mitten with their red contrast against the snow is almost a rose shooting out of the earth. Traffic lights of red, yellow and green against the white sky are like specks of paint dashed onto the canvas of a painter. A not so natural looking small red-brown cabin nestled against the woods on the way back to town becomes a postcard-quality contrast against the white background.
A child was here, perhaps not today, and his/her mitten is awaiting a pick up..
The harsh temperature is tearing my eyes. I see a spherical icicle forming at the tip of my eye lashes on the left side. I watch it from 1 cm distance forming, growing bigger, and with its own weight rolling down my cheek onto my shawl to its demise with a smile. Then the wind blows a few strands of my wild hair in front of my right eye. The icicle on that side grows bigger, acquires a coma shape; it is trying to roll down as well. But the nest created by my eye lashes plus the strands of hair has embraced it so well, I can see from behind that although it is now turning into a question mark, it probably won't find its way to where its sister might have melted in my shawl. When I finally return to the parking lot, I see four Chinese college students. One of them, who will become one of my color objects chuckles with "You have iced up!". She takes a picture of my icicle hanging down my hair and eye lashes. A first in my life...
The four Chinese students are from the Theater Department of Cornell College in Mount Vernon. Although, not studying music, two of them know my good friend James Martin, who teaches at the Music Department, at Cornell. . She is wearing a long other two seem to move on, so I don't "interrogate" them about where they are form in China, what brought them here, why Cornell, etc... After all, we are here for the snow, the white, and I, now, a bit for color, too. And she has it, Sguyhu (hope the spelling is correct). She is wearing a bluish gray long coat with a big hood. The hood has pink fur trimming! I ask her if I can take a picture of her as she is admiring the lake. She turns her face to the lake, poses for me with energy of youth and a dramatic embracing the earth pose, she is a theater major after all! I love it.
Pink against the white expanse
As I leave the park, I notice a small red cabin tucked into a wooded area, what a contrast with its environment all in shades of white, gray and black. Lanes on the road are just suggested by the tire traces. The cars emerge out of the thick layer of still-falling snow with their headlights that look like pupils of a cat with orange reflection of a flash... As I approach my neighborhood, I recognize the specks of unique colors of the homes in my neighborhood, thanks to the white contrast.
A snow shovel against a garage door becomes the highlight of the façade of a house. Shutters and gutters with colors contrasting with the subdued colors of the windows and walls they are attached to, create such a beautiful contrast with the white around them. And then, doors, doors, doors… Many homes have such lovely doors with colors defining the front of the home they belong to. I want to take close-up pictures of these beautiful doors like my dear friend Noyan, who does exactly that in his urban photography journeys. However, that is not American style, without having permission to do so, I don't feel comfortable doing it, except for one, which is the door of my dear friend Joan's house.
My friend Joan's front door: Her heart is a sanctuary to all sentient beings
Thus, comes the true reason why I call Iowa City “home” for the last 16 years. Many yards have added color to their lot with the signs they host: “Black lives matter”, “Whoever you are, wherever you come from, we are happy you are our neighbor”, “Sanctuary everywhere”, “Love trumps hate” among others. I am so happy and proud that these are my neighbors. These are the men and women, I will say “Happy new year” to throughout my hike in my neighborhood. They are all good, caring, loving, sensitive and sensible people. I have seen many of them in the protests that erupted after Trump's election as a result of fear-mongering and 2010 gerrymandering. They care about their children, their family, their neighbors, community, society and the globe with no discrimination.
That is why I love living in this “Republic of Iowa City”, as it came to be known during Vietnam war; an oasis in the middle of nowhere, in the Midwest. You can easily bump into a doctoral student working on his thesis as a taxi driver, with whom you may have a very philosophical discussion on the way to the airport in this city! Half the population either goes to college, or teaches at the University, or is working for a master's or doctoral degree... Although my daughter misreads my passion for good education as elitism, I do not agree with her and will continue seeking people, with whom I can have deep intellectual conversations all my life...
Although snow is still falling, shoveling is under way along with supervising kids playing in the snow
I bump into families shoveling the snow with their kids. I play with the kids, chat with the adults, feeling safe, accepted, welcomed, and treated kindly. I hope they feel the same way, too. White is still falling, still accumulating, and puffing up the blanket it has been laying out for a week now. My coat, shawl, gloves are gradually turning into white. I feel the caressing coolness of each flake as they land on my face.
The sensation comes and goes just like fleeting thoughts during my meditations. I see the white globules at the tip of my eye lashes. I wonder if there is any color about me since I am dressed all in gray and black. Volla, my shawl is blue, my favorite color! I am glad the Chinese students at the park took a picture of me admiring the lake, too, just like I did of the young artist with the pink hood...
My silhouette is still relatively sharply outlined, but in fact, my self is dissolved in the beauty around me
As the day gives in to an early settling evening, snow has slowed down. Neighbors are out and about with their shovels. Most of them are young people and have their kids around them. The kids are just playing with and in the snow, finding the fattest snow heaps and jumping into them as if to become one with the snow. Snow does that to anyone, who has preserved their core nature of having come from mother nature.
The kids and their parents playfully going about their chores, the elderly, standing strong and doing their own shoveling, all bring a smile and loving kindness to my heart. They all add their own color to pure white. Then comes the light! Houses of the east side come to life in a different sense. Some with their Christmas lights, some with their living room windows, some with Holidays ornaments on their doors or windows…
White is transformed, yet, once again. Shades are longer, pink or orange hue from windows is reflected on the trees, bushes, and the white. A chimney here and there is letting me know that there is a fireplace going on in some. There is life and warmth in these houses. What I see unfold before my eyes takes me back to my childhood. Having grown up in Izmir, where it snowed once throughout my childhood and a few "spoonful" of it at that! Craving for snow, I loved and collected winter postcards: The scenery in my neighborhood is transforming into my childhood postcards, is that the reason this little girl in my soul is blissfully joyful.
What bothers me just a bit is the knowledge that there are homeless people even in this peaceful city that cares about its people. I wonder if every one of them found their way to the shelter in town, if they have enough food, if there are resources to help them get out of being homeless. Then there are many more, who may have a roof over their heads, but are essentially homeless, jobless, some with fatherless kids... Some of whom I may end up seeing at the hospital... I know, if there is a next homestead for me, it will be somewhere with white and light, AND humane equanimity…
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| Color, white, and endurance |
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| Dancer within, dancers without |
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| What is within, what is without? |
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