Doing Now

A few years ago, Rusty and I took a vacation trip to Las Vegas. As a break from the glitter and gambling, we decided to try a few adventures. We went to a gay rodeo (where Rusty saw someone he knew!), we visited Hoover Dam, and we drove to the western rim of the Grand Canyon. I had never been to the Grand Canyon and had always wanted to go; Rusty had been, but to the southern edge, not the western. So we really had no idea what to expect.

It's probably a good thing, because had we known, we might not have tried it, for we had to drive for several hours across the empty (and I mean empty!) desert just to get to the American Indian reservation, where a dirt road led us many more really bumpy miles through scrub brush and over flash-flood ditches and up and down roller-coaster hills. After more than an hour of bone-jarring driving in our (somewhat reliable) compact rental car (it was a little like being in a horse-drawn farm wagon--we couldn't go very fast at all), we began to see the multicolored walls of the Grand Canyon. More uncomfortable miles than we anticipated finally brought us to the rim, where we could walk right up to the edge of this glorious spectacle. The Canyon is absolutely huge, so deep that we were standing above the flight of the hawks, and so wide that we could only imagine how many dozens of miles across. The desert air was so clear that the colors were almost unreal--reds, oranges, purples, yellows, browns, blues, in amazing combinations. And it was incredibly quiet, our conversation being swallowed up completely by the grand silence. Of course, I took a lot of photos, but I think they're unsatisfactory portrayals of this special place--as is this word portrait.

After a time there, we began to notice the lateness of the hour, so we examined the map and determined to return by a different route--hopefully, one that was paved. Off we went, but what seemed like only a quarter inch on the map was really a three-hour drive across the reservation! And we didn't see a single person all that way (though we did encounter some very large elk and some very quick jackrabbits). It was dark before we got to the highway. We had been worried, but at least we hadn't run out of gas.

Like many people, I sometimes wish I could see into the future, perhaps to avoid difficulties, but more than that, to be able to prepare myself for what lies ahead. Yet there is a definite downside to knowing what is to come. Had we had foreknowledge of the rough ground we would have to cover to get to the Grand Canyon, for example, we might not have undertaken this adventure at all--we weren't properly provisioned, attired, or wheeled--and we would have missed experiencing one of the most beautiful places on the planet.

Often, I worry about the hours and days before me, rehearsing alternatives and possible scenarios and outcomes and wishing I could see into the future. But the time I spend worrying is really a complete waste--I'll never get those minutes back, and anyway, next week will arrive inevitably, in a form I never would have envisioned. One of the great gurus said to his students, "Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don't get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes" (Matthew 6:34). Can I give my entire attention to this present moment, putting myself in synch with the Universe, allowing the Spirit to lead me wherever and however it wills? That's a tough one for a control freak (me!), but maybe that's the only way to paradise.

Besides, who knows what other Grand Canyons might be waiting at the end of another long and bumpy road?

Waiting for the Right Moment

Yesterday, I wrote about how much patience one needs to photograph flowers in their natural setting. But that, of course, is nothing compared with the infinite patience one needs to photograph animals, whether captive or wild. Have you ever tried to take a picture of your cat or dog or bird? Do they ever pose or look the right way or do what you want them to do--or even sit still when you point the camera in their direction? Now just imagine semi-wild animals at a zoo or animal farm, such as a leopard or a peacock--sure, their movements might be predictable, but you could still be waiting for a very, very long time for them to get into the position you want. Finally, think about animals in the wild--you might expect birds to appear at specific times of the day at your birdfeeder, but do you really know when wild turkeys or deer might show up? And when they do, will the light be sufficient or the animals accepting of your presence or the surroundings complimentary? "Hey, Miss Bison, can you move a little to the left so that the tree branch doesn't appear to be coming out of your head?" The next time you see photos of wild animals, try to imagine how many hours--or even days or weeks--the photographer had to sit and wait to get that perfect shot.

It's strange to think that we expect more cooperation from people than we do from animals--after all, we can communicate much more easily with people and negotiate what we want. Nevertheless, as we all know, relating to other people requires an incredible amount of patience, because their wants and needs don't often coincide with our own.

Now think about what we expect from the Universe. Let's say, for example, that I've decided it's time for me to change jobs; having made that decision, I expect the Universe to provide me with a fantastic position--immediately! But if the time is not right for me to move on, I'll have to wait until it is. That's not to say that I shouldn't search the classifieds and send out my resume to prospective employers--I have to do my bit too. But I have to remember that it may take a long while and may require a lot more patience than I knew I had.

In the meantime, I might as well enjoy the view from where I'm now sitting, because that bison might just meander where I want her, and I'd better be ready to click my shutter.

The Spirit Blows

Anyone who has ever tried to photograph flowers or plants in their natural setting knows how much patience you need: to walk slowly and discover the small beauties at your feet--to adjust lenses and tripod to get the right angle and the best background and the perfect light--and mostly, to wait for the air to be still. Those who have never tried this are probably really surprised; after all, how often do we remark on a hot day, "If only there were a small breeze...." But stare at the fragile petals of a delicate flower through a closeup lens, and you'll be amazed at how long you'll have to wait before the wind really does stop blowing. Most days, the wind never stops at all, and I have to time the shutter release to catch the flower at that still point when it changes directions, or else hope that a faster shutter speed (at the expense of losing depth-of-field detail) can freeze the flower in its motion. Compromises....

It's still amazing to me how constantly the wind blows, and I usually don't even notice. I guess it's the same with the Spirit, the "wind" that moved across the waters, the "breath" that animated life, the energy that continues to drive the universe. It's not something we're aware of, unless we pay attention--and then we can't miss it, because it's everywhere.

Paying attention is difficult, because we have no time or even inclination to do this. We're impatient, rushing through the day without even looking around. But just stop for a moment: feel the breeze brush across your skin and through your hair, and feel the Spirit blowing through your soul.

Isn't that refreshing?

God-Ripples

Into the wild pool of Creation, God tossed the Word.

What ripples reach my shore?

I wrote those words a number of years ago (has it been a decade already?), but the question haunts me still: does the Spirit touch my life? How?

There have been times when God has seemed much more present to me, when God as an entity has seemed much more involved in my day-to-day. During those times, I experienced "signs" of the Spirit--or at least I interpreted them as such, as indications that God was at least aware of my existence. To me, God transcended time and space but still cared more about me than the sparrows of the air and the lilies of the field.

I no longer believe in that transcendent God. Rather, I sense God's immanence, that Divine Energy coursing through all of Creation. God is in Creation, and Creation is in God. The Spirit rises up through this water lily and rises up through me at the same time, and we are connected, and we are One. I am in God, and God is in me, just as every living being is in God, and God is in every living being. There is only One.

As part of the One, as a living flame of the Divine Spark, I am a co-creator of the world and of its future. If I truly believe this, then I have a heavy, unavoidable, and divine responsibility: to illuminate the "darkness," to carry the torch, to share the Spirit, to embody love. No prayers of petition are necessary or even helpful: God's not going to step in and overturn the laws of nature just for my benefit, or for anyone else's. If the state of the world needs improving, I've got to pitch in and make it happen.

Do the ripples of the Spirit reach me? Perhaps the greater question is, where do these ripples carry me? What does the Spirit/my spirit impel me to do, today, and next week, and next year?

Which leads me back to yesterday's posting. After all, it's simply a matter of how I'm going to spend my life.

Blessed be,

Anthony

The Fleetingness of Time

It's hard for me to believe that spring has flown by so quickly. Seems like just yesterday that we were shoveling snow, and now so many of the spring flowers have already bloomed and faded. Their splendid beauty is truly fleeting.

But so is time, and so is life. It's not that I've been noting how quickly time flies (sometimes it really drags), but I've been asking myself daily--sometimes hourly--how I want to spend my time, how I want to spend my life. As far as I know, I get only one chance at this. So what am I going to do with the few precious hours granted to me today? What am I going to do with my once-in-a-lifetime?

When I took this photo of daffodils beneath a pine tree, I set out very early for the park so as to be there at dawn. Since it was April in Missouri, it was still cold--and waiting for the sun to rise, squatting close to the ground, I was really shivering! But the beauty of that first light as it struck the yellow flowers and glimmered off the green pine needles was breathtaking. I can say unequivocally that that morning, I spent my time well. If that was my once-in-a-lifetime daffodils-in-the-dawn experience, then it was worth the loss of sleep and all the shivering.

Can I say the same about the way I spend every moment? Certainly not, though there have been many similar, sometimes unexpected experiences connected to photographing nature. Am I getting better at choosing how to spend my time? Maybe yes, maybe no, but at least I am more and more aware of the question. But awareness--or maybe I should call it "awakeness"--is just the beginning.

Perhaps this is not so spiritual as what I've written before, but I do believe that the way I spend my life, and the decisions I make about what to do with my time definitely have a spiritual component. Am I choosing to connect with the Divine? Do my choices bring me closer to the Spirit? I think I need to be awakened to these possibilities.

So what am I going to do with the rest of my day?

March Snowfall

It's been too long since my last entry, but this morning's snowfall has inspired me to put some thoughts down.

The snow is falling heavily here, in fat wet flakes, sticking to branches and bushes and making a beautiful white blanket over the land. I'm inside now, but this snow reminds me of the times when I was able to be out in the falling snow.

One time that sticks in my mind happened during high school. I was on the track team of my rural-suburban high school, and we used to run the back country roads for training. We went out in all weather. One afternoon of a day of heavy snow (we never closed for snow in upstate New York), we were out running on a farm road not far from school (yes, a real farm road, with a cow farm at one end). The road was very curvy, and you could see only a short distance ahead before the road disappeared around the bend. The snow further diminished the visibility. I was running alone, as usual (I was among the slowest on the team), and as I ran along that road, with the snowflakes falling fast around me, I found myself in a small world of silent and puffy whiteness. It was like being in a cloud, and the sense of being alone and yet connected with the rest of Creation was very strong. It was an awesome feeling.

Another time occurred many years later, when I was living in Missouri. We had a heavy snowfall, and the office was closed. But the roads were passable, so I drove to Shaw Arboretum, a large "garden" a few miles outside of St. Louis, to walk around and enjoy the weather. The path through the woods was difficult to follow, and the snow was deep, but it was amazing being alone in the "wilderness" in the middle of a "blizzard." Again, there was an enormous sense of being completely alone yet also that feeling of being part of something grand, of being at one with the trees, with the snow, with the universe. A real sense of being Alive!

I guess these are two examples of the spiritual tensions I often feel. On the one hand, this drive to be an individual, to be myself, to be noticed as separate or as unique. On the other hand, this desire to be connected, to be part of something much bigger than myself. I experience these tensions as part of daily life, whether at work, in my relationships with my family, at church, or simply in the noisiness of my own mind. I think I need both extremes somehow, even though the "conflict" can be exhausting sometimes.

Do other people experience this tension? I'd be interested in reading about your experiences.

Blessed be,

Anthony

February 10, 2007

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Anthony F. Chiffolo, a writer and nature photographer (among other pursuits).

To start with the writing: I am the author, co-author, or editor/compiler of 10 published books, all having to do with religion and spirituality. They are:

Cooking with the Bible: Biblical Food, Feasts, and Lore (co-author with The Rev. Rayner W. Hesse, Jr.)

100 Names of Mary: Stories and Prayers

Be Mindful of Us: Prayers to the Saints

At Prayer with the Saints

Advent and Christmas with the Saints

Advent and Christmas Wisdom from Padre Pio

Padre Pio: In My Own Words (winner of the Whitney Radio Author of the Year 2000 Award)

Pope John XXIII: In My Own Words

Pope John Paul II: In My Own Words

We Thank You, God, for These: Blessings and Prayers for Family Pets (co-author with The Rev. Rayner W. Hesse, Jr.)

I have also published a number of pamphlets in the "An Hour with..." series; these are devotional pieces and are centered on the spirituality of a particular saint. Those I have written about include Saint Francis, Saint Therese of Lisieux, Saint Patrick, Saint Katharine Drexel, Pierre Toussaint, Blessed Faustina Kowalska, Saint Padre Pio, Saint John Neumann, Blessed Teresa of Calcutta, Hildegard of Bingen, Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton, and Mary the Mother of Jesus. (In case it's not obvious by now, I've spent a lot of time studying the saints of the Roman Catholic tradition.)

I have also written book reviews for www.nimblespirit.com (run by my friend Michael Wilt, who has also graciously "published" some of my photos on his site).

As for photography, I have been photographing nature for more than 20 years, from the glaciers of Alaska to the beaches of St. Thomas. My photos have appeared on the covers and in the pages of books such as Encyclopedia of Animal Behavior, Shrines of the Holy Land, Marian Shrines of the United States, Sadhana, Behold the Cross, and Affirmations from the Heart of God, and in magazines such as Bugle, Turkey Call, and Liguorian. My photos have appeared on exhibit at the prestigious Waterfowl Festival in Easton, Maryland; the Hudson River Wildlife Festival in Kingston, New York; the Chesapeake Bay Foundation’s In Celebration of the Bay in Annapolis, Maryland; and The Loft's Annual "Coming Out" Exhibit at the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Community Center in White Plains, New York.

What do I hope to do with this blog? Essentially, I'd like to work on combining my nature photography with my spirituality. Ideally, I'd love to publish a book of my photography someday, but until then, I'll "publish" my photos here, along with my thoughts about the Divine in nature, and the nature of the Divine. I hope that readers find my thoughts not only interesting but challenging, even provocative, if not provoking. And if we can develop a dialogue that recognizes the divine spark in every living being, even better!

I'll start off with one of my published photos, one that speaks to me of the tranquillity to be found in quietly contemplating the divine beauty of the natural world. Hopefully, it will also be a reminder to those of us now dealing with the frigid arctic cold that life is an eternal cycle and that spring will be here before we know it.

All photographs are copyright 2007 by Anthony F. Chiffolo and may not be reproduced without the express written permission of the photographer.