I am sitting on my front porch this morning listening to our few mid-summer singing birds with the Merlin app also listening and hearing (and potentially misidentifying) birds I cannot hear. I only read your post this morning, skipping over everything else in my substack feed. Joanna reminded us that beauty and sorrow often walk hand in hand. By choosing to only read your post, I had hoped to tip the scales toward beauty this morning. Mission accomplished. Thank you for reminding us that beauty and joy are still here, even during these dark times, when we stop to pay attention. 🙏
Worth offering? Your work would fit with Brian McClaren's and Carmen Acevedo Butcher's focus on the natural world in the "Learning How to See" podcast series.
I am so grateful for this post, Leah. I, too, was saddened by the news of Joanna's passing, although that sadness was followed by such joy at the woman that she was and what she gave to the world. I didn't have a chance to do a WTR workshop with her, but I did do one (online, during Covid) with Molly Young Brown, which of course, given her long friendship with Joanna, was wonderful. They both had the kind of presence that seemed to me to reflect a deep holding of the paradoxes of life, the darkness and the light, sorrow and joy. So when you, following Mary Oliver, say "do not walk by," for me, not walking by the pain--accepting its reality--is the path to discovering the true joy. As your reference to Rilke says, "Let this darkness be a bell tower, and you the bell," finding our strength through what batters us. And I wonder what could be stronger than the depth of genuine joy?
I don't know if you know the documentary "Planetary," but I would recommend it to everyone as an extraordinary film about our world today, with a number of poets, writers and others expressing their thoughts about how we've arrived here and what we need to do. Although it's 10 years old, it's still deeply relevant. The reason I bring it up is because, through all the interviews of those involved in the film, two women are at the end: Mary Evelyn Tucker and Joanna Macy, with Joanna having the last word. The look on her face is simply the most beautiful expression of how she has lived I've ever seen, a radiance that has come, I believe, through her devotion to Earth and its peoples and cultures, and through her willingness to remain open to the pain. Her last look is the embodiment of Beauty and Joy. And on a personal note, it is the same look my mother gifted me the moment she passed--yet another example of sorrow and joy being inextricably connected.
And as you say, "Darkness descends. The joy quiets into a steady hum." I believe that steady hum is always there for us to access, including in the midst of the darkness descending. We must not walk by either of them.
And on another personal note, I must thank you again for the bittersweet beauty of this post, as my father passed two days after Joanna. The pain is real, as is the joy. Many blessings, Leah.
Thank you so much, Carrie. I hope others pause to read your always-thoughtful responses. Thanks for sharing your memories of Joanna Macy. I love how you describe her radiance.
I am so sorry for the loss of your father. I am grateful that even at this time when grief is fresh, your are able to recall joy. I love Matthew Fox’s work that reminds us that dark and light are teachers, weaving within us the strands of creativity and transformation.
Thank you so much, Gillian. And wouldn’t it be sweet to retreat together. Maybe I’ll explore some zoom possibilities again in 2026. I did offer retreats that way during Covid.
I very much needed the nourishment and cool water found in your words this morning. Thank you for your writing and your commitment to seeing, feeling, sharing.
I am sitting on my front porch this morning listening to our few mid-summer singing birds with the Merlin app also listening and hearing (and potentially misidentifying) birds I cannot hear. I only read your post this morning, skipping over everything else in my substack feed. Joanna reminded us that beauty and sorrow often walk hand in hand. By choosing to only read your post, I had hoped to tip the scales toward beauty this morning. Mission accomplished. Thank you for reminding us that beauty and joy are still here, even during these dark times, when we stop to pay attention. 🙏
Ah, Diana. I am honored by your presence and connection. 🙏🩷 May you continue to see those beautiful moments.
Thank you for this beautiful reflection. We all desperately need these reminders in this time. Thank you for being a voice for hope.
Thank you so much, Stacey. Your support means so much. Thanks for all you do to share the beauty.
Pause for life’s joy, awe.
Non-angry birds doing their thing.
No newsfeed, news need.
...
“Work that reconnects.”
Yes! to life, damners be damned.
“Boundless love for Earth.”
No poetry. Just a note to say that you are amazing. I so appreciate you.
(Laugh). Loving Leah,
isn’t mutual feeding verse?
Meet you at your porch.
YES! On the porch!
Had enjoyed reading the CAC's publication quoting you... Wonder if they could interview you on any of their podcasts.
Nice thought. 😊
Worth offering? Your work would fit with Brian McClaren's and Carmen Acevedo Butcher's focus on the natural world in the "Learning How to See" podcast series.
I am so grateful for this post, Leah. I, too, was saddened by the news of Joanna's passing, although that sadness was followed by such joy at the woman that she was and what she gave to the world. I didn't have a chance to do a WTR workshop with her, but I did do one (online, during Covid) with Molly Young Brown, which of course, given her long friendship with Joanna, was wonderful. They both had the kind of presence that seemed to me to reflect a deep holding of the paradoxes of life, the darkness and the light, sorrow and joy. So when you, following Mary Oliver, say "do not walk by," for me, not walking by the pain--accepting its reality--is the path to discovering the true joy. As your reference to Rilke says, "Let this darkness be a bell tower, and you the bell," finding our strength through what batters us. And I wonder what could be stronger than the depth of genuine joy?
I don't know if you know the documentary "Planetary," but I would recommend it to everyone as an extraordinary film about our world today, with a number of poets, writers and others expressing their thoughts about how we've arrived here and what we need to do. Although it's 10 years old, it's still deeply relevant. The reason I bring it up is because, through all the interviews of those involved in the film, two women are at the end: Mary Evelyn Tucker and Joanna Macy, with Joanna having the last word. The look on her face is simply the most beautiful expression of how she has lived I've ever seen, a radiance that has come, I believe, through her devotion to Earth and its peoples and cultures, and through her willingness to remain open to the pain. Her last look is the embodiment of Beauty and Joy. And on a personal note, it is the same look my mother gifted me the moment she passed--yet another example of sorrow and joy being inextricably connected.
And as you say, "Darkness descends. The joy quiets into a steady hum." I believe that steady hum is always there for us to access, including in the midst of the darkness descending. We must not walk by either of them.
And on another personal note, I must thank you again for the bittersweet beauty of this post, as my father passed two days after Joanna. The pain is real, as is the joy. Many blessings, Leah.
Thank you so much, Carrie. I hope others pause to read your always-thoughtful responses. Thanks for sharing your memories of Joanna Macy. I love how you describe her radiance.
I am so sorry for the loss of your father. I am grateful that even at this time when grief is fresh, your are able to recall joy. I love Matthew Fox’s work that reminds us that dark and light are teachers, weaving within us the strands of creativity and transformation.
Blessings to you, Carrie.
Beautifully said my friend! I do wish I was not 18,000 odd kilometres away so I could come to some of your retreats!
Thank you so much, Gillian. And wouldn’t it be sweet to retreat together. Maybe I’ll explore some zoom possibilities again in 2026. I did offer retreats that way during Covid.
I very much needed the nourishment and cool water found in your words this morning. Thank you for your writing and your commitment to seeing, feeling, sharing.
Thank you for reading and commenting, Renée. I'm so glad that the conversation resonated with you. May you find moments of joy today.