Other world

   I went to Ocean Beach, here in the west end of San Francisco a few months ago, and when I arrived I was greeted by this incredible sight. I didn't see any equipment around, but it was evident that some work was either in process or completed to move large amounts of sand around the area. It was hard to tell whether this sand had been brought here from somewhere else or whether the sand already here had been displaced, but either way it made the beach look completely new to me, strange in a way that a planet might seem be to a first time visitor. To see a place that I've visited so many times appear nearly unrecognizable and new is for me a truly wonderful experience. It shifts my perception in a very visceral way, and that's something that I've been interested in for as long as I can remember.

Little thing

   My wife has an endearing term which she sometimes uses to refer to me: she says I am her "little thing". When I first heard this, it struck me as odd, and a little belittling. I am not very small in stature, and although I'm not particularly macho, I don't think that any man really relishes in being referred to as 'small'. For me, the idea of being small also alludes to a feeling I have in the world as being inconsequential and unseen, and perhaps that is why I take such great comfort in recognizing the small and delicate around me.
   Both in the arts and in nature, I relish in looking closely and intently at things, examining the nuances of a brushstroke, the way a textile is woven, or the sometimes subtle iridescent feathers on a duck's back. When I walk among trees and animals, I like to give myself time to look closely at the small things around, things that I have to approach slowly and sometimes bend over to see at all. I usually find that engaging in this kind of practice can make me feel very calm, and it is generally the only kind of meditation that I really enjoy.
   Appreciating the delicate and fine does not, however, generally apply to myself in the world, though I do in fact exist there. I am prone at times to thoughts of being invisible to those around me, and the beauty of the small and particular gets twisted in my head into feelings of being inconsequential. It would be good for me to apply the same values that I do to the world's smaller things towards myself, but I often forget to do this; It certainly doesn't seem to come naturally.
    I now take it for granted that it is only with love that my wife calls me her "little thing", and recognize it as being rooted in her native Spanish language, where adding "ito" to the end of a word connotes an endearing (but still small) quality.
   I have recently seen the "little thing" pictured below (near the top of the tree), as I round a particular curve during my morning walks in Golden Gate Park, and I'm as amazed that there often seems to be this bird at the same approximate time and in the same location on multiple occasions (the same bird, or same species) as I am that I actually see it at all. There are no leaves on this tree at this time I've year, and I don't see anything nearby that this small bird should be interested in, so I assume that it's using this tree as a kind of lookout, a place to look for things. As a fellow "ito", I hope that I can take my place as beautifully.