Stony Point Fall

With apologies, the following post is old; I started it over a month ago, intending to get back to it to finish and never did. Now that we are in the middle of Fall and the amazing color is drifting down from the trees to carpet the landscape in amber, gold and garnet. Here, is what I was doing six weeks ago:

It happened one warm morning in late summer as a small group of us gathered at 8:30 for morning prayer in the glass and wood beam meditation space. The door was open, as it often is during this half-hour shared by silence and Psalms. Suddenly the air began to rustle with the sound of gentle wind. Soon it built to robust gusting, then roaring currents of air pounded the large glass panels of our sanctuary. Just like that, Fall blew in.

The mornings are chill now as I walk up the path from the Gilmor Sloane to the meditation space. After morning prayer, my routine involves a brisk walk to the dining room to grab a light breakfast before the 8:00 to 9:00 buffet tables are cleared and the kitchen crew scramble to start preparations for lunch.

I feel the change to fall strongly, not only in the nippy morning and evening air, but because the children are back to school. A thing I love about living in community is that there have been children at play on the grounds. Their jangling laughter has plucked at my heart and nostalgic

images of my own children have flickered in my memory. Now, the day starts as the Stony Point children leave for school and the afternoon is punctuated by their return. There will be fewer of them now that the Gonzalez family have relocated to their own small rental dwelling. They have been living at Stony Point Center during the summer after they found themselves locked out of their home, all of their possessions taken. Since they are undocumented, they cannot go to the police. So Rick, after discussing it with the community, brought them in to the Center. Jose once had a visa, but it expired and he was afraid to try to get it renewed, fearing he would be sent back to El Salvador. His wife, Myra, is Guatemalan. She apparently has never had legal document. We have adopted this family and love them. Our frustration over the broken immigration system is heightened, as we see this family caught in its stranglehold.

The cohort, that mysterious process and rite of entrance into the Community of Living Traditions is about to start. More postings after I know what that will bring to the experience of living here.