The last part of the book was the most interesting. It displayed a lovely and sad photo of Einstein at the beginning of one of the last chapters. The sadness in his eyes caught my attention and then when I finished the book, I went back to the photo and stared at it for a long time. It actually made me cry once I understood. 
"Do you think they will ever forgive me?" he had said to one of his dear friends. Einstein did not make the bomb, he was excluded from that process because he was feared to be a spy, nor did he want to participate. He did, however, write to the president and alert him to the potential of it, and that letter initiated the whole Manhattan Project. E=mc2 was the revelation that led to development of the ideas which then led to the bomb, but those formulations were developed by others. Einstein felt responsible though and never forgave himself for unleashing this knowledge on humanity. The portrait of him conveys this deep sadness, such a kind and playful man and the weight of the world. I felt and still feel an overwhelming sense of compassion and sadness when I look at this photo. He became famous and so celebrated for uncovering this incredible truth about the universe, and yet, it became this terrible burden on his conscience. 

Bone
by Mary Oliver

1.

Understand, I am always trying to figure out
what the soul is,
and where hidden,
and what shape 
and so, last week,
when I found on the beach
the ear bone
of a pilot whale that may have died
hundreds of years ago, I thought
maybe I was close
to discovering something 
for the ear bone

2.

is the portion that lasts longest
in any of us, man or whale; shaped
like a squat spoon
with a pink scoop where
once, in the lively swimmer's head,
it joined its two sisters
in the house of hearing,
it was only
two inches long 
and thought: the soul
might be like this 
so hard, so necessary 

3.

yet almost nothing.
Beside me
the gray sea
was opening and shutting its wave-doors,
unfolding over and over
its time-ridiculing roar;
I looked but I couldn't see anything
through its dark-knit glare;
yet don't we all know, the golden sand
is there at the bottom,
though our eyes have never seen it,
nor can our hands ever catch it

4.

lest we would sift it down
into fractions, and facts 
certainties 
and what the soul is, also
I believe I will never quite know.
Though I play at the edges of knowing,
truly I know
our part is not knowing,
but looking, and touching, and loving,
which is the way I walked on,
softly,
through the pale-pink morning light.

One of the nice things about being up here is that it is so isolated. That is also one of the hardest things about being up here. To get to this page, if it is not a cloudy day, takes a really long time and sometimes I lose what I have done if the connection breaks. It is frustrating but keeps me out on the water more, I suppose. I had this weird experience the other day where I had this dream about finding all of these bird nests filled with eggs. They were all stacked together with hundreds of little eggs. I was frustrated because I couldn't find an blue robin's egg. It was a random dream that I happened to remember that day. Late in the afternoon I went running. There is a wooded trail that veers off of our driveway and into a beautiful wooded area then blueberry field. It is so beautiful. This winter was hard though and so there are a lot of trees down. I have to stop a lot and bushwhack. That day on the run I got to the first treefall and gingerly stepped around the tree. When I got to the other side I looked back at the tree and then down to the ground. There was a little robin's egg, all beautiful and blue peeking out of the pine needles. I grabbed it in my hand and carried it the rest of the way, a little gift. I don't really understand why life works that way or what it means (if anything) but it does happen and it feels magical when it does. 

Finished Einstein book today. Wow so much to say about that. Internet connection is terrible, so I am really limited. Been on the water every day. Reminded what a playful element of life it is.pure magic- snow, ice, waterfall, ocean, river, lake. The swirling of the oars in the water is visceral for me. So soothing. Need more water in my life.

Every year at this time, I return to Maine. In a few days, I will be there. In the midst of a sleepless night last night, I remembered that tucked in the top of one of the closets up there is this ancient computer, one of the old apple computers from the late 80s, the computer that I used through high school and most of college. I got sort of curious/excited to see what's on it, like a journal of sorts. I haven't turned it on in probably 20 years. I wrote a lot of poetry then so I am excited to see what I find. I am crossing my finger and toes that it still works. If I can get up enough nerve, maybe I will post some of them on here. 

Some people and places give you the same sense of home and love no matter how frequently/infrequently you see them. Maine is that for me, a deep sense of peace and belonging and love. Seeing loved ones can be that way too, even seeing them for just a fleeting instant can wrap you like a warm, soft shawl, a confirmation of something you know deeply and cherish. 
 

About five years ago, I read this article in National Geographic about origami. The article was about all of the scientific/medical breakthroughs that origami was going to afford humans. http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/big-idea/03/origami
It really struck some deep chord in me.
I cannot find the full article but it was essentially about how medical science and space science would change forever upon these ancient principles. For example, a stint could be folded, swallowed and then unfolded in the artery, thus preventing the need for more invasive procedures. Satellites are origami-based, etc... 
Folding and unfolding. Much of yoga involves the complex unfolding and folding of the form of the body, getting the folds and lines just right, unblocking what is stuck or hung up. As well, though Einstein's book is way over my head, I think, ultimately, that we will find a correlation between origami and the structure of the universe. I have much more to say about that.
One of my favorite artists is Charley Harper. What I like about his work is that it portrays nature through the lens of geometry. His birds are my favorite. He sees the folds and symmetry and portrays them in their simplest and most balanced form. It is like a diagram for an origami project. Just google Charley Harper. and just google 'origami art' and you will be blown away by the intricate beauty and symmetry of it. beauty and truth. truth and beauty. it's binding. 

I just merged two major parts of the book. It took a while to bridge them together, but now I have and I am feeling a little overwhelmed. The book is becoming so long that it is feeling unwieldy. It's its own organism now. I feel like writing a book of this scope is a little like having a baby. The farther along I get, the more intense it becomes. I cannot lie, this is super painful, real pain. It's like birth in that it is a combination of true bliss and pain, at the raw edge of something. In birth, the transition phase (8-10 cm dilated) pushes beyond anything you have ever experienced before and it is sustained pain and is very primal. I feel like I am entering the transition phase with this book right now. I got so flustered earlier with the sheer volume of the text that I had to take a long walk. It's a lot of pages to manage. The characters are so personal to me. I really hope it moves people's hearts.

Sad news from Chattanooga and then the news that a teacher/friend from my daughter's school died last night. Such a sad and weird day. I'm glad I have the book to retreat into.

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do 
with your one wild and precious life?” 
― Mary Oliver

Writing for me is my deepest place of concentration, even deeper than meditation. To me, such attention/focus is a form of prayer. 

Here's the rest of the poem-

The Summer Day
by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

For me, writing is pure magic. If I can envision it, then it can happen. The world I inhabit there is boundless and all my own. The more dense and complex the story, the more lost in that universe I can become. And yet also, I love biographies. They are so grounded in the research and in the details. One of the things I love about all of the biographies that I have read is that life is usually far more unexpected and surreal than whatever it is that I can imagine. Einstein's story is no different in that way. His life was so bold and fearless and unexpected, in both good and hard ways. But for him, his work required the attention and imagination of prayer. 

The success is in the details. I tried to figure out what it was that flew out into my face on Sunday when I was running. It turns out it wasn't a dragonfly but a type of butterfly I hadn't seen before. It was very delicate and sweet, once again showing me the limits of my own imagination.