The clock ticks 6 a.m.
Outside our Little House in the Big Woods the wind howls fiercely. Father November has thrown a deep cloak of blackness across the breasts of trees and the wood stove sputters in the basement.
Barry still slumbers.
I must drive to work through darkness, hoping the wind won’t snap huge branches awry on the roads. Florida feels long ago, a dream perhaps.
I shall schedule this post to appear at 9 a.m., when you’re awake, when darkness lifts its cloak and the world promises new possibilities.
What the woods looked like last Tuesday
Tuesday. Blessings of the flock.
You’re walking up the road. The air feels still. Silence reigns between tall trees with lingering yellow leaves. Fallen leaves smell crisp with childhood memories of burning raked piles. In the distance, a logging truck whines. Otherwise, you only hear your footsteps slapping pavement.
Suddenly, up above, all around, dozens of chattering birds surround. From treetop to treetop they call, they tattle, they sing. They dive, they wing between branches, they dance. What kind? You hear chickadee, you glimpse juncos, you see a nuthatch.
It’s the blessing of the flock! All around they create bird magic for you. They sing until you remember your dream-wings, the heft and tilt of flight. Don’t they remind you of seeds everywhere, hidden in bark crevices, to be found when needed and not a second before?
Later, down the road, silence returns. You catch your breath at the mystery of it, the way the flock surrounds and dissolves. How it teaches in a language of feathers and how it can change everything, simply in the arising.
We tend to think of blessings as positive happenings in our lives.
We win a million dollars, we secure the desired job, we raise perfect children, we finish school, we live secure and content happily ever after.
We tend to think of other events as challenges. We ache, we get cancer, our children make mistakes, heck, we make mistakes. We worry about money, Obamacare, our depressed nephew. We suffer from rejection, real and perceived.
It’s sometimes hard to find blessings in part of life, isn’t it?
The Buick’s windshield covered with heavy dew obscures our road in blurry wet shapes. Up ahead–just to the left!–oh look, it’s a coyote. No, it’s a fox. Darn it, it’s a blurry wet windshield reflection moving into tall waving grasses.
Deep longing to know. To bond with tan-red wild creature skulking into the sunrise. To know its name. To feel its feral wildness, its unknowableness.
I will never know.
And maybe that’s OK.
Lately I have been enjoying writing blogs that seem to reconcile stuck, limited, or judging viewpoints within.
Something arises. Some judgment, some feeling, some sorrow, something that’s not yet integrated.
Perhaps it has to do with a friendship. A sense of longing. Something deep inside which wants to be accepted, yet there’s still a pushing away, a not-allowing. Perhaps it’s an anger, a sorrow, a not-understanding.
I sit and type, letting the deepest self share its thoughts.
Then–instead of turning too quickly in the next moment–or too compulsively looking toward your comments or visits–it seems that the words in the blog are felt on a deeper level. I feel the truth in the words, to understand, to allow.
It often feels like a big ah-ha of understanding. It feels like it translates into true realization, into something real which can inform the next action.
Posted in May 2013
Tagged acceptance, blogging, blogs, feelings, inspiration, integration, life, love, Opinion, personal, spirituality, thoughts
Make a wish and come to earth for a lifetime.
So many lives are made of dreams, of wishes, of wants, of blow-the-dandelion-fuzz across the back yard so the Forest Owls hoot your deepest desires back to you just before midnight.
I once dreamed of traveling to Switzerland, to Italy, how about France? Perhaps even Mexico, Nicaragua, maybe Ecuador. I dreamed of writing a famous book, you know, the kind of book which leaves readers gasping, wanting more, truly inspired, truly knowing themselves in some deeper way.
At morning’s first light–before a busy day–slowly scrolling down the Facebook home page.
Marvelling at the differences in friends, family and acquaintances. Marvelling that I’m not feeling irritated at the differences this morning–that the mind is not judging, sorting, categorizing as it loves to do.
Instead, look at the sparks of God!
This one ponders if she’ll be up all night birthing a goat.
A week-old baby goat. OK, I didn’t help birth it.
I awoke this morning thinking about–and feeling–longing.
The longing, like a swirling snake of energy, which has lived with me since I was a wee putter-snapper.
Do you live with longing?
Oh, she can be a challenging guest, that one, with her slanted green eyes and endless desires which circle round and around and around.
She lives at the center sometimes, an ache which can’t be filled. Oh, how I’ve tried to appease her all these many years! How did I try to appease her? Let me count the ways.
…and then the unthinkable happens.
Cancer knocks on your door. While you slept an invasion of cells stole away your peace and now chemotherapy rules your days and nights, even though you swore, didn’t you swear?, that you would never ever radiate yourself, that you would never fight for life with poison and hope singing in your bloodstream.
You’re running in the Boston Marathon and suddenly an explosion rocks your runner’s high and you’re falling, falling, to the pavement and blood runs instead where your legs once pumped in delightful anticipation of that finish line which never arrived.
Posted in April 2013
Tagged Boston marathon, death, humanity, inspiration, life, love, pain, Pema Chödrön, redemption, spirituality, suffering
Picture this. Ice fishing over 280 feet of water on Lake Superior. Floating on 18 inches of ice. Convinced by husband to leave warm house on Easter morning. No one else on ice, except one lone snowmobiler. Everyone else at church.
We celebrated Easter Services in tent.
Husband snapped this picture.
Coffee was enjoyed in the fellowship hall.
The fish have not risen. Yet.
Posted in March 2013
Tagged church, humor, ice fishing, Keweenaw Bay, Lake Superior, life, nature, outdoors, personal, spirituality, thoughts