Woman, sixty, and still trying to get it right. Stumbling the path toward the Divine. Discussing things like grandparenting, Waldorf education, child development, nature, human awareness, empty-nesting, breast cancer, and knitting luscious things once in awhile.
So I've been living here on the creek for 2 1/2 months now, and the sounds are becoming recognizable. At first I was just in awe of it all: living so close to nature. Even though I have lived in beatiful places and I am so grateful, having it right out my back door is something new to me.
So this morning I was sitting at the kitchen table eating my breakfast and I could hear the nature sounds coming from the opened glass door above the creek. I heard the splashing of the water indicating a visitor, and my first thought was, "That sounds like the birds bathing. Too light for it to be the deer wading downstream. Also a tad bit lighter than the ducks." These thoughts came to me in the blink of an eye.
I got up and walked to the door and lo and behold two crows were doing a little ritual dance. A morning ritual full of fun bathing, as they circled and splashed and cawed to one another. I stood very still and thoroughly enjoyed the sight.
And as I was standing there my ears really opened up and I stood witness to a cacophany of bird sounds of all types filling the trees along the creek. Questions and answers. Calls from branch to bush and back. So many different languages. Little squirrel giving his raucous clicking lecture from my rooftop right in the midst of it all. I walk outside around the corner to where the shelves are and possibly find the topic of discussion. Just who is the rightful owner of this bag of seed?
I smiled and went back to my oatmeal. I've got some sweeping to do.
This was taken in our backyard on Cedar Avenue in San Bruno. You can hardly see him bent over his garden row, but there's my dad always the farmer in his heart. Even when he joined the Navy and left the farm in Oklahoma. Settled with the city girl in San Francisco. Joined the SFPD. And had a family of his own.
And look closely, in the foreground, there lies my tricycle on its side. Sitting here today I can feel the enthusiasm racing through my blood as I jumped off my trike and ran to my dad. I bet right about then he handed me a strawberry or a raddish to munch. He was a great Daddy. And a great Grandaddy.
You were so much to me and who I have become. I love you Dad. (I want a hug dream, ok?) Happy Father's Day! xoxo
Hi Blogland friends! It looks like I will be working a little summer stint in Nantucket sometime soon. Who of you might have an iced tea with me? I will have mornings (and evenings after 8) free. Wouldn't it be so much fun to chat face-to-face? We've been meeting like this since 2006. Email me!
It's a strange phenomenon of life, my life anyway, how I can be soaring so high and so full of love and gratitude and then the thought of something someone said, or some words I read that someone wrote, or the memory of a cold shoulder or arrogant stance against my open heart, just have me plummeting back to earth with a nasty crash landing.
My first impulse is to just swear off of that person forever and always. But then I open my heart to the Universe. And the message is always to try to work through this block. The block of my ego. It is in those moments - the ones suspended between the earth and the sky - that I scream to God to catch me. I am always caught. I love life and people too much to let the few and far between hurtful ones get ahold of the cord of my parachute, the grace of my wings.
And then the work begins. That work that starts neutralizing the burning in my belly and releasing the clench of my jaw, and lifting the resentment of my thoughts. The work that teaches me to put down that damn poison (called resentment) I planned on drinking while hoping the other person died. That's how senseless resentment is.
I listened to a great interview today with Neale Donald Walsh about love and hatred. Of course, being the educator of small children, the "H" word is one I'm very uncomfortable with. I heard an interesting point of view that was new to me. What spoke out to me in this Walsh piece above all others was the suggestion that hatred is only about love. People feel hatred (or anger, or resentment, or...) because something they love is being challenged. Maybe even their very own self. Hatred rises in our humaness from love. When we see that first there was love, we begin to work with it differently. We pray to see it differently, to understand with compassion. To feel our Oneness. To find our balance. Our Earth Legs.
These thoughts, these are what happens while I'm falling back to earth from a spiritual journey. Or sometimes it happens when I'm shaking off a crash landing. But thank God it happens.