jeffie used to use the term “grasshopper” a lot. not really understanding any reference, i always took it to be a term of affection.
in the middle of the middle of stuff we are in the middle of, we took a hike. we always see tiny grasshoppers on the dusty trail – hopping in just the last second and flying away – like small moths zipping past us.
but this day – in the middle of the middle of stuff we are in the middle of – there were Grasshoppers – capital G. never had we seen hoppers this big on any part of this lengthy trail. they didn’t just hop away upon feeling the vibrations of our feet on dirt. they stood their ground.
i bent down to share a few moments with this one. after communing with it, i urged it to jump off the beaten path, trying to save its life from zealous bikers also on trail.
for the first time, i looked up what jeffie’s “grasshopper” reference might be. and it all made sense, reading that kung fu (from the 70s tv series i never watched) used it – yes, affectionately – to convey to his students etc “a message of growth and learning”.
this differential grasshopper grinned at me as i bent down, posing for the camera. he turned and looked down the dusty gravel trail. and then he turned back to me for a few moments before i urged him on, away from potential danger.
“you got this,” he whispered. “keep going. you may feel small and it may feel bigger, but we both have abundant power. i can only go forward. you can jump with me.”
i heard him as he took off with a giant hop for the underbrush, “remember! leap!.”
it can’t be easy to be the lone tree in a big, big farmfield. the wind will batter you. the sun will parch you. the snow and ice will pile next to your trunk and bend your limbs down low. the rain will pummel you. you will be tested and you must be steadfast. your very presence may be questioned; it would be easier to plow straight lines than to plow around you.
but consider this: the birds will flock to you. any creatures needing shade or shelter will curl up under your canopy. you will exhale clean oxygen. and wildflowers and grasses will grow at your base. you will interrupt the horizon line with your very beautiful tree shape. you will give visual perspective to the vast fields.
and so you stand there – alone. ready to greet the next day and the next. despite it all.
you know it would be easier if there were other trees standing with you – perhaps a simple stand of trees or maybe a small woods or forest. you know it would be easier if there were even just one other bush or plant holding vigil with you in the big field. you know it would be easier if the west winds would not assail you, you with nothing to block their assault.
and even if the elements push on you, if the farmer ponders your value, if the aloneness feels void of hope, you keep standing.
because you know that you are a tree and that your truth matters and that your presence counts.
faced with the word “brave” as our two artists tuesday image, i flounder with where to start.
very early this morning our dear friend linda left her home to go to chicago to have a cochlear implant. we spent time with her a few evenings ago, as she sorted through hope and fear, what she’s known and the future unknown. one of her greatest passions in life is dancing. she dances to music designed for dance, to music she hears in passing, to music in her head. terrified of losing the ability to hear music post-surgery, she pondered the what-if of not having this done. but her desire to actually be able to hear MORE (more beloved voices, more broadcasted music, more cds out on the deck or in the dance hall) won out and she is on a new journey. she is brave. brave. brave.
my sister just had surgery on her hand to remove a skin cancer. i am grateful and relieved she is healing from this and will likely not have to have any additional treatment. d and i talked about this on a walk the other day. i was weeping openly on the sidewalks in our neighborhood as i spoke about my big brother, who died after a valiant fight with lung cancer, my daddy who was a twelve-year-or-so survivor of lung cancer, my sweet momma who had a double mastectomy for stage four breast cancer at the age of 93. i cannot help but have some fear. who among us is exempt from that? but my big sister was brave and positive and i am determined, as i move forward in life, to be brave as well. in all arenas. on all fronts. d says i am much braver than he is. i’m not sure why he says this, but his words make me feel stronger.
we meet our challenges singlehandedly, we meet our challenges with a world of support, which is sometimes just one living person, one other being. our bravery is fortified by the love of others, by their words of wisdom, by their ability to shift our perspective, even just a little, by our re-defining. for we are not in this alone. we have on our wall in the bedroom a sign that reads, “wherever you are, that’s where i will be.” our ‘brave’ is fed by our faith, the sisu (perseverance and fortitude) we’ve honed in life, the courageous alter-reaction to the terror of taking a step, our community of people. susan and i have used the word “scrappy” to describe our lives; in looking at the definition of “brave” i would add intrepid and plucky. great word – plucky.
i mean, let’s face it – just being in the world and being who we really are each day is damn brave.
reverse threading 