the warm morning breeze was blowing in the west window. the sun was streaming across the quilt. dogga was laying at our feet and we were sipping coffee. we could hear the slight echo of the windchimes out back and the birds were singing up a symphony.
perfection.
in-between all the other moments – the ones that are not so perfect – somehow there slips one that is.
and the axis of the earth gives a little shake-off and the flecks of yucky-dust that have accumulated from those other moments fly off.
there are a lot of reasons to zoom through days, to forget about what is really important, to perseverate on things that make us unhappy, things that worry us, things that cause us to push others away, to not take time with others, not give time to others. much of the time we can convince ourselves – somehow – that those reasons are impeccable, that they matter. we can get ourselves all riled up and full of the shadow side of relationships and daily life. and then something wakes us up, takes us out of the dark.
it could be something really inconsequential, seemingly unimportant. the notice of a bird on the wing, the sunrise, dandelion seeds in the wind, a strain of music, a scent. it could be something way bigger – something that brings a sense of mortality, that brings you to a full stop and makes you realize that time is – indeed – passing by and that the moment that has slipped past is never again retrievable.
and suddenly we realize that they are all like that. all the moments.
irretrievable.
and love taps us on the shoulder and reminds us. to take the time, to give the time. to be aware of the things we want to do, the simple stuff that feeds us, the people we love and who love us. it reminds us that there is no time to waste – really, ever – no matter where in life we are. it reminds us we are not all-that and we don’t do this life alone. it reminds us it is flying by and by and more love is the only thing that will last and last – forever.
“may you awaken to the mystery of being here.” (a blessing for presence – john o’donohue)
when my big brother died i had trouble wrapping my head around his not-being-here. at the time i was an adult, pregnant with my second child and was personally acquainted with previous loss – i had lost all my grandparents along the way. but there was something i couldn’t put my finger on, something that was so perplexing and mind-warping for me that it sat with me and sat with me and, even now, there are times i ponder it. my big universe query was: wondering how the world could go on if he could no longer feel it.
i still don’t know the answer. i do know that it just does. the universe keeps keeping-on, despite who is present – in any of its dimensions.
in the decades now that have passed since my beloved brother died, i’ve also lost my sweet momma and poppo, other relatives, dear friends. in exquisite moments of reassurance, i have experienced them – from time to time – reaching from the other side. they’re right here, i think, just over there. though i wish i could summon them when i need them, that’s not how it works. and so i just glory in the moments when they happen and try to remember.
in those very moments – and any other, really – i think about what wisdoms they might share with me from that other side, from the Next place, the Next time.
i’m pretty sure they’d agree with john o’odonohue. they might tell me, as i sit in the adirondack chair on the sun-showered patio with my husband and dog, sipping a glass of wine and watching the grass grow, “just being there should be enough.”
they might whisper to me to slow down.
they might remind me of the sacredness of each minute.
they might cajole me from my angsts. in turn, they might admonish me to let go of ludicrous overplanning.
they might point out the new buds on the aspen, the volunteer daylilies in the garden, the black-capped chickadees and house sparrows dancing by the feeder, the shadows playing across our field of vision in this small sanctuary we love.
they might tap me on the shoulder and repeat a few more words of john o’donohue’s, “enter the quiet immensity of your own presence.”
we ordered fried rice and eggrolls the same day i blogged about joy sprinkles. it doesn’t take much to get us enthused and fried rice and eggrolls do it. because we don’t eat out often, it is always a treat to have something someone else has prepared and this dinner is no different.
we only got one fortune cookie in our brown stapled bag of deliciousness; our order must be considered a small order. we saved it for later.
i got to be the one to crack it open.
“sprinkles of joy will shower upon you in unexpected ways.”
it was one of those stunning moments in the universe when all comes to a screeching halt and you realize it is – indeed – all connected. just when you felt a little bit untethered, a little unsteady, the universe shows up with an anchor.
and here it was. simply the words “sprinkles of joy”.
i texted heidi – forever my keeper of the word “sprinkles” – and we laughed to realize we had juuust spoken these very words, that i had just written them. unexpected, for sure. it was like the universe had its own personal siri listening in – like when you talk about mumbai – never touching your computer or phone or any device – and then it shows up on your facebook feed or in your instagram. here it was – the universe echoing back to me the words “sprinkles” and “joy”.
we walked past the cemetery at the end of our road on the way back from the corner store. it was sunny saturday and, having spent the day doing chores inside and outside around the house, we were going to sit out back on the patio with dogga, sip a glass of wine and eat – yes – chips. we haven’t had chips in a week and thought, “eh…what’s a few chips?!!” it was with chip-guilt in a plastic bag walking home – as we strolled past the cemetery – that d looked over at me.
“i’m glad the cemetery is at the end of our block,” he said. “it reminds me that these people all had lives, too,” going on to talk about perspective, stuff that matters and stuff that doesn’t matter, the passage of time, the not-knowing.
every moment is one in which to create joy. for oneself. for others. together. to be showered by sprinkles of joy. in unexpected ways.
i proudly carried our bag of chips the rest of the way home.
it never fails to amaze me. even the familiar turn in the trail. even the familiar trees. even the angle of the sun which has shone on us so many, many times here. even the sky, this midwest sky, sometimes ornery, sometimes brilliant. still. still, i love this curve of path. still, i love these tall pines. still, i love the tease of sun through the highest branches of needles. still, all of it.
in a world that presents unexpecteds every day – some of which are more difficult than others of which are tiny or enormous gifts – there is this. there is the still-all-of-it.
and so we go here. and we process life here. we are silent and we talk-talk-talk. this woods has kept us company through it all. this path has led us when our feet didn’t know where to go. these trees have wrapped us in scent and held us in strength, towering over us. this sky has graced us with all weather.
and we have always arrived back at the trailhead, safe. we have been freezing and sweltering. we have been covered with snow and sopping wet. we have been exhilarated and bone-achy tired. but we have always been safe.
so it shouldn’t really surprise me. this place is a haven, a sanctuary, shelter for our hearts and minds. i imagine one day – if we might live elsewhere and no longer hike in this place – we will look back, remembering and reminiscing. and we will nod our heads and agree – yes…it was all of it, all of that place. every single time.
“99% of people wouldn’t notice that”, he said, “and they’d just keep walking.”
the stranger had stopped where we were. i was off-trail, taking a picture of sun as it glinted off cattails. i was precariously close to the water’s edge, hidden by dried leaves and twigs in the marshy area, but worth it for the photo. d had just given me a hand-up back onto the trail when the stranger stopped.
he asked to see my photographs and i complied. and we all started talking. george spoke from the wisdom of someone close-to-80 as he recounted stories of trails he had recently taken, of people going too fast to SEE anything at all. he told us he was happy we noticed the glowing cattails, happy that we were looking – really looking – as we hiked. he told us that “it” (life) is all about looking and learning, researching, wondering, thinking and looking some more. we agree.
i’m not sure there’s ever been a hike – anywhere – when i haven’t taken at least a few photographs. there’s just so much to see. sometimes, in the middle of our not-knowing, we’ll look things up right away. sometimes, we save that for later.
just a couple days ago – in a truly magical moment – we stopped on the trail, separated from a pond by a bit of woods and grasses.
the red-tailed hawk was still. in the air – suspended on a current, wings curled up – it was absolutely still, hovering in place. though i know hawks are apt to do this as they hunt, this hawk just stayed still as we watched. then it flew a little lower and hovered a little bit more. it never dove down for any prey; it just hovered and then landed in a tree nearby as if to say, “there! that was for you.” it was a gorgeous and spiritual moment. i won’t forget it.
the trail – in both its simplicity and complexity – is a constant reminder for us.
“it’s not about you,” it whispers. “look around. there’s so much to see. it’s all here FOR you.”
i am writing this on the next day. the day after spring. it is now winter again. the seasons are getting shorter and shorter these days. i’m wondering if that is a product of age and stage, as 20 says.
mostly, it convinces us that we need to have a sense of humor. about all things. even the weather.
we sit writing this – snow outside – windows closed – heat on (though not much because i am a curmudgeon about the heat). yesterday we sat writing – birds and sunshine outside – windows open – heat off. it is off again, on again. the tease of time.
tomorrow it is march. and suddenly, i am in the month of my 65th birthday. i am in the month of medicare. i am in the month of the supplement vs the advantage plan. i am in the month of part d. i am in the month of whoa!!
and i wonder – where did the time go? wasn’t it spring yesterday? wasn’t it summer and delicious fall? how is it that i glance in the mirror and an almost-65 stares back?
it truly is the tease of time. the seasons are getting shorter and shorter. and – more and more – my investment in them is getting bigger and bigger – each individual day in each individual week in each individual month in each individual year.
the next day is all well and good. but it’s today that matters right now.
i guess it’s true. you don’t know what you don’t know.
the only thing certain is change and, i suppose, the most important thing about that is being able to remain an amorphous blob, malleable enough that you can bend and wriggle and twist and turn and do somersaults and cartwheels in all paths heading forward.
because there will always be a curve ahead. because nothing is guaranteed. because life is kind of like some sort of mash-up cross between the cupid shuffle, the disco hustle, the electric slide…no dull straight lines. you can’t return to before, so you might as well allow lift in your wings to carry you on, to embrace the turns. because we are constantly reminded: “welcome to the present moment. here. now. the only moment there ever is.”(eckhart tolle)
and because – well, yes – you really don’t know what you don’t know.
so in this moment, i will clap my hands, put on my sunglasses, have another sip of my coffee and face forward, flap my wings, and get ready to cartwheel.
reverse threading 