Neither Up Nor Down-Simply There

Sometimes I do smile at Life's sense of gentle humor. How often to think a change of perspective is needed. Yesterday, as the plane flew so many thousands of feet in the air, I looked out and there were my precious mountains waving above the clouds. So many days, looking up, I stood in awe at how they pierced the clouds. That moment, looking down, not up, the vision was the same. 

Sometimes we try to over analyze, sometimes to think a change is needed, sometimes to ask "Oh please life grant more clarity!" And there stood the mountains, the same whether looking up or looking down. A gifted smile, to know strength, awe, beauty, and courage are so constant. No digging, no clinging or discarding, no effort required. To trust the instinct within the heart.... it is there my child, right now, where and as you are.

Singing touch

If rain never touched a leaf, a window pane, the earth or lake, would it have a sound? Sometimes I think of rain as nature's tears, other times laughter and other times her gentle touch to heal and nourish. Whatever the expression, to hear the music Nature knows it must touch another, it cannot fall alone. The wind has a voice that does not require touch to speak, but the music of rain, of Love, Joy, Sadness, and Life, must be poured and bathe another to sing.

Rooted

Have you ever considered how roots, buried deep within the earth, most never ever seeing the sun, nurture and hold upright a tree they likewise will never see? Their shapes, bark, and direction of reach totally opposite but both dependent and trusting upon the nurturing, strength, and faithfulness of the unseen roots. And should adversity damage the tree, the roots can transform into the trunk of the tree they have never seen.  Roots simply accept and answer the call to be what they are, never worrying to remove the topsoil to make sure the tree is growing.  They unfold and embrace their truth of being knowing the tree will likewise grow.


Sweet Hands of Life, the grace to have the trust and release in my spirit's heart akin to roots and trees.

Creative celebration

How is it possible to look at something every morning and throughout the day and yet not see?

I have called her The Old Woman since I first saw her.  I could not tell, with fall turning into winter, whether she was alive or not. Her stripped branches reaching upward, a reminder of days of glory, life and dance.  This afternoon my eyes that do not see, noticed a branch reaching out from her empty trunk. The Old Woman was very much alive.  It had gone unseen.  Immediately I saw a bush growing that threatened the only source of life that remained.  Throughout the afternoon I pondered the branch and the encroaching bush.  Finally I decided the bush had to go. With shears in hand I set out to defend the branch.  To my wonder, the bush was not a bush.  It was a banquet of life celebrating the Old Woman’s Fertility and Life. The bush was an explosion of life extending from exposed roots.  The branch I set out to defend was, in some ways, supported by the life reaching upward from roots that had been transformed into a new trunk.

Nature knows the pruning of life is creation and creativity.  What time, harsh seasons and who knows what had drained and taken, perhaps in greed, the creativity, the artist of renewal simply found another way to dance and celebrate. And with her wisdom, I sat beside her, whispering ‘Why would my life, my trunk and roots be any different?’  Sometimes, it just takes my eyes a little longer to see.  The shears are back in the garage and I celebrate Nature and her mentoring trees, bowing in wonder to The Old Woman.

Reflecting promise

Some nights  you cannot explain. Somehow the clock loses the rhythm and unlike yourself, falls asleep, refusing to move. 


 The glow of the moon, against the blackened night sky, is made possible by the sun's light reflecting upon her darkness. Her reflecting light upon the darkened moon is all I can see, I cannot see the source.   I wait and sit with the night's dawn. I know I will never see this dawn again. The dance of the sun and moon is constant, but never the same. For all the thousands of years they have danced, not one is like the other. And yet, with different strokes painting the blush, their canvas, their presence and their promise remain steadfast in their sameness as they unfold the night. The promised light for waiting and trusting the source.