Happy 11/11 day. A double digit day, and a palindrome, a moment that mirrors itself. I like to think of it as an opportunity to align with the truth of our true nature, of who we are. And then, to walk into that truth, no matter what has happened in our day, week or year. No matter what has been surrendered, like the baring of the tree in the above picture after leaf fall, a baring in your life from life, combed down to the beautiful essential you.
We tend to lean on structures and definitions in life, hoping they will support our sense of self, our sense of security, our sense of self-definition and comfort, and they even seem to be stable to us, until they aren't.
And the word "Structure" is an interesting contradiction in itself, a contradiction in a single term. On one hand, structures are built to Last, when, in fact, all structures by nature, are in constant flux, neither stable nor unmoving. In constant change. That is the healthy function of matter, to grow and fruit and then decay.
Take the example of our bones. We imagine the bones of our body to be solid. We think of them as defined and immutable structures to lean on. We imagine them as the structure, support and staying power for the motion, creation, and connection we crave.
Yet in actuality, bones are in a constant state of flow and flux. Moving between decay and creation at every moment; between destruction and construction (using the finely tuned balance of osteoblasts and osteoclasts.) They make themselves anew everyday. They are fluid-filled bendable vessels of creation. The bones of the skeleton, are truly a gift in a nebulous state of firmness, a vascular whirlpool of motion in motion. A fluid gyroscope in change. This ability to balance between death and rebirth is the very element that gives them their strength.
If they lose this balance, they become either too brittle, or too immovable.
The flow of death and rebirth, the maintenance of the balance destruction and creation, of yin and yang, is also the very element that gives us our strength too, our true resiliency. We, everyone of us has this flow within.
What may appear solid, may actually be a fluid vehicle of light. A reflection of the source of light. Vibration and light meeting in the ground substance of you. A gift in motion and flow.
As we define our corner of the world, to gain more sense of control, order, stability, we may miss the true gift of ourselves ~ that we are a moment in flow, in change and in surrender. We are falling forward, with each step. We are harmony of sound in motion. Release and allow for the unstructured puddling into this formlessness of this gift, a creative black hole of possibility, as well as the generation of form.
All that we see, lean on, is but an egg or seed for the next creation. Bones of possibilities Are our seeds, what will you plant with these resources?
What will you create from the bones before you? How will you puddle into the arms of the All that embraces your every step ?
The shift of seasons hallows me as a river might clear a stone, washing away excess and pretense, preparing me for seasons yet to come. It is an in-between and unknown place, this Washing. Laying me as bare as the the trees of November, helping me to see what lies below the surface of my many distractions. To hear beyond the current noise, to the core of me.
The mist moves in tonight, foretelling a shift to warmer weather, for a time, before the winter winds return. The birches and maples have surrendered their leaves, standing bare; the oaks and beeches have just begun the same process, with the leaves floating through the air from the overstory, drifting and landing gracefully on my garden. I can not pretend, I won't miss your company, dear leaves that make me laugh, that greet me on a warm evening as I return home. It reminds me of how I miss you. I know we will have other gatherings, the trees and I. Still, it is a bitter sweetness, this shift in which I participate.
The wind helps the trees to surrender. It helps me too: the stripping down, the baring, the uncovering. It helps me sit with all that lies below, all this resides beneath the surface of my narratives, below the busy-ness of my life.
This is a powerful place to which I surrender. The process of peeling back is indeed uncomfortable, and necessary. It helps me to root in deeper truths of my being, before I may bloom again, in a different season. There is grief here, as I release this debris to the stream of the wind. Yet, as Leah whitehorse wrote so beautifully, "Grief is love, dipped in tears."
Yes, here, in this laying bare, my love and my missing of you mingle equally.
So in honor of you, I will make a bouquet from the seasoned blossoms, and bring it into my home, leaving it here on my hearth, through this season and the next, reminding me of you and your loveliness, infusing my heart with your wisdom, allowing my soul to move with the beauty of the eternal you.
Sending love on the winds of time, these winds that can move beyond all time to you.
For all of this, I offer a photo montage of places where the eternal resides. And I offer my love.
Recently, on my way to work, I looked up the hill and saw the flower in the above image. The word that instantly popped into my mind, as I passed this goddess on the hill was ~ "Regeneration."
I love that word, as some of you may have heard me say before. And I understood why that word emerged. It suggests so much possibility; the notion of regeneration challenges our preconceptions of limitation. And here, in the midst of an aging plant, emerging from a bush in the process of surrendering to the changes of the season, is a symbol of new growth and new life. I saw there, standing strong, tall, and reaching for the sun, above all the rest of the aging blossoms, a resurgence of hope.
A clarion call to us all.
Interesting timing. When many systems are seemingly failing. And for some, hope feels thin. How amazing that nature can show us so clearly, that one never knows what beauty, what wonder, what new life is around the corner, or up the hill. One can never fully grasp all the possibilities present in any situation, circumstance or experience. One can only begin to dream of the possibilities that will emerge from now into new life.
Now, to be honest, I saw this bloom a little more than a week ago, when the planet of my muse was slowing Waay down. Nonetheless, I felt that the plant itself still wanted to give you her message of hope today, regardless of the delay.
And, for sure, I want to be clear, that I love hydrangea flowers in all of her stages. I call this bush the Trifold goddess, in honor of the transformation of her blooms. What starts out as a white blossom transforms into pink blush, and then at last stage, as seen above, into a majestic burnished redwood color.
So, as best as I can translate, what I feel from the message of regeneration is as follows here ~
Life persists in all storms, in all climates, in all biomes. Life Springs forth eternally. Life endures beyond our failed plans, and our dashed visions. And Life reaches for the Light.
Earth has created endless variations to celebrate the creative possibilities and to celebrate life. Life endures, even beyond belief.
Transformation is an unseen project, felt, yes. The changes happen in the dark. The fruit emerges into the light.
Here, on this hill is a new bloom that emerges to greet the sun, long after all the other blooms had long evolved into the crone version of life. Long after the other blooms had lost the shininess of newness.
Life revisits the canvas, bringing in something never seen before. The never seen before flower that emerges from a bush top, may emerge from under the ashes, or even the broken heart.
What we know to be life may and most likely will transform, like a phoenix from the ashes, still from the ashes, life emerges new, and even glorious. Even if it doesn't, and won't, feel all that wonderful during the burning times.
The answer to how this transformation is to occur, is most likely in waiting, watching, wondering, flowing, and yes, burning.
So for me, for the children, for life~ I will hold faith in these transformative times, in life, and in regeneration.
Thank you for reading and enjoying this blog, feel free to share your thoughts. Also, if new to here, I would love to hear how you found the blog. We are enriched by the beauty of all of us.
After a longish period of silence, that felt so much like a void of sound, the baby owl finally called out the first "hoo- hoo-ho-hoo' on the last day of September.
Understandably, the first 'Hoo hoo's" were an awkward melody. Not too confident, nor too loud. A simple staccato of hoo, hoo, hooh'. No, ad-libbing on this first call. No going off script ~ Simple, and successful. Oh, what joy to hear it, like a moment of coming of age. I smiled, for sure!
Oh, and by the way, I was Not the only one celebrating the teenager's successful initiation into the coming of age ~ Right after this quietish call, a loud immediate outburst of sound emerged from the woods, with all sortings of hoots and howls, all comings and goings from a conclave of owls right near the first single one.
Like a firework of sound, the tribe hawed and rolled through their vocabulary of music as only a convocation of owls can, generating a fabulous celebratory concert of joyous noise in honor and welcome of the new one's song. You could just feel the glee, and what felt like a joyful laughter and a clinking of glasses. I could picture it too; the owls a-dancing and a-swaying, a-shaking and a-wiggling of their tails, as they celebrated the emergence of their new tribe member's song. All were in welcome to the young one's voice.
(When owls get together, they add jazzy extra notes to the feast of sound. A Haaawwwhawwww, and scrreeee-ooohhhh... )
The next quiet sound from the woods, after the convocation, was considerably quieter and understandably a little more awkward, a short "hoo-hoo." A little gentle fumble in the steps of growing up.
I laughed when I heard how the adults proceeded in response to the growing song. It felt like a celebration of one's success, as well as the celebration of the fumbling and the awkwardness, that comes in learning to sing one's song.
And honestly, I admit, I was relieved. I had worried for the baby's transition, like a mama who is unable to make the growth happen, and hopes nature will soon bless with abundance, I had waited in the awkward silence of the previous two weeks, wondering, "what happened to the baby owl?" He had been making the "Shreeee" sounds of the young for days and days...... and days. Then I heard Nothing. I waited, in the void of this silence, between the old and the new, Waiting, hoping, not sure what would happen....
Hoping the silence only meant preparation for a new song, a new path, a new life.
And! Then, to sing one's song, surely, never an easy thing to do, and in front of a whole group of one's kinfolks no less!
Well, it was a nice night of celebration. ....Wish that all were celebrating these sort of initiations into adulthood, celebrating transitions of life with equal measure, and Lots of Noise. Wish that everyone could be surrounded by kin-folk who support the singing of one's very own voice, as well as support the discovering of it, and then show this welcome by singing their own songs of life in contribution to the melodies present.
Wish that all felt the wonder of welcome, and the welcome of wonder in our days of transitions, And with that wonder, then feel bolstered in heart and spirit, ready to meet the challenges on the trail of life, knowing that we have that support when the storms of life batter and bewilder, or when the unexpected occurs. Ready, for this present moment, for we know we have a council of the kinfolk at hand, saying, "yes, yes, yes.... yes, yes, yes, you can, do it, ~ SING!!!!"
And how wonderful for all of us to know we are welcome in that very fire of the scary moment of unknown ~ to know by a smile, a sway, a laugh to keep trying, to wobble, to fall down, to hiccup in our song, to be uncertain, sad, and yes, sometimes, very very afraid.
The melody may not be what we expect, from ourselves or another, Still, let's try. I welcome your song. SING SING SING!!! Sing your voice however it sounds.
It seems to me we need it now. Sing in welcome to the new, sing in welcome of the leaving of the old. Welcome the changes and the 'sameses'. Welcome it all, knowing eventually, our song will fade, and another's will blossom. Rejoice in the beauty of that cycle. Our own initiation to these songs, and another's may bring the key to the peace we seek
Let's sing our songs of love, life and death, as we know we can.
And, if you are interested in more musings and questions, see Venus Muse, and more photos here~ Seasonal photos
The wheel of the year turns, bringing us to a new season, one of balance between inner and outer, Daylight and night, harvest and rest. Dreaming and building. When opposites require dialogue, respect and notice. In this moving wheel, we explore and regain inner and outer balance.
So in honor of the season, I post a something different for your own musing, with questions and photos.
What does Balance mean to you? How to balance between light and dark, Play and gravity Work and rest, Dreaming and building, Creation and surrender?
I wonder if there is a continuum of balance to seek between Holding and releasing, Vision and Illusion, fog, (I originally wrote unknown, both work...), Lost and found Growth and decay, Faith and fear, Trust and questions?
Earth and Sky, Water and Air, Heat and Coolness, Fire and Earth, Water and Fire?
These are the questions I pause on today.
Much love to you ~ Photos from full moon night of a couple days ago ~
I do wish you could be here tonight; then you could hear the way the wind carries on and laughs. I wish you could hear this gentleness, and notice too, as I do, that this moment of wonder comes at dusk, when the world shifts into a new light, and when all perception stills.
I shall imagine you are here, with me, listening, and in your imagination, you will feel this wonder yourself. And then you may notice the wind's magical conversations between the trees, and the way that they brush each other's crowns in undulating dances. You may notice too, how the conversations start afar and bloom into waves.
I know you would understand how it all causes me to stop and listen. I know you too, would pause and relish the ineffable here, in the night's wind. And in pausing, as I do, feel tempered.
There is a world of sound within these breezes, easy conversations between individuals and groups, dances wisping along from tree to tree, lingering here, jumping there. This moment of motion and sound creates a moment of in-betweens, between now and, now.
By "in-between", I mean to describe when everything appears to pause, and, simultaneously All exists in a breath; When the known is suspended and all dreams feel possible, when laughter and sighing can breathe themselves at once. I can feel this suspension when the wind lifts my hair and brushes my skin; or when the elements mingle and the lines of separation blur; when light of known fades gradually into the dusk of unknown. There is a freedom inherent in these moments. When the structure that holds anything into hardened constancy loses its firm grip, allowing the simultaneous existence and intermingling of all ideas and elementals. When rules lift and the impossible becomes possible.
One feels a sense of freedom
This moment feels like butter melting on toast, like the laughter on a stream, like waking up smiling, like a surprise that you can never have guessed. It feels like a deep deep breath that reaches down to the depths of your being.
The breeze calls me again to the present, to now; I DO wish, no.... I imagine you hear all this, that you too can imagine the possible now, and dance your dream.
This feeling, you must feel to know. I hope you do feel it now, and it turns you around, and you land smiling, breathing and maybe laughing, refreshed, relieved, relaxed. That is how the trees seem, the ones that gently guide and glide this wind ~ relaxed, refreshed and joyous.
And the trees, the trees... they smile in their wisdom, their playfulness, and their magnificence
Now, the dark falls, covering more. The trees quiet The wind ~I still feel it tugging at my hair I still feel, I still
I stay longer, listening some more And now, Smelling the rain, that the trees knew would come all along, I smile.
Aha! Like the dancers before a procession, or a troupe in celebration, they danced before the waters, dancing their dreams to now.
And if you wish to read more of the adventures of this Autumn, there are shorter pieces in Venus Muse
I love how moss finds the quiet places to grow; they cozy into the areas that have been unperturbed for many moons. I find them in the middle of quiet driveways, the back side of the tree, or the stone that lies so very still no one can see her movement.
This all suggests an inherent beauty and benefit in stillness. In laying low and watching without pre-conception or division.
This inherent quiet is not the case in an area recently disturbed by backhoe, levelers, and other large machinery. (We've seen a lot of those these storm driven days.) Nor is there moss on paths frequently trod. (Both neural and physical.)
The quiet found in the mossy grove comes after many moments of stillness. After many options have presented themselves. After many storms have come And gone. After trying new ways, and new paths.
And when all is still and settled. When the gentle breezes blow and the rains fall, the lovely green of moss can and will flourish.
I would like to emulate lush moss this season. SO much turmoil could be felt, or responded to, or moved toward and away from. Instead, Maybe, by choosing stillness, I will see the roses that grow between the hard places. I will feel the nourishment of the rain and wind. I will hear the laughter in the trees. Maybe if I am very very still, even now, I will catch the song and can learn the refrain. Then I can sing with them, sharing my truth with theirs.
A paraphrased quote from Lama Anagarika Govinda seems apropos~
"Just as there is no competition between real gurus, There is no competition between different aspects of reality or truth. We can all sit at the feet of many teachers.
To have an initiation from a Guru is to awaken to our own Inner reality, which is beyond creed or sect,"
KD and others say that that inner truth is the divine, the connection to source. The love that you are.
To awaken to the inner reality, takes stillness and meditation, and can determine our course.
~ The gift of the sound of wind in the trees and the peace it brings ~
We had quite a storm
As many of you know.
The changes that a storm brings, reveal themselves as a tapestry might unfold ~ Slowly, reverently and with varying layers and threads. Stories that unfold over time. Stories with many questions and mysteries.
I wonder about these changes, so I went into the woods today, to ask the trees, their perspective on the flooding.
The first thing that I notice is that the ground feels so soft beneath my feet and I feel a hush. I walk carefully and gently. I also notice that the waters washed areas of duff down stream into funneled overflowings from the downpour of water. The water had to go somewhere and the forest embraced this moving wall of water with grace. There is evidence where the forest funneled the waters into streams; these streams poured over shale shelves, and mossy stone, into fallen logs and through stonewalls. These waters poured and poured.
On this forest floor, where the waters left a trail of their weaving path, where the waters shed the strongest, there is a visible intricate weaving of root systems that held the precious soil down and intact. The fallen logs also deterred a complete loss of the precious duff. Life held the center.
Where the land is wettest, the breeze is strongest. Most likely there is a scientific understanding for the cause of this delightful idiosyncrasy of wind. To me, the forest is bringing the wind in, calling the wind in, to help to dry the saturated root system.
After the storm, I worried for the birds ~ They improvised a musical choir the following night, demonstrating their gratitude for life. I worried for the mice ~ Evidence in my garden shows they survived. I worried for the prowling creatures ~ The turned-over compost bin suggests that they too found higher ground
Life held the center, and the change offered transformation. We are not alone, instead, we have many allies guiding and aiding us on this unknown path of life.
Perhaps the lesson is Trust. Trust in the transformational abilities inherent in change. Waterfalls are mighty agents of change, and also of beauty and abundance.
And the forest? What is most noticeable is the peace. A deep peace
The breeze rustles in the tree tops and caresses my cheek.
Cooling me on this hot August day. The trees seem content with their community, their collaboration, their gifts of song that susurrate in the gentle wind. The soundscape alone is a healing balm.
I gently, quietly leave the forest today. Grateful as always for the opportunity to listen and witness the forest and ki's contribution to balance, peace and health. Grateful, and curious how I too can offer this kind of gift to the planet and life.
After days and days of rain, in which the Land turned into spongy ground and arks started to rise, the sun emerged.
Absence of the sun, has made the gift of shadows themselves feel miraculous. I was a drunken smiling fool snapping pictures of the shadows of petals and leaves, marveling at all of the light and shadow. I forgot how beautiful our shadows are. I also forgot how it takes both light and dark to create enough contrast to see them; how it takes light to make a reflection. Here is a photo montage of the days that followed the floods in Vermont.
And for those who may have wondered about the follow up on the hummingbirds... They did calm some with the sun shining, and a few more arrived to share the abundance.
Drinking in the light and dark ~
Blessings to all of you If interested in more musings see Venus Muse
"Buzzin' on Beauty And Feasting on Honey" ~ Nahko and MFP
The female hummingbird has changed her behaviour. She now, actively and vigilantly patrols the garden. Propeller-like whirring sounds have replaced the gentle humming of her wings. The humming-birds, who sound more like buzzing-birds these days, flit, buzz, squeak, and fire at each other and any perceived infringement of territory. Even if it is I who walks out the yurt door. Twice now, as I seek to with to join the garden party, this mama bird prepares to dive, stirring up a whirring, as if to say, "who goes there?!" and to see if the intruder requires attack! What had been, until now, a calm sharing of bountiful nectar from a garden of life, morning 'til night, has suddenly shifted overnight.
Why the change?, I wonder. I Can quite imagine that obtaining enough sugar for precious young ones in these cloud-filled days, and rain-drenched nights of gloriously rainy Vermont would be a tremendous task. Perhaps that is why she has become belligerent?
I am not complaining or bemoaning the rain. I love the rain and moist ground. I pray for its abundance to spread like a puddle into all the needed places. I relish the spongey earth under my feet and the spreading of mud between my toes providing cool refreshment. I marvel at roaring streams, and spontaneous waterfalls. It may be hard, I imagine, on the ones seeking to feed their young. Does the days of rain lower the availability of nectar, the hummingbirds food?
Or, perhaps the parents have become nest-weary creatures, and the days of child care has created the equivalent of cabin fever.
Or maybe the weeks of rain, have lowered their resilience and trust in spirited-filled Nature. Perhaps faith in her inherent abundance runs thin, making antiquated fear driven territorial aggressive patterns emerge.
Or maybe they possess an inner clock that switches to High Defense mode mid-July, causing an inner drive to establish territory, to determine assets, and to define terms of engagement : i.e. attack first, ask questions later.
Whatever the cause, whatever the timing, there certainly is a great flurry about the whole business. A grand pace I am not accustomed to experiencing here, or among the circle of garden friends. Whatever the cause, the skies are quite active right now. I hear a daily raising of battle cries! Furious shriekings! (the size of shrill squeaks,) Distinct cries at infractions of justice and signs of intruders. Rattlings of feathered shields! The shakings of sharp spears! Oh my... I feel relief when there is a pause and a little flyer rests long enough to drink. Phew! Relief that he or she is allowing enough peace to receive the nectar they need.
Often after she's drunk her long droughts, this same patroller flies to her nearby resting spot, high enough to scan her domain carefully, swiftly turning her head from side to side, assessing risks or pitfalls, inspecting high and low, north and south for any possible weakness. If, and when, another hummingbirds does arrive, if one should they dare to approach, she meets him, (I think it is always a male...) with dive-bombing arcs, shrieks and buzzing whir. It Is Quite a Spectacle, and probably Quite exhausting.
I try breathing and reminding myself and the sweet little one, "we can share, we can trust, there is abundance. We will find what we need, when we need it." I whisper to her, "it's ok, it's ok, there is always enough. The fear of loss was a lie you were told long ago. You no longer have to worry." Sometimes, Sometimes, I think she hears me.
Where our attention goes, so goes our experience. When we can center on the divine within and reside there, we can experience our relationship to Source as eternal. Or...
We also can be like these hummingbirds, deciding what is "ours" or not "theirs", then vigilantly defend it, (spending lots and lots and LOTS of energy to do so,) against invaders and inveiglers. Or like the mama-bird, we can spend energy perching ourselves up high to watch outside of ourselves for any infraction of justice! Watching and asking, "Did she do that? Is he crossing the line?"
How exhausting!
Equally, we can also be like the visitor, who attempts to sneak by the watcher to the food, returning over and over, and over, to the same food source, hoping This time, will be different. Hoping This time, a long peace of space for sharing will arrive. When perhaps, moving on to other richer circles is the wisest choice?
And here is one more mystery about it all. When day turns to night and night to day, when the lines of perspective begin to blur and twilight descends. When colors begin to bleed into one, when the dark night ahead turns the little creatures inward to their own inner life, honoring their own inner divinity, the quiet descends; and male and female each come peacefully to the feeder and drinking freely and deeply. It is true, Each one drinks long droughts before the coming night, and without interference.
Perhaps it is the magic of twilight, of eventide, that offers this gift of unity and faith.
Perhaps it is the presence of the long night that helps us return to an inner presence and reverence. Perhaps the twilight allows for us to stop using our "ever watchful eyes" to tell us what is real, and turn instead to our inner knowing of what our quieting hearts whisper and knows to be True. We can hear the quiet knowing that only by grace and Spirit do any of us make it through this safely, and with enough.
Perhaps it is in turning to this inner presence when we can experience a mutually honoring faith. When a truth of gratitude for this nectar that hold us through the night, multiplies into quiet peace and the gentle knowing of abundance that holds, guides and blesses us.
I hope soon there can be a break in the tempest, that will provide just the right medicine for All of the creatures to cool tempers. Helping all relax in the perfection of Now. Perhaps then, the nest holders and the daring explorers will soon have a chance to drink in ease, spend energy not on fear, spending it instead on flying playfully and freely in bounty. Perhaps the gentle cooling breeze over the ambient puddles that comes now, as another front passes, will lift all of our spirits and hearts to honoring inner presence and faith. Making way for inner richness, resources and providing a sense of sustainability.
I hope so.
In the cup of Time, when all colors bleed into one when the pink and blue that I perceive now become a shadow that illuminates the brilliance of All when the dark and dawn beckon each other with open arms, as equal treasures, traveling together on the path, Then the peace of my Spirit whispers in a language of wonder and abundance
