There comes a time when the bubble of ego is popped and you can’t get the ground back for an extended period of time. Those times, when you absolutely cannot get it back together, are the most rich and powerful times in our lives. – from Shambhala Mountain Center’s Learning to Stay, 2003
Help us to be ever faithful gardeners of the spirit, Who know that without darkness, nothing comes to birth, And without light, nothing flowers - May Sarton
9.11.10 Upstate NY The Fields This morning I walked through the field, just after the sun had risen. The grass is growing high - the tractor is broken down - the colors are changing and the vibrancy of plant life is slowly ebbing. I turned toward the south and I saw one of the spectacular shows this time of year, if caught early on a cool, dewy morning, just as the sun's rays pierce through them. There before me was the pre-autumn show of glistening spider webs.
I attempted to count the strands in the first web I found - there were about 40. I marvelled at the architectural skills - skills that must be similar to those of the ancient Mayans - the mental power and physical agility of those beings, able to build something so supremely delicate yet firmly in its place (at least, until a bigger creature or harsh wind moves it off its anchored course). I then saw another, and another, built in all directions - mostly the same general size and shape. In a few, I discovered its creator in the center - still, and most likely at rest from the incredible task it had achieved in the overnight hours while I slept, but no doubt perched in vigilance as this intruder approached its center. In some, I found the remains of a captured bounty - a butterfly or other insect that had chosen the inopportune moment to cross this arachnid's path.
It is a mid-September morning, and one of the reasons I love this time of year is for this convergence of energies - the sun's light, the dew of the condensation, and the advantage these brilliant and surreal beings take of the tall, sagging grasses, purple knotweed and goldenrod to build their masterpieces....thus rendering the confluence of nature and art. What we venture into museums holding collections of interpretations of this beauty to remind us of the wonders around us, and reminding us that art is as necessary as food and drink to sustain us.
It is also 9/11, a date that of course now holds incredible and weighty significance for humans, and particularly american ones. I have so many thoughts, I can't possibly fit them in one musing or contemplation.
But for now, for today, I think of the spider webs, the beauty and stillness of this morning's walk, and my prayers for inner and outer peace...peace among neighbors, among family, among friends, among nations, among strangers, within oneself..... And as I think of the old ones, the Native americans, who taught and continue to teach us the wisdom of living among rather than over other living beings and the responsibilities we have as guardians of this planet, I think of the lessons of spider -- and the words of Ted Andrews in Animal Speak: "Grandmother Spider taught the mysteries of the past and how they were affecting the future".
"What part of you is pushed out into the world - one who holds love and peace in their heart no matter what is happening around them or a world of anger and fear? We all have the choice of what world we want to live in. It is all about creating a beautiful landscape that is the true reflection of your beauty within and without." - Sandra Ingerman
October 3, 2019 in Province Lands
In Beech Forest, after stepping out of "little Honey" and walking toward the boardwalk that wends through the beech, I stopped, taking in the majesty of the slender coven of beech in front of me...as if posing, in hopes of being seen ..... out of my mouth came the words, "Oh, I am so sorry for all we have done to you..." and felt tears in the corners of my eyes. Walking a bit further, we stopped at a resting spot, with railings so one could prop and hold steady a camera perhaps. Within moments, a chickadee came shooting by, close to my head, and landed above me on a beech branch. I felt the urge to reach out my arms, resting on the railing, thinking maybe maybe I would be fortunate enough to have a chickadee come close to me. I'd heard all my life how chickadees are trusting of humans and will even feed from their hands; I was never successful as I stood under the pines back at home, usually in winter when the chickadees were looking for seed...I would wait,
and wait, but no chickadee ever came....so it became an unmet desire in me.
The chickadee flew off, and I thought that might be my missed opportunity, but still, I stood with arms reaching out....when there it came again! - and this time, landed only inches away from my upturned hand, then hopped an inch closer, then another inch, until it was close enough to my hand that it was able to give the nail of my pinky a little "peck"! Then another chickadee came, and this one hopped closer very quickly before hopping ONTO my hand!!!! Again, tears of joy for the connection to Nature.... After this, we drove to the Life Saving Museum....amid displays of old boats wide enough to ride perpendicular to the tossing of the ocean and ingenius rescue apparatus devised by these brave bodhisattva sailors who rescued drowning sailors from the tossing waters, we found the dining room, with a library off to the side, with a very old book by Robert Burns. The gentle forest ranger, older and bespectacled with hair the color of the Atlantic beach sand, was so thrilled with our interest of the Olde Days. He clearly was an incarnate soul, too.....his joy being among the souls of the departed.