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The Light in the World

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“Where there is darkness, light…”   –from the Prayer of Saint Francis

There were two times in my life when I was in profound darkness.  The first time was when I was very young—before many memories were etched into my brain, and when my brain, in all its wisdom, sequestered that darkness into a walled-off place so I could continue to smile and run and explore and be a child.  The second time was forty-three years later when the walled-off place suddenly burst open, spewing all the feelings and emotions of that earlier time into my mind, my body, and my soul.  I could no longer smile, I could barely move, and my soul felt like it was dying.  There were other times in my life—between those two times—when I peered into the darkness of the abyss, when I stood precariously on the edge fearing any misstep that would plunge me into that place I did not want to go, could not yet go.  During the second darkness, there were a few amazing beams of light that guided me through—my therapist, my pastor and friend.  There was the warm, caring light of Chris who pulled double duty with the chores and work, even when it all felt confusing and overwhelming.  And there was the brilliant light of my children—one who was already gone to college, one who was on the cusp of leaving for school, and one who still needed my day-to-day presence.  

I am acutely aware of the toxic darkness that resides in our world—where children are intentionally separated from their parents, where violence permeates homes and lives, where people are going hungry and sleeping on the streets, where illnesses are unable to be treated, and a list too long goes on.  But I am also joyously connected to the light in our world—the life-giving sunshine in our daily lives, the hope and comfort of spiritual belief and practice, and the day-to-day words and actions of good and kind people.  The early morning and evening sunshine has been lighting up the landscape around our place, noticeable as we sit on the porch or walk through the yard.  The coming or going of darkness is emblazoned by sunlight as it reaches from the horizon through trees and leaves.

It illuminates the seedheads of grass, transforming the natural color to pure white light.

Ninebark shrubs flower and fruit in little clusters that often get lost among the leaves.  The sunlight reveals some hidden fruits.

Wispy needles of a Larch tree dance green and white in the light, casting narrow shadows on themselves.  We are all a combination of light and shadow.

Life-giving food made from life-giving sunlight and soil is part of the process of transformation for a caterpillar eating Milkweed and becoming a Monarch butterfly.

How does sunlight impact a rock?  It beams light energy into the hard, seemingly impervious surface—some gets reflected, making the rock look brighter, while other gets absorbed and transformed into heat.

When a place looks dark, light can shine on unexpected places making the whole picture look different.  Often our help, our light, comes from people and places we never expected.

A constant source of pleasure for me is the ever-changing way the evening sunlight radiates through the leaves of a Banana tree on our patio.  The red edges turn to fire, the veins are unveiled, shadows deepen the green color in areas, and drops of pure white light drip from and through this living, breathing organism.

Sometimes the sun doesn’t shine on our face, but enlightens and enlivens our heart where we need it most, so that later our true beauty will be revealed for all the world to see.

Light also exposes dangerous, harmful, or annoying things that go unseen in the shadows and darkness.  Red aphids on a sunflower stem glowed in the sunlight, and vines and webs were clearly seen in the light of the sun and the lens of the camera.  Sometimes one has to look closely with unflinching courage in order to eradicate the harmful things.

The result of being aware of the light and the darkness, of looking honestly and closely at our own heart and soul, of asking or allowing or finding the help we need, is the revelation of an inner and outer beauty that displays our true essence.

 

Our brains are amazing structures that protect us during overwhelming events by sequestering sensations and emotions to a walled-off place so we can continue to function at some level.  But they never disappear, and time does not abate the intensity of our feelings.  Sometimes the walled-off place is touched or triggered by a sensation or situation, and we react instantly, unconsciously, and we or someone around us wonder where those words or actions came from.  That’s why the second darkness is so important—to slowly know and release the sensations and feelings that have been clouding our life, so we are no longer afraid of the dark abyss, because it is gone.  We all need help at times with our shadows and darkness, and we are all called to be sowers of light.  A Minnesota author Kent Nerburn wrote a book Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace—Living in the Spirit of the Prayer of Saint Francis.  He wrote how Saint Francis went forth in the world to give his light to others, how at times it was an act of pure will, and how fervently he believed that every small gesture of light was needed.  Nerburn wrote, “We must remind ourselves that, though our lives are small and our acts seem insignificant, we are generative elements of this universe, and we create meaning with each act that we perform or fail to perform.”  He continues this compelling call to action with “All our actions on this earth have eternal life.  It is up to us to determine whether our actions have a life that increases the light in the world or adds to the darkness.”  May we know our shadows, may we light up the landscape of our world, and may we let the luminescence of our true essence shine on. 

A Work of Love and Duty

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“I looked on child rearing not only as a work of love and duty but as a profession that was fully as interesting and challenging as any honorable profession in the world and one that demanded the best that I could bring to it.”  –Rose Kennedy

I don’t think I’ve ever run across a quote that so closely aligns with the way I felt about raising our three children.  I had worked in the profession of child care for four years before having our first child, and it was a joy to provide care, structure, learning activities, and fun to the children at the YWCA.  However, deep dissatisfaction crept into my soul when I was leaving my baby with another woman while caring for many other’s children—not because of the work I was doing, but because of the time of not being with my own.  It was only another year or so before we made the decision for me to stay home.  We had another baby on the way by then, and I was happy to provide care to another little girl full-time and to a few others on a part-time basis.  How I loved our days together!  I set up learning stations in our old house where messy art projects trumped new floor coverings and reading books and playing outside were more important than how things looked or how much money we had.  It was a time of joy for me!

We were fortunate to spend time on Goodners Lake this weekend with our good friends Rick and Lynda.  The lake is always beautiful but seemed particularly so after a week with nourishing rains and abundant sunshine.

The resident Loon pair had returned to Goodners Lake in late April, made a nest among the cattails, and hatched out one baby Loon.  Even swimming among the boaters, it was evident that the Lake belonged to the Loons.

What was also evident to me is how dedicated and attentive the Loon parents are to their offspring.  When the chicks are very young, they can swim but will climb onto their parent’s back to ride and rest.  This chick still has its downy feathers but will have its adult voice and be fully feathered by two months old.

The chick mirrors the parents’ actions of peering under the water with their excellent underwater vision to find fish to eat, to preen and clean their feathers, and to rear up out of the water and flap their wings in a territorial display.

The parents will continue to protect and teach their young one until he can capture all his own food and become a strong flyer.  In Autumn, the parents leave the lake to migrate south.  The young ones will gather and migrate together a few weeks later.  The following April, the parents will return to the Lake to begin another season of raising young ones.

 

Loons, Eagles, Bluebirds, and others are dedicated, hard-working parents.  One only needs to watch how they work to build a nest, how they protect their young, how long and hard they work to provide food for them, and how they teach them to do what’s necessary to become full-fledged adults.  Parenting in the animal and the human world is hard work, and as John Steinbeck understated, “Perhaps it takes courage to raise children.”  Courage indeed, along with a whole host of other noble and life-affirming traits.  Parenting is a work of love and duty, a full-time, honorable position whether you are home with your kids all day or you return after working elsewhere to build the nest and give them the wings to fly.  Regardless, I hope you bring your best and make it a time of joy!

The Big, Beautiful River

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You can’t be unhappy in the middle of a big, beautiful river.  –Jim Harrison

That was me on Friday afternoon.  The big, beautiful river was ‘The River’, “the great Mississippi, the majestic, the magnificent Mississippi” as Mark Twain describes his beloved natural wonder.  The 2350-mile waterway begins at Lake Itasca, Minnesota where the River is 20-30 feet wide, ‘almost pristine,’ and empties into the Gulf of Mexico after flowing between or through ten states.  The watershed area drained by the Mississippi and its tributaries, including the Ohio, Missouri, and Arkansas Rivers is a vast 40% of the continental US.  15-18 million people use it for their water supply.  It supports a diverse population of fish, birds, amphibians, reptiles, mammals, and plants.  The upper Mississippi particularly, supports a huge recreation economy, and the whole river from Minneapolis/St. Paul south is a water highway for agricultural products, iron and steel, paper and wood, and petroleum products.  It does not take long, however, before the ‘almost pristine’ water that leaves Lake Itasca becomes polluted.  In the three months it takes water leaving Itasca to reach the Gulf, many industrial, urban, and agricultural pollutants are added to it.  Even while the water is still in Minnesota, there are stretches of the River that exceed water quality standards for mercury, bacteria, sediment, PCBs and nutrients making it unsuitable for fishing, swimming, or drinking.  By the time it reaches Louisiana… well, you know.

Where I was boating with kind, generous friends, the River is still beautiful and much closer to pristine than toxic.

We made our way up the River to an island sand bar where the water was shallow.  A little pond between the ridge of sand and the island was filled with White Water Lilies, adding beauty to the marshy water.

Swamp Milkweed found a happy home along the perimeter of the island, adding a bolt of color to the green Willow around it.

Children built sand/mud castles, music floated from different boats, and water games—some with rules, some impromptu—occupied the sand bar people in the hot afternoon sunshine.  I sat on the boat under the shade of my hat, soaking in the goodness of friendship, the warmth of a summer day, and the movement of water.  I was happy in a contented, peaceful way.  “You can’t be unhappy in the middle of a big, beautiful river.”

Some other creatures felt the same way as we headed back to the dock.

 

How do we keep the Mississippi and all the other rivers beautiful?  Pollution, like climate change, is a huge problem that affects everyone on this planet.  In fact, it’s such a huge problem that we don’t like to think about it.  So most of us and many leading the government agencies that are supposed to be working on these very problems bury our heads in the sand and pretend it’s not an issue.  I understand the overwhelm.  How do we reduce the pollutants and keep them from being added to the water?  There are solutions.  There are dedicated people working to solve the problems.  We need more people on board.  How also do we keep our communities and our lives beautiful?  It depends on what we add to our lives.  We need to keep the pollutants out—the hatred, apathy, blame, bigotry, disdain and corruption.  Add in friendship, understanding, responsibility, generosity, humility, and love for one another.  Let’s keep America beautiful in every way, so our lives are more like the pristine waters of Lake Itasca and less like the toxic waters flowing into the Gulf.

 

 

Summer Solstice Snapshot

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What happens on the first day of Summer?  The Summer Solstice was Thursday, the 21st—the longest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere, when the Earth’s axis is most tilted toward the sun.  It is when the sun rises before most of us do and sets not long before most of us go to bed.  It is a day of long daylight, of energy, of evolution of the seasons.  It is a day of new beginnings.  

What happens on the first day of Summer in Minnesota?  Fruit is forming, growing, and ripening—apples, blueberries, wild plums, and wild strawberries.

Tender new growth on the evergreen trees is starting to harden off, easing into the next stage of growth and development, stepping into its larger self.

Summer sunshine, blue skies, and white clouds outline and energize the trees.

On the first day of Summer, some flowers, like the Gas Plant, are already going to seed, while a whole passel are in full bloom or getting ready to bloom.

The late-planted garden is growing, as are the weeds that will need to be cleared out so the good stuff will grow and produce.

Bird parents are busy searching for insects to bring back to their hungry babies.

Broken remains of storm damage finally fell from a tree, days after the other storm debris had been cleaned up.

And then, just for a reality check, Summer throws in a little taste of what’s to come in a couple of months…

 Late in the long day, the sun finally sets, the long twilight glows on, and the moon shines bright in the southern sky.

 

One notable Summer day, the Solstice, the official beginning of Summer, is like a birthday—remarkable in a way, but as common as every other day.  It is a marker of seasons and new beginnings, a snapshot of the continuing development of all that is Nature and all that is Us.  If we take the time to clear out the weeds and clean up the debris from the storms of our lives, we are energized.  We can learn and grow and step into our larger selves.  We are ready to bloom and ready to bear fruit.  Shine on!

 

The Branches of My Being

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When I was a child, supple-muscled and fresh-faced, I had my own room.  It had blue walls, blue and white curtains and bedspread, and white furniture with gold trim.  I made my bed every morning and had all my treasures arranged on my dressers just so.  I liked to keep things neat and tidy.  Cleaning was a Saturday morning ritual not to be messed with, and I learned to be thorough and efficient (because the ‘fun’ stuff could only be done after the cleaning.)  It also became a meditation of sorts, with my body moving through the mundane motions while my young mind processed all the thoughts and e-motions of my life.

Even though decades of raising three kids and an aging body have softened my ‘neat freak’ mind, I still like to clean and keep things in order.  So I have been particularly bothered these past years by the dead branches that hang from some of the trees in the yard and the woods.  I look at them and feel compelled to trim away the dead, thinking they would look so much better.  But my tree-man husband puts off my compelling aesthetic arguments for the sake of the trees.  Certain trees and shrubs should only be trimmed at certain times of the year in order to preserve the health of the tree or to promote blooming.  Not only when the leaves are looking pretty and one is simply bothered by low- or dead-hanging branches!  Then when the leaves are gone, I don’t even notice the dead ones on the bare silhouette of the tree!  So the dead branches remain, and like any other thorn under our skin that we live with, our relationship with it changes.

The reason this old Oak tree has some dead branches is because of a physiological phenomenon called self-pruning.  When a branch does not produce as much carbohydrate by photosynthesis as it uses in respiration, food, minerals and water are withheld from the branch.  The tree seals off the limb with resins, and the branch eventually dies.

Access to light is the most important reason for self-pruning.  Trees that grow in open areas rarely shed their branches for this reason, but trees that grow in the woods do not have enough light to maintain all the branches.  Self-pruning happens frequently with small twigs, and as the crown of a tree gets bigger, the large, lower branches may also die.

Shade intolerant trees like Aspen, Paper Birch, Red Pine, Elm, and Ash are known for sequestering food from lower branches, causing them to die.  The actual shedding of the dead branch occurs over time as it weakens from water, fungi, and insects and then comes down with wind, snow, or animals.

In a forest of Red Pines, the lower dead branches are of varying lengths with many short, truncated staubs that look like steps up the straight trunk of the tree.

 

The dead branches, those thorns under my neat-freak skin, no longer bother me like they once did.  Now I see them as an essential part of the story of the tree.  They are expressive parts of the younger tree, when the sun shone strong and bright, when nothing impaired its growth and vitality.  They are part of the history of the tree.  Just like us.  We have these parts of ourselves from our younger, growing self and life that die and get truncated.  We don’t have to cut them away, no longer to be seen or thought of again.  Each is an essential part of our stories.  I still put my treasures on the dressers just so—they are even the same dressers, though the white and gold paint was stripped off to reveal the mahogany wood underneath.  Every past interest, friend, longing, hobby, and experience are all branches of my being.

Unexpected Gifts

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Life is always bringing unexpected gifts.   –May Sarton

I celebrated my birthday this past week—one of those decade ones that seem like kind of a big deal.  The big deal is usually a combination of ‘how can I be this old when I don’t feel like it’ and a very real realization that there is much more life behind one’s self than there is yet to be.  But I choose to make the big deal be a celebration of making it to six decades, because we are fortunate to do so.  So the big deal was mostly in my head.  There was no party planned or expectations on my part.  Then, the day before my birthday, my circle of amazing women friends brought a cake, complete with candles to wish upon and blow out, and sang Happy Birthday to me!  The next day another special friend took me out for lunch, and hours flew by like minutes.  I received cards, presents, Happy Birthday texts and messages, phone calls, and had supper with my dear Chris.  To tell you the truth, I was pleasantly overwhelmed by the unexpected gifts.  I was happy and content as I drank my cup of evening tea.  Just before darkness fell, I went to the kitchen to rinse out my cup and looked out the window.  A Gray Fox was stalking around the front yard, staring into the grass, then pouncing on some little morsel of insect food.  Another unexpected gift for my birthday!  

It’s not often that we see foxes—in the winter, we see their tracks, and at times have seen a glimpse of one as it slips into the woods.  But this beautiful Gray Fox seemed unconcerned that he was out in the open of the yard with plenty of light to see him.

Gray Foxes are members of the canine family, but interestingly, they can climb trees!  Their short, strong legs and extremely sharp, curved claws allow them to climb and jump from branch to branch.  They can descend either tail or head first.  Thus they are known as the tree fox!

Gray Foxes mate for life, have an average litter of four pups or kits in April or May (in Minnesota), and the pups are raised by both the parents.  They have keen eyesight and excellent hearing and smell.  They stalk and pounce on voles, mice, squirrels, and especially love cottontail rabbits.  They also eat small birds, eggs, plants, berries, and insects.

These beautiful creatures have a black stripe down their back and tail ending with a black tip.  The back of their ears and neck are the tawny red color of a Red Fox.

 

I was so pleased to see this fox on my birthday!  What an fantastic creature!  I was pleased to hear from my family and from old friends who I haven’t seen in years but who hold a special place in my heart.  I was happy to share time and laughs with new friends who love books, love God, and love me.  What an incredible gift!  There’s something kind of fantastic about that, isn’t there, Mr Fox?!

The Mirror of Nature and Goodness

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Water is the mirror of Nature.  –Francis of Assisi

What happens when you see a person walking toward you unexpectedly get hit in the head by a ball?  Often we react with a cringe, a movement of our hand to our own head, or even with a verbal “ouch”—almost like we ourselves had gotten hit.  The mechanism for that occurrence is the activation of mirror neurons in our brains.  Mirror neurons were discovered in 1994 by a group of Italian scientists in a lucky accident.  They were studying individual neurons in a monkey’s premotor area of the brain, with a computer to monitor which neurons fired when the monkey picked up a peanut or banana.  The researcher noticed that when he was putting food pellets into a box, the computer showed that the monkey’s brain cells were firing, even though the monkey wasn’t moving!  He was watching the researcher move and reacting as if he were picking up the food pellets himself.  Research on mirror neurons continues, but it is now understood that these brain-to-brain links help to explain empathy, learning, imitation, and synchrony.  These brain cells are ‘online’ at birth and are an imperative part of how a baby and caretaker communicate with one another, how they regulate their respective physiologies, and how the baby learns—e.g., cooing and making sounds and words, playing peek-a-boo, facial expressions, and comforting tones and movements.  We are, in essence, programmed to pick up another person’s movements, emotions, and intentions and to make internal adjustments based on what we notice.  We also give clues to others about what is going on inside of us.

After a hot Memorial Day weekend, Tuesday’s storm broke the heat wave and brought us some much-needed rain.  As the storm was ending, the western horizon cleared, and the sun shone through the trees.  I went out the back door with the camera to photograph the colorful sunset, but what caught my attention was the birdbath.  The water in the birdbath was a mirror not only to the colors of the sunset but also a reflection of the wind and remaining raindrops!  It was mesmerizing!

 

Twenty-two photographs over four minutes of time.  Subtleties of color, shade, tone, and movement.  Each one the same, but different.  Each one mirroring a moment in Nature, reflecting the wind, the rain, and the sunlight.  We exhibit just as many cues and clues in four minutes of our time with subtle movements, facial expressions, muscle tightening, eye contact, voice tone, and posture.  Those around us are picking up those cues and clues via their mirror neurons and reacting to them based on the person’s development history, sense of safety, and state of mind and body (all of which can change the message in profound ways.)  And most of this is happening with little or no conscious awareness.  The challenge is not to be vulnerable to negativity in others, not to meet anger with anger or disdain with disdain, yet at the same time retain the empathy that keeps us connected as social beings.  What a challenge it is.  It does give credence to our moms’ warnings not to hang out with the wrong crowd—we tend to become like the people we choose to be around; she just didn’t know it was because of mirror neurons!  We have an opportunity to positively influence the people around us and the strangers we meet—we can look into their eyes and smile, we can open our hands and our hearts, we can make them feel welcomed, safe, and supported.  Our face and actions can be a mirror of Goodness, and that, dear ones, is mesmerizing.  

 

 

Zero to Sixty

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In two weeks’ time, we have accelerated from Spring to Summer.  The normal progression of leafing out and blooming has been disrupted this year—things seem rather confused.  The very warm temperatures of these last days have pushed some things to bloom, while at the same time the early bloomers are just catching up from the delay a late snowstorm produced.  So now the daffodils, honeysuckle, lilacs, crabapples, viburnums, flag irises, and anemones are all blooming at the same time!  Instead of Spring slowly unfolding in its progressive, orderly way, it’s been like a tire-spinning Ferrari going from zero to sixty in 2.9 seconds!

On Mother’s Day two weeks ago, we took a short hike around Rockville County Park.  The leaves were just emerging from the trees, which made bird watching easier.  We saw a Baltimore Oriole and a Rose-breasted Grosbeak and heard their beautiful songs.

An adult Eagle floated in the sky above us looking for food to feed the two hungry ‘babies’ in the nest.  They have a few years until they grow into the elegance of their parents.

A tall, showy Serviceberry was blooming in the woods, looking almost out of place with the other bare, brown-with-green-tinged trees.

Later, back at home, a lone turkey wandered through the front yard.  She circled around the garage, then was scared by a tractor going down the road.  She ran to the backyard and flew up into the oak trees, defying her size!  She stayed there for quite a while, cautiously looking around to determine her safety.  Finally she opened her wings and glided to the ground.

We had a few rain showers in the last two weeks, though it still seems very dry, especially as the temperatures have gone so unseasonably high this past week.  The rainy days helped the Purple Leaf Plum leaf out and bloom, helped the Purple Flag Irises open their tissue-paper-thin flowers, and gave the Baltimore Oriole a shower.

On another trek to Eagle Park, we saw Purple Martins sitting on the porches of their house.  Just as we got out of the car, they all flew away, and I saw a Hawk capture one in the air, going zero to sixty!  He flew to a branch of a tree with the Purple Martin in his claws.

Then he dropped it!  He looked down at his fallen prey but did not fly down to get it as we watched!

 

It seems like we waited so long for Spring to come this year, and then when it did finally show up, it zoomed into summer—what crazy weather!  I remember when the kids were younger how we waited for milestones—when they walked, talked, tied their own shoes, started school, and dozens of others.  While the waiting seemed long, when they finally passed a milestone, things started to move faster, and we looked back thinking how time had zoomed by so quickly!  How could ten years, twenty years, now thirty years have passed since we held these dear babies in our arms?  Crazy time.  These children of ours—we try to keep them safe, provide food, shelter, learning and love, help them to bloom, and teach them to fly.  Sometimes desires and dreams fall from their grasps—from our grasps—and we look down and decide whether or not we will pick them up again or let them go.  We all take a couple of years or a lifetime to grow into our elegance.

Gonna Get Burned

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Have you ever been burned?  I don’t mean literally, though we have probably all experienced that pain in some way in our lives—a sunburn that reddens and heats our shoulders or a blistering burn on our hand from cooking.  I mean figuratively.

“Love is the burning point of life… Love itself is pain, you might say—the pain of being truly alive.”  –Joseph Campbell

We all probably know this pain, too.

In April, soon after the snow melted, we attempted to burn our little prairie area.  We had the water hose, shovels, wet burlap in buckets of water, and matches.  The first dried grasses in the flame of a match poofed up and were instantly gone.  It seemed dry enough, but as we progressed, there was still too much moisture in the ground and in the grass to get a consistent burn.

I used a pitchfork to ‘move’ the flame from one place to another, with Chris standing by with his shovel, but it just wasn’t going well.  When we were about to call it a day, a smoldering flame lit the tall, dried grass around one of the White Pine trees and whooshed up into the branches.  Chris beat it with a shovel as I got the water hose and doused it.  But there was damage done.  Some of the lower branches were scorched and burned at the tips.  Glad it wasn’t worse.  But as the days passed, more brown needles appeared.  The heat of the burn had rose up and damaged the needles farther up the tree.

I tried to reassure the man who loves trees and who had lovingly planted these pines as two-footers, that it would be okay.  But this poor tree looked worse by the day.

Meanwhile, as I was driving on the highway not far from our house, the stark blackness of a burn rose from the road up a hill to the edge of a woods.

Prescribed or controlled burns help manage weeds and invasive species, including woody plants like cedar and buckthorn.  Burns also restore nutrients to prairie plants and stimulate growth of deep-rooted grasses and native plants.

The charred ground was in stark contrast to the vivid green of new Spring leaves in the woods.

As the weeks passed, I noticed buds emerging from the tips of our White Pine, including most of the branches with browned needles.  New growth was springing forth from the damage!  I am optimistic, even as Chris is much more cautious about the long-term welfare of the tree.

One week after I photographed the blackened burn on the hillside, it has already begun to transform to Spring greenness.

 

“If you play with fire, you’re gonna get burned.”  Even with preparation, consideration, and care, we still damaged one of our young trees with fire.  The tree will have scars from the fleeting fire, but it will continue to grow.  Hopefully, someday, the scars won’t even be seen.  The rapid transformation of a prescribed burn on the hillside from black to green is like a ‘do-over’—getting rid of the old, undesirable, and invasive to make room for the new, beneficial, and native.

Joseph Campbell, mythologist and writer of the human experience, wrote about love as ‘the burning point of life.’  It encompasses so many aspects of love—the burning desire of young lovers, the fierceness of a mother protecting her child, the passion one has for a vocation or avocation, and the absolute heartbreak of a lost love.  Love ups the ante of us getting burned.  We love, we get burned, we have scars, and we keep on growing through the growing pains.  Maybe we are all ‘prescribed’ these burns in our lives to manage our egos, to keep offensive things from taking over our lives, and to restore goodness to our innate selves.  Campbell also wrote, “Find a place inside where there’s joy, and the joy will burn out the pain.”  Love, pain, growth, and joy—when we know we’re truly alive.

To All Those Who Came From Mothers

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Our very being, essence, health and happiness depend on Mother Earth.                    –David Suzuki

Where and how do we begin?  What is our essence?  To whom do we owe our health and happiness?  Yikes!  These are deep questions!  On this Mother’s Day, there is no need to overwhelm ourselves with an endless pool of existential inquiry, but maybe we should at least dip our toes in.  Only some of us are mothers, but all of us came from mothers.  We all know at least half of the equation.  We were all mothered in one way or another—the judgement of how that turned out is only for each one of us to determine in the journey of our lives.  Of course, that journey changes if and when we become mothers (and fathers) ourselves and when we lose those that brought forth our life.  And so it goes…

The essence of life is Springing forth.  The change that happens in one week’s time is mind-boggling and mind-humbling—we are dealing with a force so much bigger than ourselves.  The greening of the grass seems simple compared to perennials pushing up and unfolding from the earth and dormant trees exploding with flowers and new leaves.  We really are fortunate to witness such miracles, do you know?  Look at the fresh flowers and tender leaves of these two types of Maple trees:

Blue Jay mates were foraging for food this week, vocalizing their pleasure of Spring mating and nest-building.

Linden leaves began the filling-out process of changing the trees’ skeletal silhouettes to geometrical shapes.

The Rabbits were in a frenzy one early morning, darting here and there, perhaps for no other reason than Spring is finally here!

Tiny new Wild Strawberry flowers opened up as the only-days-old Magnolia flowers wilted, browned, and fell—a miniature birth and death cycle that leads to the next step in the biological process—the formation of fruits and seeds.

Two surprises showed up this week that had me rushing for the camera—it’s exciting to see something that one has never seen before!  We have had many types of woodpeckers frequent the feeders, but I had never seen a flashy Red-headed Woodpecker until this week.

Another morning flash of color attracted my attention—a Red-breasted Grosbeak.

Mayapples, Epimedium, and Lily-of-the-Valley arose, appeared, and unrolled from the earth, from where there was nothing visible before.

Standing at the kitchen sink, looking out the window, I see the ‘Prairie Fire’ Crabapple has a white cloud of Wild Plum blossoms surrounding its dark burgundy leaves and flower buds.

 

Spring marks the beginning of a full cycle of emergence, growth, development, seed formation, offspring, transformation, decline, and death.  It’s the new time, an exciting time, a time that makes one frenetic with energy for no good reason other than Winter is over and Spring is here!  Mother Earth’s pregnant potential showcases beginnings and alludes to the essence of Life.  She provides sunshine and vitamin D for our health and brings us smiling happiness and wonder.  In the midst of all of this, there is each one of us and our half of the equation.  Our being, where once there was nothing, was brought forth by an egg and a sperm, was developed in the nourishing cloud of a womb, emerged into this mind-boggling, mind-humbling world, and then developed and filled out into the shape of our essence.  We are mothered by mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, grandmas, grandpas, friends, teachers, mentors, and others—we deserve to be cared for, respected, listened to, and loved and to give those things in return.  If we determine that we have fallen short of that, we must remember that we are dealing with a force that is so much bigger than us—the God-force of Life itself, where all things are possible.  As we live into our half of the equation, let us give thanks for all the caring Mothers in our lives.  We really are fortunate to be such miracles.