July 23, 2018 - You are not Alone

It is a feeling of such intense longing.  The people can see it; they can almost smell it.  They walk around with their faces bent over their phones, paging through.  Paging and paging.  Searching….  They are looking for it.  Maybe it will be in the next post, the next announcement, the next comment.  And they page and page. 

But it is not there.  Maybe it will be there next time.  Yes, there is always a next time to page through again.  Maybe it will be there.

In pursuit . . .

They buy so many products, a good deal of which they do not need.  Maybe it is there.  They treat themselves to rich food and drink.  Or they eat what they know is not good for them.  Maybe they will find it in defiance.  Perhaps an element of self-destruction will jolt them back into . . . something.  They lose themselves in television or movies.  It might be in just the next frame.  Maybe it will be.

And then, quite by accident, they see a photo of the ocean.  Or the forest.  Or a meadow in bloom.  It reminds them of the scent of a rose.  Is that the call of a bird of prey somewhere in the distance?  And the whisper starts in the back of their mind.  “Run!  Run!  Go and get it!”  They stare, mesmerized.  They expand the photo on their screens and melt into it.  Just for a moment….  “Run!  Go and get it!”

Tears flow.  “Please,” they say, “take me in and shelter me.  Hold me until I get over this, until I get out of this evil spell, until I can see the splendor again.  Please keep me safe.”  And the tears flow.  “I just want to rest for a few minutes.  Please.  Help me.  Let me stay in this place for a short while until I find myself again, until my soul begins to heal.  Please….”

Then the moment is gone.  They shake their heads to clear out the cobwebs.  They stare ahead with a blank look . . . and begin to page again.  Surely it is here somewhere . . .  Surely it is just around the corner.

And the grass that you trample under your feet reaches up to pat your ankles, and it whispers, “I dream of you.”  The wind caresses your face and brings cool sweetness, and it whispers, “I have been waiting for you.  The Earth gives a sweet scent that swirls around your head and intoxicates you, and she whispers, “I still love you.”

You are not alone.  You are never alone.  In your heart you know where to find it.  Go and get it.

July 16, 2018 - Secret Prisons

In the very early hours of the morning when the heavy dew is still upon the fields, the hidden secrets from the night before are revealed.  Usually invisible at ordinary times of day or night, these traps are made plain by the dawn.  I look out over the green and I see the webs everywhere.  Everywhere. . . traps, prisons, dungeons.

How often do I walk through them without knowing?  I would imagine constantly.  These secret invisible prisons hide in plain sight, and no one is the wiser.  They are traps set by cunning spiders for unsuspecting insects, and although I, too, am unsuspecting as I traipse through the field, my size protects me.  It is the only thing that protects me in this case as the spiders would be more than happy to accommodate me in one of their dwellings.

A shimmering mesh; a secret prison.

All around me I see the transparent cells, and it occurs to me that a great secret has been revealed.  Spiders are not the only creatures who set traps.  Many predators do, too, mankind in particular.  And I begin to wonder . . . how many traps are set all around me that I do not see?  That which passes for the “news” these days, now that is certainly a trap.  Propaganda?  Definitely.  “Safe” chemicals in foods and other goods?  An invisible prison lying in wait.  A deceitful “friend”?  A transparent dungeon.  Fashion?  Shackles.

It is no different than the spiders.  As the morning dew reveals the spiders’ traps, what is the “dew” that reveals the human traps?  I say it is calm, cool awareness.  I say it is refusing to indulge in emotion and instead relying upon common sense.  I say it is patience—the ability to watch and wait and then act.  I say it is deliberate, chosen thought and the ability to discern right from wrong.

The dew is upon the fields, and awareness awaits.  Ignore it and fall into a well-made trap, and you have no one to blame but yourself.  Remove yourself from the barrage of sound, from the flashing lights, from the empty promises.  Be calm and cool and aware.  Refuse to give in to emotional storms.  Rely upon your common sense—if it looks too good to be true, it probably is.  Be patient.  Watch, wait, and then spring if necessary.  Choose your thoughts deliberately, and the spiders will be revealed.

July 8, 2018 - The Wooded Path

Often hidden, you’ll find meandering paths through wooded areas or off main country roads.  They twist and turn and bend, sometimes widening a bit, often narrowing considerably.  But you can always find these paths because other people have walked them.  The area is notably trampled down some, and it’s clear that others have been there before you.  Although oddly enough, you often find yourself alone on one of these paths.  Where the other travelers have gone is a mystery.

But it doesn’t matter, because the path is there.  When it gets tough, some people will form a bit of a bridge over difficult areas.  It might not look like much and it might be missing a few boards, but it’s a sturdy bridge and has carried many people back and forth safely.  Sometimes it’s more primitive, such as a large log being set across a swampy area.  Either way, you’re grateful that someone had the foresight to place these bridges and help others on the path.

A thoughtful bridge.

You’ll never see this on newer city streets and town roads.  Those are different kinds of paths.  Those are hard and straight and wide and paved.  Anything that may have been in the way of a path like that has long since been removed because the path is the only thing that matters to the builders.  Their intention is to take you expediently from one area to another as quickly as possible, usually from one shopping area to another so you can more easily hand your money over.  It’s very thoughtful of them.

Thoughtful, indeed.  And how about the secret path in the woods?  Is that a thoughtful path?  I tell you, there is no path made with more thought than that small meandering path in the woods.  Like the human mind that created it, it wanders this way and that and then focuses more and heads in the proper direction.  Large trees and boulders are gone around, not through, and there are areas of beauty that catch the eye and draw the path to them.  You can almost see the path forming in the mind of the original path makers.  You can feel their thoughts as you walk the path, and know you probably would have chosen the same way.

Like a labyrinth, the path through the woods is soothing.  It gets you to where you’re going but in a gentle and thoughtful way.  There’s no rushing, and you can stop along the way at any point.  There are things that warn you of difficulty, such as a crudely constructed bridge, or an area of beauty where the path magically widens on its own.  There are areas where it is only one foot wide and the brush rubs against your sides as you walk through it, but if you stay on the path, you will get to a better area and ultimately to where you are going.

If you are a city dweller, don’t despair because you can still follow the old paths.  Go to your local library and find an old map of the city.  Look at the old streets and compare them to a modern map.  Some might be gone, but you’ll find that many are still there.  Map out a route and walk the path.  Even though it’s paved and is not through a shady woods, it’s still an old path set down by people who selected landmarks and not shopping areas to help you on your way, and because of that it will be a thought-full path.  You’ll notice the land marks:  An old church steeple, a natural stone wall, the top of a hill.  You’ll see that they all line up.  There’s a secret network of paths in every city because they were all built by someone walking and thinking.

I find that my thoughts settle down and become more intentional when I’m on a path through the woods.  There’s no element of rushing or hurrying.  There’s nothing loud or blaring and no flashing lights.  It’s just a thoughtful, winding, twisting path that gets me to where I’m going in more ways than one.  Like those who came before me, if I find a large tree branch in the middle of the path, I’ll move it.  I’ll be helpful and make things easier for whoever comes after me.  And in this way, it becomes my path because I’ve contributed to it, although it always seems to give more than it is given.

July 7, 2018 - The Sign of Sirius

The beginning was pure bliss.  There were sun-warmed rocks to sit upon and a lush green carpet had spread everywhere.  There were birds singing and the hypnotic scent of thousands of different flowers in the air.  It was a time of new possibilities.  The mornings showed shimmery mists floating in the brilliant, golden rays.  The growing ember was welcome.  Thus the Sun King announced his arrival, and the people bowed before him.  Not one head was raised.

Then it became sultry.  Waves of warmth washed over everything, and the Earth exploded in response.  Everywhere growth was lush and heavy and brimming with almost sinful abundance.  The mornings were warm and welcome.  The comforting warm breezes released the fear of cold, and the people relaxed into the bounty of the summer.  Every voice was raised in praise, singing songs of peace and prosperity.  The inner growth kept pace with the outer growth, and the people relaxed into the land of plenty.

At battle.

But all things must change; that is the nature of existence.  When the people were distracted, bright Sirius began to climb daily into the early morning sky before the Sun King arrived to hold his court.  And he was brilliant!  Yes, beautiful!  The people saw him and wondered at this shining star in the morning heavens, and this news found its way to the palace of the Sun King, who became jealous of Sirius.  With a heavy hand, he fanned the flames in an attempt to bring more to his people, and the land began to wilt and weep.

Sirius whispered in the ear of the Sun King and reminded him of the Lord of Winter, that ancient foe the King had destroyed so long ago. 

“I have seen his sentries in the deep woods,” he whispered, “keeping watch over the Gate.  You have not vanquished him.  He lives still.”

The King thought about his old enemy.  He must be destroyed completely.  Enraged, the Sun King sent every battalion he had to secure the land, and he, himself, set out to mark the Earth once and for all.  So the fire began in earnest.  Everywhere he went, he blazed with heat and brilliance.  Beautiful, to be sure, but harsh and unforgiving as well.  The land continued to wilt, and dry tear tracks stained her face.  But still he came, with vengeance and jealousy and fury.  He marked his possessions heavily, and the people were burdened exceedingly, sighing in the undying heat.

Yet still Sirius whispered in the early morning sky, laughing at the Sun King and coveting his people.  For forty days he ruled the morning heavens, and the winds began to listen to him and swirl about angrily.  They sought out the vast reserves of their brother, the Ocean, and a secret counsel was held.  The decision was made, and it was time for the storms.

They came as light rains at first but soon picked up pace in the Ocean along the edges of the land.  Sometimes they would come inland, and the scorched Earth would gratefully accept their bounty.  The old battle had begun again, and the Sun King’s soldiers were everywhere.  The people averted their gaze, but at night they hoarded the water from the storms and danced in the moonlight.  Wanted signs were posted:  Dead or Alive, the enemy.  The King combed the land up and down, peering into every crevice, searching for the joy that was slipping through his own fingers.

And deep in the Underworld the Lord of Winter smiled on his icy throne, his map of the battlefield before him.  He pulled sparkling diamonds out of the Earth around him and placed them in different configurations upon the field.  The shape of a dog appeared among the diamonds, and he knew this would keep Demeter very, very busy for quite some time, while the Maiden of the Springtime, Persephone, searched in vain for her King. 

The pendulum swings, always.  At its farthest point it turns and looks back, and seeing its own reflection in the mirror, it falls in love.  How could I have left you?  The descent begins again.  The tides turn sharply and howl like a dog in the night, baying at the moon.

July 2, 2018 - An Agreement

This little chipmunk will never know about the world in which mankind lives.  For him, the entire world is a small section of the woods where he lives and gathers food and sleeps.  He will live in this wooded area and he will die in this wooded area, and he will never know that anything else ever existed.

Part of the Promise.

He will never know about money or employment.  He will work to gather his food—yes, but he will never know about “employment” as we know it.  He is employed by the life force to simply be, and he spends his time in practicality maintaining that life.  He will never know about wars or propaganda.  He will suffer no tension or worry or anxiety.  He knows nothing about impressing others or about one’s station in life.  He will never get an education beyond what his mother taught him and what he was born with naturally.  For him, the world is a set of trees and greenery and birds and food.

When about three summers and winters have passed, he will die.  There will be no funeral and no mourning, no grave to mark his prior existence.  There will be nothing but the woods and more chipmunks and birds and trees and food.  If he could speak for a moment, he might say that a short life lived in tune with nature at the expense of no one else, and with abundance and peace and quiet intention, was worth every moment and preferable to anything else.

If he could speak for a moment, he might say that, but it is doubtful he would waste his words on what he has already clearly displayed from birth to death.  It is a tradeoff that animals have made, an agreement forged in antiquity, from which they have never deviated.  Keeping the ancient pact without regret or remorse or fear in a tiny section of the woods in Maine.