Doing Nothing

What a day yesterday. I did nothing. I don’t have too many of those kinds of days but when they present themselves, it is delightful. I passed on breakfast but had an early lunch of Chinese left-overs. I added more Soy and some hot sauce. It made it better.

It was rainy here, off and on all day. I watched a puddle get sprinkled with drops in a melodic cadence that blended with the Flight of the Bumblebee, an orchestral interlude written by Rimsky-Korsakov which I had playing on the stereo. The sputter and patter of the drops mimicked the beat of the composition. The rain pelted furiously for a few minutes then the rain rhythm would change into a Strauss waltz and then into a Texas two-step as the rain abated. What a glorious day.

I then tried to take my spiritual advisor for a walk. “McGee” doesn’t do rain, she doesn’t do snow, she doesn’t do heat. She waits, and looks, and waits some more. If it’s wet, white, or hot, she looks at me with the question of, “why are we doing this?”

I couldn’t answer her inquisitive look. All I can do is suggest, with a gentle nudge on the leash, that peeing outside is better that peeing inside.

Old Body – Young Spirit

I looked at one of my hands the other day. It was old. Protruding veins puffed like a fissure in a seismic fault. The skin was wrinkled in horizontal lines like the ripples in a wind blown dune.

Then I looked within and behold there was eternal youth. There was my spiritual being within my corporal body, and it was young. My aging body was just a vessel to hold what I am in material density and in the illusion of time.

Few young in the world understand the awareness of spiritual being. The young are still intoxicated with experimenting and experiencing life and playing with choice. Two glorious dichotomous gifts. Free floating youth and aging awareness.

Within the mind of all wrinkled, graying, aging bodies are visions of unfulfilled manifestations; discarded choices of what each hoped to be, but just below the surface of unfinished dreams are the currents of change and the desire to find and be the Truth.

When I look within, I find a clear passage to my soul and the smooth highway of understanding the being I am.

In some global societies, particularly in western cultures, we hide the grace of age and experience of living. Human power is in the awareness of our interconnection. Whether old, young, or in-between we are all ONE with the unconditional love of All That Is. In spirit, we are all valued the same. The task for each of us is to carry that equal value into mortal life.

Little Ones

He or she was tiny and delicate.

A ruby-throated iridescent green-feathered hummingbird, not more than an inch and a half long and not even a half-inch wide slammed into a picture window and dropped to the ground. It quivered and throbbed as its body tried to recover from the head-on trauma.

Watching the process of recovery, I think human concern and a sadness of helplessness increases exponentially with the smallness of the creature. I’m sure it’s a subconscious protective reaction of something so small, but one of genuine concern.

This little creature was obviously hurting. I wanted to help, but there was nothing I could do. I knew it was alive because of its miniature movements, but I didn’t know if it would live.

I also knew from other bird strikes against the glass that sometimes these delicate creatures survive and you have to give them time to recover without triggering their instinctive fear and natural avoidance of human closeness. You also have to fight the desire and need to run and pick them up to comfort and try to cure with concern.

I watched the stunned and disoriented bird for a while. Hoping it would survive. I mentally struggled with it to stay in life. In many ways, you become one with the bird and give it a human consciousness or at least an awareness and desire to survive.

It seemed like a long time, but finally, it raised its head off the ground where it had fallen and moved around a little and stretched and fluttered its wings and then with a little more rest it flew away.

There is no other word for my reaction other than “rejoice.”

Little “creature beings” have a profound effect on our lives if we let them. Look at the joy that puppies engender or the comfort felt from a purring kitten. How about the sound of a morning songbird as we stand in the warming and awakening light of dawn or the awe of a Bald Eagle in flight?

I thank the All That Is for these great gifts and on this morning especially for the life of a tiny hummingbird.

A Memory in the Desert

Many years ago I lived not far from the Anza Borrego desert in California. It is the largest state park in California and the second largest in the continental United States after Adirondack Park in New York.

The park is named after Spanish explorer Juan Bautista de Anza and the Spanish word “Borrego,” for bighorn sheep.

Eons ago the desert floor was an ancient seabed, and it is to this day festooned with tiny seashells. I was amazed at this when I visited the area and camped there to experience the wonder of sunrise and the hot breath of the desert when no one else was around.

It was a poetic inspiration for me, and the result was a poem entitled, “Carrizo Wash.”

A desert vast to see and feel
What is true and what is real.
But streaks and scratches on the land,
Did tear the nature from the sand.

It’s tracks of cars — tire scarred,
Old bed of sea now wheel marred.
Barren dry, yet full of life,
Eroded by the weather’s knife.

Granite grays and sandy stone
Black basalt and sun-bleached bone.
Sages grow in pale hue
And green and cream rendezvous.

Fossil dunes from tranquil past
Beneath a sea that didn’t last.
This solitude with crusts of shell,
What ancient day felt your knell?

Thou sacred sweep, what is worse:
No ocean cover or man’s traverse?
Intruding sounds in paradise
Make this silent place die twice.

I’ve not been back to that desert in California, but I wish I could; not to intrude, but to enjoy and share its history. It was a moving experience of ancient time and modern awareness. I remember slowly walking, step by step, as my weight crunched the ancient shells and I felt an intruder into the pristine nature of this space. Wherever I stood, I could feel the ocean currents and the tides of ebb and flow, but also the ones of time.

I walked gently away from the shell-crusted dunes and left with a memory of profound wonder.