There is beauty in a rainy day. As the water pours down, soaking the earth and providing the plants with a drink, it can feel luscious to sit indoors listening to the purifying sounds. In a place where rain and storms can be scarce, a full day of heavy showers feels like a gift. The natural cascading cadence coming from the sky easily acts as a lullaby–rocking the unsuspecting book worm to sleep. Curled up under a blanket, the white noise soothes the brain. Soon the eyes will close and the body drifts off to another realm as the drum of the raindrops beat on.
It is a natural cycle, the sun and rain, the play and rest. The softer mood and grayer colors paint these moments. It’s slow and inward.
Use it. Lean into it. Even indoors let the rainy days baptize and renew the soul.
Lately, in keeping with all the inner work I’ve been doing and with the great changes coming out of the last few years of my life, it has naturally moved me back to the more spiritual side of myself. In my past, the spiritual plane was almost equal to the plane in which I lived on a daily ‘normal’ basis. This meant I often felt very in tune with so much more around me and on a much deeper level: people, animals, the natural landscape and of course: the mystical.
Then, the course of my life got in the way, and this beautiful and magical part of my life slipped away without me really noticing. The spiritual habits that I had practiced left me; all the ‘unexplained coincidences’ that would so often pop up joyfully in my life seemed to disappear and life just became a dull and routine existence.
Like so many of us, the tether to the unknown–to that thing beyond us–(call it what you may), isn’t always there unless you are really looking or open to it. Many just don’t believe, being simply too rooted in reality.
But we all have our own scopes of what reality may be. And I know that my reality had encompassed many things which could not be explained by scientific or simple explanations. You just had to be there to understand. To have faith in the powers and energies that flow. And I did.
So the time has gently begun to seem right, bit by bit, to reemerge within my spiritual self. To put back on my garland crown and flowing robes and step back into the circle once again. And I feel my power returning like an old friend. It was just waiting for my call.
My dreams have been full of visions, visitations and clarity. I use a dream book that I have to help interpret them and I’ve been writing them down in my journal, along with other long and inspired thoughts about my journey.
My interactions with people feel more purposeful and I am often drawn into deep conversations on a sidewalk with neighbors. Seeing people now brings me warmth rather than anxiety and I’m happy to share these moments and feel they are all meaningful.
Most things now feel part of my plan, that I am drawing all things to me. Some days I pick a tarot card to see what it might say, and often it will reflect what I have been feeling during my meditation. That nothing is random: I am creating this reality around me.
It has a been a very long walk to this place of inner peace; to be able to shrug off the demon within each time it threatens to claw its way to the surface. And now that I am dancing on my spiritual path once again, my peace is sweeter: for finally I can hear the music of the Universe with my whole soul.
Does one have to be a Einstein or Picasso or some other famous artist/inventor to have a great passion in life? Or is a great love that drives ones passion in life? What makes a person get up every day with fire in their belly and music in their soul? And why do some of us seem to lack this magical feeling?
I can look back in my life and know there have certainly been times and people that lit this passion in me. Moments of great beauty and things that I did where I knew I was following my bliss. These flashes of ‘rightness’ were so calming and soothing and made my world worth living. It’s when we know the path is chosen and wherever it takes us, we will learn and grow along the way. We will become bigger, learn and hopefully give back to the Universe too. All the cogs mesh together…and things run smoothly.
But it seems more often than not, for me, much of my life has been devoid of these feelings. There has been more a sense of being lost and off the path. That finding meaning to it all is difficult and that passion is almost not possible. The older I become, the more excuses I find to feel the numbness that surrounds the world around me. There is a fuzziness that surrounds the picture of what I feel should fill that hole.
The day to day treadmill of sunrise and sunset becomes an anxiety of loss. I will never get those days back–days lacking in color, in meaning, in passion.
So what does one do? If I’m not artistic I can’t suddenly become a musician or painter. And if I’m not brilliant, I can’t find the code to unlock the cure to cancer. How then do I awaken myself?
Life is a beautiful gift, this I do know and I don’t want it wasted (although so much of mine already has been) on much more mundane things day in and day out. While others ask for material gifts, I only want to feel more alive and have a deeper sense of purpose.
The wounds we suffer from an unexpected illness or traumatic accident or incident can go layers deeper beyond our physical being. The bruises, broken bones, scars, lumps or changes going on under our skin may be seen under a microscope or with an X-ray, but no one has a clue what is churning within our psyche—sometimes not even us.
Certainly if an injury involves the brain at all, then it’s impossible to understand how we feel. Even a concussion can cause memory loss, depression and a host of other feelings the individual may not be aware are related to the injury.
We are such complex machines. We include part computer, pipes, motor, lenses and this crazy soul. If any one of these parts isn’t functioning, the rest limps along poorly.
The odd part is that we may not even be aware something is wrong or unable to articulate what it is….
So in a system of health care providers that don’t care or are too busy to really pay attention, we are left with lots of people who aren’t being treated properly. If a patient is elderly or simply just too hurt or ill to understand what is going on, they will slip through the cracks and get poor care .
So what do we do?
I was one of these people a number of years ago after a horrific car accident. I had no clue just how brain injured I truly was at the time. I was a mess. Yes my physical injuries were bad, but the hidden mental, spiritual and emotional injuries lasted much longer.
Luckily I had friends nearby to help talk me off the ledge. My depression became cavernous. It snuck up on me. My memory was shattered for a while too. And the pain was like a lover that wouldn’t leave my side. It was dark times.
If we are lucky we will have an advocate or at least someone who cares a lot and who still is in touch with reality when we are not. It’s hard to listen when our lives have been shaken and our bodies rattled. A part of us believes nothing will be right again.
But actually I believe these things actually do change us for the better. It’s like nature’s way of doing a rapid mutation, sometimes only lasting seconds, as in the case of my accident, but with everlasting positive effects.
In one of my karmic lives, I must have been a sea creature–specifically some sort of sponge-like aquatic marine form no doubt. There I was, a mulitcelluar organism filled with pores so the water could just flow through me. As the oceans currents would flow around me, whether turbulent or calm, I sucked up the salty stream going my way.
Now, in this life time, it appears I continue to suck up most things that float nearby me. The energy that is around me, whether positive or negative, seems to sink into my pores like a sponge out of water. It absorbs into me, even if I am trying hard to deflect it with the best of my defenses: meditation, positive self talk, exercise and simply just being happy myself.
As long as I can recall, I’ve been chided for not have that tougher skin, that shield to bounce the bad ju-ju of others off me. Nope, I never could do it successfully for very long. In fact, many years ago I would actively try to save every soul until (finally) I learned this was a lost cause and slowly ruining my soul.
But even working hard to create my own bubble–with my absorbent nature–stuff seeps in and I find myself struggling to stay afloat, focused, energized and positive myself. It’s often the chameleon effect. I try to stay upbeat, but it becomes slowly draining and the sponge, more and more full of water, can hold no more. Simply wrung out.
When being in an environment that is consistently difficult, trying to stay afloat is like treading water to exhaustion. Nothing can float forever and eventually one dips below the surface and, well, disappears. One loses oneself no matter how hard you try.
This isn’t what I want. If I once lived below the ocean, while a beautiful and wondrous place I’m sure, I am now a creature of light. It’s where I belong and am meant to be. Some days I feel like it’s hard to be around others because of their energy…but maybe it’s because I just haven’t found my tribe yet.
Meanwhile, I rejuvenate when I’m alone, work hard not to absorb when around others and continue to keep my head above water following the sun while looking for my island.
There are tons of Mockingbirds where I live now. I hear them and see them every day and this has made me wonder about them and their possible significance in my life. When I walk the dog at 4 am, I hear one in the same tree serenading me. I’ve read that it is a rare bird that will sing in moonlight. How lovely!
It reminds me of a poem I wrote many, many years ago, when I was just 21 and about to get married for the first time. It started:
The first bird of the morning called to me
And I answered…
That’s all I recall of the poem, but I was writing about a Mockingbird. The marriage ended, but my memory of the Mockingbird song has not.
Peterson’s Field guide says of the Mockingbird song: “…a varied, prolonged succession of notes and phrases, each repeated a half-dozen times or more before changing. Many Mockingbirds are excellent mimics of other species.”
One wonders what nature was thinking to have this species mock other birds? Mocking in humans is often considered cruel and is discouraged. To mock another is in a way to make fun of their song or their voice. But somehow the Mockingbird never appears anything but lovely and bold in her sweet aria.
They say: imitation is also the highest form of flattery. So then, maybe this bird is merely trying her best to blend in to the chorale around her? I’ve always been very outspoken and said my own thing and usually disagree with the current crowd. My refrain is rarely in sync with others and this has caused me much heartache.
In the book “Animal Speak” by Ted Andrews, he says of Mockingbirds: “Whenever the Mockingbird arrives, look for opportunities to sing forth your own song. Follow your own path.” Maybe by knitting the ideas and voices of many, I’ve tried to speak out boldly like a Mockingbird in my own way.
I know it is a protective bird, flying at me if I get too close to its nest. And they are fearless and will live near humans–that’s why I see them everywhere here! They seem to love to perch up high and belt their anthems, always with a sharp eye on the observer.
What does this mocking, mimicking, bold and fearless bird mean to my life? I am trying to learn my song, but also blend the chorus of others into a melody so that my song becomes richer and more beautiful. I have absorbed from others their songs and listened to their wisdom and woven it into my own verse.
And I am finally learning to stand up on the highest point and sing out loudly without fear of what others might think of me. To be bold and fearless like the Mockingbird and to protect those people and ideals I hold dear.
Sometimes there are moments in life where if we stand too close to something they become distorted and ugly. The looking at them make them turn into something we do not recognize, maybe something that was once familiar to us. It’s like approaching a glittering thing and realizing it is the eye of the venomous spider lying in wait–that eye’s reflection meant to draw you in to its unexpected web.
These moments can change us, make us too into something different from who we were or wanted to be. Maybe they frightened us or saddened us when we discovered that the treasure or beauty we saw from a distance was instead only a drab landscape when standing on the edge of its topography. Then the widening sink-holes appear or the quick sand to gobble you beneath hungry earth.
From afar it’s hard to judge. But close up every blemish, hair follicle and true bit of ones convoluted character rears its ugly head when two circle one another like ritualistic beasts. It’s easy in the wide open prairie or dense forests to ‘know’ your fellow wanderer as they slip in and out behind branch and stone or up and down sandy dunes. It’s when caught in the close confines of a culvert and trapped unable to leave that one learns that friend may become foe.
Blurring ones eyes and keeping the world as an impressionist painting may be the easy way out. Taking the risk and standing face to face with another or hiking far enough into the horizon to break down beauty into minutiae may hold no gifts in the end.
Or, if by luck, the one looking back holds your soul–or the minutiae hides a gem, then maybe it was worth the risk.