Words are few in me these days as I hobble around … in the middle of all the surprises I received the following from Dave Grant. So amazing how a glimpse of resilient nature restores the soul. This flower sings, can you hear?
I know what I instantly glimpsed when glancing down at life’s “handiwork” but…what do you see here?
There’s actually a better image, a sharper shot of this sugar spill but it doesn’t show what I see as well. Just as I was uttering something to myself about choices I’m making the cannister slipped out of my hands. I stood there laughing. But I still needed my coffee and that 5 second rule was ticking off the moment of reckoning. So, I grabbed a spoon and scooped the top of the mountain of sugar back into the cannister. I left the mess in order to get on with what I’d been in the middle of doing. But I glanced down and wow. The growl of tracks whispering a recurring message caught me up in surprise, arrested my flow.
I had a night of dark, stark concern, soul-searching (more like soul-shredding, ripping agonizing) for the next move in my life. At every turn, animal signs. The wolf. The tiger (or any feline wonder). The hawk. They all have one thing in common in my own story. They share the sharp-eyed, keen-eared, relentless stalking care involved in treading a path out of oppression, away from manufactured being and into the wilds of authenticity. They haunt my world when I’m losing sight, when the sounds of so much more “important” noise drown out the truth. As much as I’m NOT happy I hadn’t yet run out of the “bad” sugar (as opposed to the “not as bad” sugar that is not bleached, not as unwholesome), I wasn’t looking for the fast dump or the paw print moment. It just accidentally happened. And now I can go find the sweetness. (Speaking in layers here!)
All I can say in light of this “mishap” message: life’s truths and love’s flow relentlessly stalk us when we most need their confident tread.
So much ice on our worlds these days, it motivated me to unearth a photo from the big snow of last month. But I’ve precious little to say today, words and impressions of rich support quiet me on levels needful. This is the winter. The time of pulling in, of disintegration and preparation. Nature, life hibernates here . . .