TREE TALES
Kids do the darnest things when they are in the way of behaviour's trouble. A hideout under the bed - the back of the closet behind clothes is always a great hiding place - putting a favorite blankie in a doll suitcase and 'running away' is the story of a few ...at least a trip around the block before they change their mind. As for me..?... well, when I was a kid I headed for the tree south of my farm-home driveway and climbed to the top in about 30 seconds flat! The view from the top was always calming and I felt safe (at least until my hunger got the best of me and I descended to face my punishment). It was in the treetops as a kid with the gently swaying branches that I fell in love with trees. My tree-fascination remains all these years later, though a climb to the top is no longer an option for these 'mature adult' joints of mine.
A couple months ago I sat under the shelter of a tree, resting against its trunk, looking out over the California seascape before me. My spirit roamed. Connectiing with the tree, I was anchored to the earth I love. My fingers curled around the thick grasses, coarser than than the turf back home. The salty sea air brushed my face sending a tingle down my spine. Even on a hot summer California day, a beach breeze brings a cooling that refreshes the weariest of earths' warfaring strangers. How is it that I, this meandering midwestern soul, should find myself at this time and place in life, with a journey before me, unencumbered by responsibilities of yesteryear? Was this always part of a plan? I think of the plaque hanging in my mobile home, gifted by a friend - it declares, "Life is about how you handle Plan B." The singleness of my Plan B is feeling more normal as the days tick off the calendar. This tree I'm attached to ... is it living Plan A or Plan B? Was it intended to grow straight up and branch out evenly? Are its left-leaning branches formed as a result of Plan B - the devastating storm that ripped off its right side, leaving it to repair itself through the years with the uneven scars of a trunk that lacks symmetry. Yet, it thrives - still. Such a great metaphor for life.
The Oregon coast trees bend, curl and chisel in the oddest directions, altered by the unrelenting costal winds. Their foliage stripped away with such repetition that they resemble wire sculptures, fashioned for a gallery of curious onlookers to interpret. These barely breathing towers of sculptural beauty are as varied as the stars in the sky. Battered by nature's fury, their lifeblood seeps away leaving a once glorious tree to its twisted, petrified skeletal state. Even now, as I re-live my day's journey on the Orgeon costal highway of a month ago, the artist in me delights in the 30-second peek at these beauties as my RV motored through the fog. The great white blanket of mist drifted down and vanished in ghostly fashion. Oregon pleasures live on in my memories.
Trees sacrifice themselves without intention. Shelter for us human-folk are among the devouring lions. The great rainforests south of the equator are disappearing, sacrificed for the cause of beef-eating human carnivores. Therein lies a much larger story on the eating preferences of the world's population. The green movement has made great strides in the past decade, restoring some hope for our grandchildren and the generations to come. Tree replanting, sometimes with human intention and sometimes through the course of nature's regenerational habits inspires me. My 'Yellowstone in a Day' journey a number of weeks back enlightened me to the miracles of nature. The great Yellowstone fires of the 1980's wiped out roughly 40% of its forest. Viewing the thriving new green terrain gave this nature-girl hope for tomorrow's forests, worldwide.
It is fall in Minnesota. I walked today on the trails of a nature reserve I frequented in my life of a decade earlier. The leaves are turning. The smells of autumn fill the air. I kick at the fallen leaves and relish the moment. Sunshine floods my face and I hear the birds. Raising my arms and a Mary Tyler Moore twirl (without the hat), I stride to my Mr. P, smiling at natures beauty. God has done a 'bang-up job' with nature today. Life - such a gift.
Regeneration, whether inward or outward, in nature or in nurture of our souls, brings vitality to life. A seed, a bud, sunshine and rain, a flower for our tomorrows.
Intothewind-
with NatureGirl.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
SHELTER
Given the opportunity to luxuriate in the guestroom of dear ones of my family this past week, I find myself having a conversation with - myself. To have or not to have - the benefits of micro or macro space. On the one hand, a person can move, unrestricted, in a large bedroom and, on the other hand, the cocooning nurture of a micro-mobile bedroom seems to foster unrestricted soul work - a contemplative space. My cerebral conversation has been quite a lively one. Case in point: I find myself at this very moment in my mobile digs writing this blog, something I have been attempting to do, unsuccessfully in the guest-space bedroom where I have been hanging my hat the past week. Seems to me I am more creative in littel ol' Pedro's small space, invigorating my spirit. As I glance through my RV window, a cluster of sheltering maples defines the beach of the azure lake a stones' throw away. For this time in my life, this pilgrimage I am on, I have found my contemplative spirit thriving in this micro world of mine.
An inspirational book responsible for my present journey continues to enlighten me to the purpose of my pilgrimage - a set apart journey, to give birth to a life with greater meaning.
Tibetan pilgrimages, I've learned, are undertaken with a vibrancy for the giving and receiving of both spiritual and material blessings. Tibetans practice pilgrimage by circling mountains. The aboriginals of Australia are a wandering people. Nomads of the middle east (Bedouins), are a wandering people as well. Simplicity - mandatory - for a nomadic lifestyle. My life over the past 3 months has been a conglomeration of uncomplicated days, filled with mystery, discovery and revelation. Naming the purpose of my journey was, for me, the lid on my soup kettle. My journey was thus christened: "A Reclaiming of Family Relationships - a Rediscovery of my Future." It is happening folks. The embryo is present. I am blessed to be giving a small tidbit of my gifts - an art piece to each niece or nephew I visit and I am blessed to receive - tidbits of insight and wisdom from the generation of folk younger than myself. The birthing of my future will commence - in God's own time..
A conversation with a niece I recently visited, enlightened me to a surprising attitude about 'shelter'. One fact-finding study by an acquaintance of hers, relative to homelessness, revealed this interesting data - some people are homeless - by choice! Is it the wandering they find satisfying or is it simply they do not want to work. Therein lies a month's worth of debate. Seeking and creating daily shelter is required by the homeless, as well as the pilgrim, the complexity of which varies greatly. In my present 'mode operendi', a pilgrim on the road with my trusty RV, my daily challenge is simple - where to park for the night. Mostly, it has been rather easy, though I could indeed share a few stories in that regard! The easy places- RV resorts, state parks and driveways of relatives. The 'not-so-sure' places I have hidden away for another time and place! Shedding the extraneous and needless encumbrences at the periphery of my contemporary life has lightened my pilgrimage journey.
As my wandering year continues to unfold before me, the way of the pilgrim is settling into my days. A true pilgrim's progress is twofold in measurement; exterior progress -- the movement of your body in a mobile vehicle or on a foot path - as well as interior progress -- the movement of your soul from one consciousness to another. Journeys welcome mystery - not the problematic sort - the awakening and transformational sort. Shelter is primal for all living creatures. Indulge me for a moment as I share a California story.
My daughter and family recently relocated to southern California. Eighteen hundred miles and 10 days after I embarked on my journey, I landed in the shelter of her loving arms. To say that I felt a bit of paradise invade me is an understatement as I relished the embrace and surveyed the beautiful palm-treed community she now calls home. My sleep space in California became even smaller - sharing a bed with my 5-year-old granddaughter. Who is to complain though, when a tiny hand slips into mine in the middle of the night. Daily walks on the sidewalks of her gated community became my norm.
On a particularly nostalgic day in June, I was stopped dead in my tracks by a curious new phenomenon to this midwesterner. Lumbering ever so slowly in front of me was what looked like a dagger-shaped earthworm carrying a very large rockish parcel on its back. I had heard my daughter talking about all the snails on the sidewalks, but had not witnessed them myself, until this particular day. " So this is what a snail looks like," I thought. I crouched down to observe the intricacies of this little guy with the big burden on his back. With agonizing delays, Mr. Snail made his way across the great space of concrete leaving a mucousy sludged trail in his wake. The sliver-sized antennae with the micron orbs on their tips must, I muse, contain some radar-scoping capabilities. Curiosity in high gear, I decided to 'fool around' with Mr. Snail. I reached down with a stick in hand and touched his large shell perched on his rail-thin body. With lightening speed, his whole earthwormish body retracted to within his shell and there he sat, still as the rocks on the edge of the sidewalk. "Wow, pretty nifty," I thought. A real-life example of 'shelter' - a recluse from the storms of life and potential storms of life was staring me in the face. My ensuing days brought a great many life metaphors to my thoughts as I recalled my curious investigation of this little creature. l will leave you to excavate life's meanings in this story of a snail's shelter.
In the quietness of my midnight's meditation, I heard, on that night in my consciousness, the strains of an oft-sung melody - 'On Eagles Wings'.... "You who dwell in the shelter of the Lord who abide in His shadow for life....He will raise you up on eagles' wings - bear you on the breath of dawn - make you to shine like the sun and hold you in the palm of His hand..."
Flying free in the face of life's storms, I am assured of the protection of the Almightly, of the shelter promised repititiously in the psalmodies of David. The great 'I AM' is renewing - who I am.
In this I rest.
Intothewind
with Naturegirl
Given the opportunity to luxuriate in the guestroom of dear ones of my family this past week, I find myself having a conversation with - myself. To have or not to have - the benefits of micro or macro space. On the one hand, a person can move, unrestricted, in a large bedroom and, on the other hand, the cocooning nurture of a micro-mobile bedroom seems to foster unrestricted soul work - a contemplative space. My cerebral conversation has been quite a lively one. Case in point: I find myself at this very moment in my mobile digs writing this blog, something I have been attempting to do, unsuccessfully in the guest-space bedroom where I have been hanging my hat the past week. Seems to me I am more creative in littel ol' Pedro's small space, invigorating my spirit. As I glance through my RV window, a cluster of sheltering maples defines the beach of the azure lake a stones' throw away. For this time in my life, this pilgrimage I am on, I have found my contemplative spirit thriving in this micro world of mine.
An inspirational book responsible for my present journey continues to enlighten me to the purpose of my pilgrimage - a set apart journey, to give birth to a life with greater meaning.
Tibetan pilgrimages, I've learned, are undertaken with a vibrancy for the giving and receiving of both spiritual and material blessings. Tibetans practice pilgrimage by circling mountains. The aboriginals of Australia are a wandering people. Nomads of the middle east (Bedouins), are a wandering people as well. Simplicity - mandatory - for a nomadic lifestyle. My life over the past 3 months has been a conglomeration of uncomplicated days, filled with mystery, discovery and revelation. Naming the purpose of my journey was, for me, the lid on my soup kettle. My journey was thus christened: "A Reclaiming of Family Relationships - a Rediscovery of my Future." It is happening folks. The embryo is present. I am blessed to be giving a small tidbit of my gifts - an art piece to each niece or nephew I visit and I am blessed to receive - tidbits of insight and wisdom from the generation of folk younger than myself. The birthing of my future will commence - in God's own time..
A conversation with a niece I recently visited, enlightened me to a surprising attitude about 'shelter'. One fact-finding study by an acquaintance of hers, relative to homelessness, revealed this interesting data - some people are homeless - by choice! Is it the wandering they find satisfying or is it simply they do not want to work. Therein lies a month's worth of debate. Seeking and creating daily shelter is required by the homeless, as well as the pilgrim, the complexity of which varies greatly. In my present 'mode operendi', a pilgrim on the road with my trusty RV, my daily challenge is simple - where to park for the night. Mostly, it has been rather easy, though I could indeed share a few stories in that regard! The easy places- RV resorts, state parks and driveways of relatives. The 'not-so-sure' places I have hidden away for another time and place! Shedding the extraneous and needless encumbrences at the periphery of my contemporary life has lightened my pilgrimage journey.
As my wandering year continues to unfold before me, the way of the pilgrim is settling into my days. A true pilgrim's progress is twofold in measurement; exterior progress -- the movement of your body in a mobile vehicle or on a foot path - as well as interior progress -- the movement of your soul from one consciousness to another. Journeys welcome mystery - not the problematic sort - the awakening and transformational sort. Shelter is primal for all living creatures. Indulge me for a moment as I share a California story.
My daughter and family recently relocated to southern California. Eighteen hundred miles and 10 days after I embarked on my journey, I landed in the shelter of her loving arms. To say that I felt a bit of paradise invade me is an understatement as I relished the embrace and surveyed the beautiful palm-treed community she now calls home. My sleep space in California became even smaller - sharing a bed with my 5-year-old granddaughter. Who is to complain though, when a tiny hand slips into mine in the middle of the night. Daily walks on the sidewalks of her gated community became my norm.
On a particularly nostalgic day in June, I was stopped dead in my tracks by a curious new phenomenon to this midwesterner. Lumbering ever so slowly in front of me was what looked like a dagger-shaped earthworm carrying a very large rockish parcel on its back. I had heard my daughter talking about all the snails on the sidewalks, but had not witnessed them myself, until this particular day. " So this is what a snail looks like," I thought. I crouched down to observe the intricacies of this little guy with the big burden on his back. With agonizing delays, Mr. Snail made his way across the great space of concrete leaving a mucousy sludged trail in his wake. The sliver-sized antennae with the micron orbs on their tips must, I muse, contain some radar-scoping capabilities. Curiosity in high gear, I decided to 'fool around' with Mr. Snail. I reached down with a stick in hand and touched his large shell perched on his rail-thin body. With lightening speed, his whole earthwormish body retracted to within his shell and there he sat, still as the rocks on the edge of the sidewalk. "Wow, pretty nifty," I thought. A real-life example of 'shelter' - a recluse from the storms of life and potential storms of life was staring me in the face. My ensuing days brought a great many life metaphors to my thoughts as I recalled my curious investigation of this little creature. l will leave you to excavate life's meanings in this story of a snail's shelter.
In the quietness of my midnight's meditation, I heard, on that night in my consciousness, the strains of an oft-sung melody - 'On Eagles Wings'.... "You who dwell in the shelter of the Lord who abide in His shadow for life....He will raise you up on eagles' wings - bear you on the breath of dawn - make you to shine like the sun and hold you in the palm of His hand..."
Flying free in the face of life's storms, I am assured of the protection of the Almightly, of the shelter promised repititiously in the psalmodies of David. The great 'I AM' is renewing - who I am.
In this I rest.
Intothewind
with Naturegirl
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