Just Past Two

Black Birds Migrating, Lake Ridge Road

From the side of the road I witness the graceful and exacting movement of the flock. Cars rush past oblivious to this awesome dance. There’s spaciousness in my chest and an intense feeling of gratitude overwhelms me. I don’t want them to leave! But they do and I must go, as well. I have someone special waiting for me to pick her up at 3:05.

Thank You

“Love cannot be far behind a grateful heart and thankful mind.” 

—A Course in Miracles

There is something pure and lovely about vulnerability mixed with a deep sense of thankfulness for the simple things in life that bring us joy. In this place where tears and a quickened heart rate are never far away, one is alert and receptive.  

Gratitude List for Summer 2015:

Left in between my front doors, a special gift from T.

‣ Watching my patient daughter play with four feral kittens. Her long and gently undulating hair aflame in the afternoon light

‣ Every Breath You Take: The Singles by The Police

‣ Wind in the leaves of the tall pines, maples, and oaks

‣ Curious blue-eyed dragonflies

‣ Sudoku!

‣ Henkell Rosé

‣ A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose by Eckhart Tolle

‣ Bob Burns Books, where we always find something special. This year it was two contemporary seafarer memoirs by female adventurers and a few Fairy Realm books in excellent condition.

‣ Afternoon concerts by the cicadas and crickets

‣ A virtual hug

‣ Enchanting sunlight in the early morning/evening

‣ The tribal drum of distant thunder followed by a gentle rain (that was pleasantly reminiscent of the sound of static at the end of a record)

A thoughtful gift from R. ♥

From L.: Peace & Tranquility

Simple Pleasures

shaking leaves transport me to the seaside

August insects make love in the tall grass

the high romance of flowers in bloom

sunlight dancing on water, leaves, and

in the highlights of her red/gold hair

health restored after weeks of illness

a feeling of lightness and ease

knowing for certain that someone cares

Gratitude

Whatever it is,

I cannot understand it,

although gratitude

stubbornly overcomes me

until I’m reduced to tears.

—Saigyō

An Omen

“When each day is the same as the next, 
it’s because people fail to recognize 

the good things that happen in their lives 
every day that the sun rises.”

~ Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

I picked up a film a few days ago called The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. A true story of a man who has a massive stroke in his early 40s leaving him devoid of even the smallest pleasure—like swallowing food or hugging his children. Although his brain is functioning perfectly, he is “locked-in” his body. His only form of communication is to blink his left eye. He ends up “dictating” a book about his incredible experience, which is the inspiration for the film. I’m reading the book now that is equally, if not more, touching than the movie.

My heart is flooded with emotion from what this story has resurrected in my mind. A sense of urgency to live life fully—without regret. In truth, I live my life fairly intensely. I love without reserve. I give my full attention to whoever shows up. But I still do my fair share of resisting my life situation. Often feeling a sense of impatience and sadness with how things are unfolding.

Jean-Dominique Bauby’s story reminds me how much we take for granted and just how amazing the human form is. We don’t need to add anything to ourselves. We are perfect just the way we are. Bauby was forced into a state of surrender. There was no way for him to remove himself from his situation. He had to adapt to endure his suffering. The remarkable thing is he does just that! He composes this beautiful story. He bares his soul. On one hand there is his loneliness, despair, and frustration for his predicament and on the other his ability to experience heart-swelling gratitude for the kindness of medical staff and loved ones. Here’s an excerpt that had me in tears last night. [Sandrine is his speech therapist]:

Sometimes the phone interrupts our work, and I take advantage of Sandrine’s presence to be in touch with loved ones, to intercept and catch passing fragments of life, the way you catch a butterfly. My daughter Céleste tells me of her adventures with her pony. In five months she will be nine. My father tells me how hard it is to stay on his feet. He is fighting undaunted through his ninety-third year. These two are outer links of the chain of love which surrounds and protects me. I often wonder about the effect of these one-way conversations on those at the other end of the line. I am overwhelmed by them. How dearly I would love to be able to respond with something other than silence to these tender calls. I know that some of them find it unbearable. Sweet Florence refuses to speak to me unless I first breathe noisily into the receiver which Sandrine holds glued to my ear. ‘Are you there, Jean-Do?’ she asks anxiously over the air.

And I have to admit that at times I do not know anymore.

The human body has its limitations and in a way we are all locked-in. Perhaps this is why this story is so powerful. It stirs a memory in our souls of the agony of being in human form. At the same time, our bodies and minds, that are so complex and extraordinary, have the capacity to experience beauty, grace, and the deepest emotion. There is much to delight in. There is much to be grateful for.

Two years ago in late summer, I was speeding down the highway to attend a wedding that I was late for. Butterflies were migrating and gathering nectar from the wildflowers that line the 401. Every now and again, a butterfly would fly into traffic. I watched their delicate bodies tossed about by the rush and heat of the cars and transport trucks. It seemed hopeless to me! How would they ever survive in these conditions? Yet some must and do because butterflies still grace my garden and delight me on my walks in the warm weather. We are not so different from these fragile beauties. What a world it would be if we treated each other, and all things, with reverence and tenderness. If I have any ambition in life, it is to do just that.

Note: In the film, Bauby’s “wife” (the mother of his children) is depicted in the most flattering light—visiting and caring for him in hospital. According to an article published in the Guardian though, it was his lover Florence Ben Sadoun who remained lovingly by his side and even held his hand when he died. Apparently, she has also written a book entitled La Fausse Veuve. If I can find an English translation, I intend to read that as well.