chapter forty |
I return from almost six months in India at the point of collapse physically. It was a challenging trip, partly because I fell ill (with measles!) and partly because I was trying to accomplish a specific goal. In reality, I was pitting myself against a system that has its own rules—definitely a unique bubble to connect with. Even so, I was able to speak with several thousand young people on valuing their unique culture in general and, specifically, on living a conscious life. When I reach home, I head for the deck with my usual cup of tea. I know this will be only a brief stop, for I can no longer postpone working in the normal world. First, I have only a little money left. When I fire up my car with borrowed jumper cables, I find the air-conditioner is out again. A collection agency is phoning me trying to collect spurious charges made by First USA on my account. That other reality... When I came to the woods, I had wanted to get back to the essential peaceful Me. With time, I have come to understand that the me who lectures in India, the me who writes, the me who gardens and the me who deals with the city are all one face of the same coin. They are all guises of the essential peaceful Me. At times when I am relating with the natural creation, I feel that I am more connected with the silent Me. I think having this time of being able to connect to nature has been an integral part of the process. When I watch closely I find that that same consciousness can exist when I am writing. While in India, I definitely felt myself speaking from a quiet centered loving me. The silence is always there as I play out the different roles. In these moments one becomes a creator. I think true creativity—whether it be art, music, speaking or writing—is falling into a deeper part of ourselves that is connected with something beyond our individual desire to create something beautiful or to express something relevant. True creativity is a sharing from our deepest Self. Amidst late winter’s desolation, new creations are bursting forth. A breeze tosses the wisps of my hair away from my face. Taking in the dormant green herbage that surrounds me, I am observing a canvas that has been wiped clean for a new creation. I note the remnants of my past creations: the peach trees, gardenia bush and hydrangea are all dead. Their roots weren’t deep enough to sustain them through the hot dry weather last summer while I was in California. The heat was too much for the bees also; they flew away. Tough grasses and weeds have utterly overrun the tilled soil of my vegetable garden. Even the bricks that Michelle carefully laid out around the herb garden have been knocked askew by the mowing of the tractor. Amidst the desolation, new creations are bursting forth. Across the front of the house, the narcissus is in bloom. I am surprised, for last year they blossomed in December. Did they delay their blooming for two months awaiting my arrival? When I spot them, I immediately walk over to enjoy their fragrance and pristine beauty. A botanist would offer a logical explanation of why these tiny blossoms arrived two months later this year. As for me and the narcissus, we are content to stand in awe of each other. The next morning, I watch with incredulous delight as a Spicebush swallowtail emerges from its chrysalis in my caterpillar garden, still sitting on the kitchen windowsill. I had thought that the pupa must be dead, for it is almost a year old. Somehow I just could not toss it, even though all the other varieties hatched out last year. Despite the cool weather, I see green rosettes of the wildflowers I planted last spring, awaiting their moment to array themselves in the warmth of the sunshine. They seem to be reminding me that spring will come again... and again... and again... with its eternal renewal. I wonder where this great stream of wonderful energy will carry me. It is such a glorious day. Every leaf, every blade of grass, every yellow petal of a flower is shimmering and shining with the vibrant Life that we all participate in—consciously or unconsciously. I feel connected to the world of nature because it is natural—unafraid to be itself. I can take nothing from it nor give anything to it. Quietly observing, I remember the radiant everlasting gentle Me. I stretch out on the picnic table to bask in some morning sunshine. Before long the warmth of the rays tickle my skin to signal me to roll over. As I take in the vast blue heaven that stretches clear out to infinity, suddenly a hawk glides into view. As I watch, it makes wide circles that move closer and closer, until he is circling above me. His loud calls, more like a cat than a bird, affirm that he is a red-tail hawk. I don't know if he is saying hello or bidding me farewell. Surely, each parting is a new beginning. Try to imagine my delight when I go to shower and find a green tree frog on the deck floor. I get right down on my hands and knees to tell him how much I appreciate his presence. Eyeball to eyeball, we have a long conversation expressing our joy in living and loving in the Texas woods. We both agree that we are most grateful for having had this time and space to be true to ourselves. There are many new trails ahead. I may not know where I sleep tomorrow, but tonight I am grateful. As I fall asleep, I give thanks. Thank You for this day... Thank You for this life... Thank You for this love... Thank You for being me. And thank you for sharing my life, |