"Rarely do we realize that we are in the midst of the extraordinary. Miracles occur all around us. Signs from God show us the way, angels plead to be heard, but we pay little attention to them...We do not recognize that God is wherever we allow the Divine to enter." (Paulo Coello)
Michael just called from Denver, via the miracle of the cell phone. This morning he was in Covington, and in a few short hours he'll be here, via the miracle of air travel. Last night I was sitting in Western Canada watching a program from a t.v. station in Michigan that I knew my mom, in Louisiana, would enjoy. I picked up the phone, and soon we were watching it 'together,' though thousands of miles apart. Yesterday the high here was 58; it was windy, chilly, raining. Tomorrow it will be almost 90 and bright sunshine. The earth shifts, the weather changes, the tides - at their highest this morning - will be at their lowest at the same time in a few days. Sometimes I have to just stop and breathe it all in - these extraordinary reminders of the miracles all around us. Every moment, the awareness breaks open the shell of the ordinary and lets in a little of the light of Divine magic in the world all around.
The dryer is spinning my clothes for me; my refrigerator hums away, keeping my food cold and fresh; the fountain outside makes a joyful noise; an eagle flies through the blue skies outside the window, crows following in close pursuit. The car carries me to the grace of Rathtrevor every morning. Attention invites me to watch, to see beyond simple actions into the tenderness that is the Love all around.
On the way home from the village yesterday, I slowed for a station wagon backing out of a driveway. It was loaded down with signs of a family on a journey: a roof rack filled with luggage, the rear compartment piled high with jackets, little heads all in a row in the backseat. On the driver's side, an arm appeared out of the window, waving a farewell. Near the garage, a tall frail elderly man stood waving back. He turned to go into the house, then did an about-face and waved, then waved again to a car that had already turned the corner and was out of sight. He continued to watch the empty street, then gave another wave of his arm, this one almost a salute - a finality - before walking slowly through his bright colorful garden into his home. The whole thing took maybe two minutes, but an entire story of joy, family, loneliness, connection and leaving unfolded, and hung delicately in the soft drizzle. It carried me back to my father-in-law's joy with his family, and to his tears whenever one of his children drove away after a visit, the love so intense, the parting made bearable by the anticipation of a future visit. Frederick Buechner writes that we can kiss our families and friends good-bye and put miles between us, but we carry each other in our hearts and in our minds because we 'don't just live in a world, a world lives in us."
And there is also the challenge of holding this awareness in the strange and comic moments of life. For the last few mornings as I've walked along the edge of the water at Rathtrevor, I've felt a bit like Tippi Hedren in Hitchcock's The Birds. I have clearly gotten on the wrong side of some bad-ass crows.
There is a side-path which leads to a small clearing, a wonderful place to do morning ChiQong. But lately crows have met me at the edge of this path, flying in one by one until they are perched overhead. One caws, the rest take up the chant, and I'm suddenly dive-bombed by two very aggressive birds. They swoop in close enough for the sound of their wings and their raucous hollering to be quite intimidating. I've tried reasoning with them, reassuring them, waving them off, and just running through, but they are persistent. It's no wonder that groups of crows are called 'murders.'
I'm beginning to take this personally, as others seem to walk through the area unscathed. My Animalspeak book says that crows 'are messengers calling to us about the creation and magic that is alive within our world everyday and available to us.' While reminders are always helpful, these messengers are over-the-top. I'm hoping that there are young fledglings nearby who are being protected and will be on their way soon.
Mostly I continue to wonder at this new energy, this new 'gift' that Rathtrevor has given. I observe and hear crows differently now, and watch them spin their magic of attack on the eagles who invade their nests and kill their young. They are fierce protectors, family oriented, and among the smartest, if not the smartest, of birds. They must constantly be alert and aware of changes in their surroundings, and perceived threats to their well-being.
In the mystery that is life, all of these energies work in harmony in Nature. We label one as attractive and good, and another as 'bad ass,' and annoying. Somehow they all have their place. How we perceive the events of our lives brings us peace, or brings us pain. A man waves goodbye to his family, a crow attacks, Michael arrives home, my cell phone drops in the ocean, a loved one calls, another is ill. We live with the miraculous in the trivia and details of everyday life. "God is in the details," Barbara Kingsolver writes, "the completely unnecessary miracles sometimes tossed-up as stars to guide us. They are the promise of good fortune in a cloudless day, and the animals in clouds; look hard enough, and you'll see them. Don't ask if they're real." They're all gift.
YAY GOD
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