As We Walk Upon The Water

 Pretty little Red Bird singing in my tree. Belting out a song like it’s a ‘Glory Be.’    “Pay attention, Child, Whenever you see me. I have a Cardinal message for you. Don’t you See?” Red Winged Black Bird perches on the wire. “ Pay attention, Child, and let me lift you higher. Flying’s not so hard if you just trust your wings. Give each new Dawn the Blessing of what you can bring.” Blue Jay dives down deep onto the ground. Silently and mindfully, without making a sound. “Look, Child, Look at all the harvest I have found. Horns of Plenty everywhere, enough to go around.” One Robin, Two Robins, Two Robins, Three. Mama Robin scoops the Seed into the trusting beaks. “Feed, Child, Feed on all this bounty at your feet. There is seed aplenty for your every need. It’s the Natural Order, Child, just follow me. The Seed that Glows within you guides you to the Feed.” Black Crow glides and dips his Bread into the Water.         “Make sure, Child, that gratitude is what you offer. Worry will weig

 I have recently retired. It has taken me awhile to grow into the Grace of what this means. To retire is to step back and to step forward. It can be a place of rest and tender movement. Like a Mercy. Guiding me to walk in new found Faith. Moving in Trust. Making the pilgrimage into freshly anointed spaces. There have been two droughts in my life as of late. One was the physical lack of rain. One was the spiritual lack of assurances I had grown accustomed to.  My Father left this earth not long ago. And my Mother not long after.  My Father had become a master of sending me messages to guide me and uplift me and assure me of his presence. But there had been no word from him for so long. And only an echo chamber of my own voice falling back on me when I called out to my Mother. I decided to assign myself two daily jobs of steady work. One would be to “work the beads” and the other would be to feed the birds who’d struggled through the drought. On my prayer beads I would speak. And I would

 The news of the day, the anxiety of my own heart and the call of my Soul, have conspired together to compel me to make a movement of turning around. As a daily practice I have begun to say certain prayers on a strand of beads to anchor myself in calm certainty and abiding faith. As I pray I am brought more deeply into the present moment, where the prayers of my heart form inaudible, unspeakable words of silent surrender. My prayer beads form a ladder that I climb to reach the lap of solace and release the clutter of words that occlude my Sky. The clouds in my mind lose their hold as I loosen my grip.  I have chosen ancient prayers to lead me into the sea of stillness. I confess, however, that these prayers have been my first lessons in mindfulness, alignment, certainty and right relationship. I have not wished to utter the words of others that I cannot honestly speak from my heart. And, yet, I have felt deep affection for the ancient alchemy of words that have fallen from lips that ha

 My new doctors office is located diagonally across from the last place I had lunch with my mother and the last place I had lunch with my father. Not so long ago. Yet, so very far away. It is at this tender intersection where the young technician gave me simple instructions on how to breathe. She asked me to inhale naturally and then exhale fully. My mind flashed to the garden center cafe as I took a breath in. I remembered my mother in the car, not fully aware of where we were going or why. I remembered the Vine we bought that would bloom in the Spring. I gasped for breath. The technician said we’d try again. I took in as much breath as I could and again was transported.  To the lack of rain, to the barren soil, to the desert terrain. To my fear that the Vine would not thrive. Could I keep it alive? Without Sun, without Rain? “Exhale!”, I heard the technician plead, as I tried to get back to my body now trying to breathe. We tried it again. I took a breath in. And I landed dead square

 I have recently had to remember how to unplug and how to tune in. There have been several diagnoses. Some for myself. Some for those I love. A diagnosis can be a slippery slope. Of action and pause. Of reflection and cause. Of claiming, reframing and finding out what we are made of. The daily news confounds my nervous system. Although I feel I must not look away, and I must do my part, a steady diet of what is wrong does not feed me strong enough seeds of what I can do to make “right”. I’ve turned to distractions that I told myself were for my enlightenment. In particular, a series of spiritual stories on film that captured my attention and made me want to be a better person. I visited the social media pages of others who had gathered there. To my surprise they were filled with judgments, criticisms and condemnations. A virtual platform of “my sense of rightness” throwing stones at      “your sense of rightness.”  It was painful and felt like a mirror of what I have to work on within