Last night, after a long work week, I was driving home. I’d just had dinner with my daughter and the autumn evening was settling in. I was feeling grateful for my warm soup and the warmth of being with my dear daughter. I decided to take the back road home as it is my favorite and it always slows me down in ways the highway cannot. The mountains were growing dark and glorious as the sky created its own whispered painting that drew me in. The moon was just a sliver, just enough light to accent the sleepy blues and warm golds cupping it. I drank that image. I smoothed it across my heart and breathed its life into my own. And if that were not enough, before I could fully appreciate what I saw, a perfectly formed V of geese flew across that image. That moment was as much of a blessing as any I’ve known.
This morning, I woke with the rambling lines of this Wendell Berry poem weaving through my mind.
When despair grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
I think, perhaps, I was not meant to be a human being. I’ve believe this for some time. Prior to last night’s experience, I’ve thought that really I am simply meant to be spirit, to be blessing, to be goodness… not in any sort of human form, just a presence that extends wholeness. But last night’s gifts of sky and moon and geese evoke new wonderings. Perhaps I was meant to be part of the natural world. Perhaps I was meant to be a goose who never sat in a classroom or studied on the internet how to fly in formation, but rather followed the truest instincts in her heart and took to the sky in a southern flight at just the right moment in October. Or perhaps I was meant to be the sliver of the moon, who purely trusts the ebb and flow of light and darkness upon her surface, and who worries not if her place or tilt in the sky is perceived as remarkable. Maybe, I was meant to be the calm sky at twilight, melting daily into the colors that are unique with each setting sun and each phase of the moon. Never studying the great artistic masters, never competing for any prize, just allowing the warm colors to beautifully spread more peace across the sky.
Humans are gifted with minds, but we often lose them in the piddle paddle of ‘achievement’. I’ve never seen the ducks on the river handing out awards to the fastest swimmer. I’ve never watched an owl grow wise by pouring over policy manuals. I am not aware that grass is diligently trying to discover a chemical composition that will evoke a brighter green. And the goldfinch have never been required to obtain a license before their golds turn to brown in the winter.
I wonder if those in the natural world are ever afraid to follow their instincts. I wonder if they question who they are meant to be and what their purpose is in this world. The clearest part of me says they are not afraid, and they do not question. They live true without even planning to do so… as does spirit, as does goodness, as does blessing.
The seasons spin round. The sun and moon dance their dances, and the tides rise and fall. In the purest of ways, they are always giving us permission to live true. May it be so. May it be so.
This morning, I woke with the rambling lines of this Wendell Berry poem weaving through my mind.
When despair grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
I think, perhaps, I was not meant to be a human being. I’ve believe this for some time. Prior to last night’s experience, I’ve thought that really I am simply meant to be spirit, to be blessing, to be goodness… not in any sort of human form, just a presence that extends wholeness. But last night’s gifts of sky and moon and geese evoke new wonderings. Perhaps I was meant to be part of the natural world. Perhaps I was meant to be a goose who never sat in a classroom or studied on the internet how to fly in formation, but rather followed the truest instincts in her heart and took to the sky in a southern flight at just the right moment in October. Or perhaps I was meant to be the sliver of the moon, who purely trusts the ebb and flow of light and darkness upon her surface, and who worries not if her place or tilt in the sky is perceived as remarkable. Maybe, I was meant to be the calm sky at twilight, melting daily into the colors that are unique with each setting sun and each phase of the moon. Never studying the great artistic masters, never competing for any prize, just allowing the warm colors to beautifully spread more peace across the sky.
Humans are gifted with minds, but we often lose them in the piddle paddle of ‘achievement’. I’ve never seen the ducks on the river handing out awards to the fastest swimmer. I’ve never watched an owl grow wise by pouring over policy manuals. I am not aware that grass is diligently trying to discover a chemical composition that will evoke a brighter green. And the goldfinch have never been required to obtain a license before their golds turn to brown in the winter.
I wonder if those in the natural world are ever afraid to follow their instincts. I wonder if they question who they are meant to be and what their purpose is in this world. The clearest part of me says they are not afraid, and they do not question. They live true without even planning to do so… as does spirit, as does goodness, as does blessing.
The seasons spin round. The sun and moon dance their dances, and the tides rise and fall. In the purest of ways, they are always giving us permission to live true. May it be so. May it be so.
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