Sparrow Song

Communication is hard.

Cocoons

Life is cyclical. There is no denying it. If you read this, you are in a cycle. Whether at a cellular, psychological, spiritual, financial or circadian level, you are somewhere within a cycle.

Cycles for the most part come in stages. Stages of cycles are not equal. Though all are critical, some are just more pleasant than others. Take the cycle of a butterfly for instance. Caterpillering around, eating yourself silly is pretty good, but come on, flying around, being beautiful, pollinating, living on sugar water through a straw seems to be the better part of the process....or is it? I guess it is just the way you perceive it. And then, well, there is the cocoon stage.

The cocoon stage is not too attractive and from the action point of view, pretty darn boring, but it is probably the most critical and interesting part of the cycle. The reason I say this is because nothing and everything is going on----the paradox of the cocoon so to speak. I love this. For me the chrysalis is one of the greatest parables.

The cocoon is where the one thing (caterpillar-- etc,) becomes cut off from its former ways and nature. It blankets itself (it has no choice really, unless some other process interfers) from "caterpillarness" to engage in a pretty radical and who knows possibly violent transformation. It is a kind of miracle if you are into that sort of thing. Yet, while becoming "other," something of the former remains. That's pretty cool.

I have always wondered what it was like inside a cocoon. Does it hurt to become a butterfly? Does the inbetween know that it is changing? Is it conscious of anything? Maybe it actually dies a kind of insect death. No. I don't think so...it just evolves while NO ONE is looking. I could be wrong, scientists like to do that sort of thing, watch and take it all apart. I recently watched a baby show with Bronwyn on how modern sonography can really provide an amazingly clear photo of a baby doing some pretty fancy transforming in the womb. Nevertheless, metamorphasis for the most part, is an isolated affair, even if there is the occasional voyeur.

What comes out of the cocoon is fairly fragile however. Cocoon armor, while cramped, is awfully protective. Yes it is something new and beautifu,l but elusive, fragile and full of new caterpillars.......hmmm??... ....cycles.

Something of the human soul can be compared to, though not perfectly, a butterfly cycle, but I won't go in to that. I just know, that is, in my analogy world, that for a human soul, cocooning has to be hard because it involves immobilization, undistracted confinement, strangeness and maybe even violence. What changes, dissolves, expands?? Does the crawling ego become absorbed by a winged consciousness that is fragile but purposeful. Whatever the stages, one MUST become another and the same. If not......no more caterpillars. There is mystery and miracle in that.

A Time to Embrace

I want to get back to blogging, but I am mired in being overly self-conscious about my post topics, inertia, time constraints etc. Facebook is a bit too superficial and its tentacles spread too far and doesn't seem to be the place for real thoughts...I could be wrong.

I have sort of been re inspired to blog by an unlikely source....I barely know the person. I really enjoy her ease at the blog. No torment, not too opinionated and yet so thoughtful. Maybe I could re-dip my toe.

What to post is the question as my last one considered a heavy passage in my life. Though I still wrestle with all the issues of that blog, I am looking at it from another perspective...... no less challenging. So where do I start? Well, I think I will start with an inspiration which comes with a little irony.

A Facebook friend was participating in one of those chain type things which I should probably have resisted -------but I didnt. The post directed that you pick up a random book nearest to you, choose a particular page and sentence and then post it----seemed fun. Well, my sentence came from a book titled, The Heart of Henri Nouwen and the random sentence was: Today I can no longer say that, and my question has become: "How am I going to use the few years left to me? Wow!

Still being in the raw times of cancer-survival- world, those words fall heavy on me. Not to mention the ouji board temptation to succumb to the prophecy of their message. But really, who knows how long anyone has to live?

According to Henri Nouwen, time is not a measure of the years we have and anxiously cling to, but an opportunity to embrace ( or not embrace) God's love offered to us from eternity to eternity. I am drawn to this and it settles on my soul pretty well. How does that work though--- especially in the light of how hard it is too embrace God when it feels like He is not hugging back? What does it look like? Instead of seeing my life as time--- (this by the way becomes a huge thing when you have been doing the cancer dance)---see it as the opportunity to embrace that which is greater than myself.

Yes, that is a good thing....except for the fact that I'm a terrible hugger. This I have been told. My anemic hug has been labeled the "Heidi" hug. That bothers me. Perhaps I have embraced God the way I have embraced people. Who knows. Whether I get a few or many I don't know, but I guess this is the time to begin embracing......... darn that Facebook....

The Boat

The boat in Renouf's painting appears to be a character in the depiction itself. Ordinary, rough, and fairly confining, it possesses a life of its own and grounds the painting. For me it represents the idea of a believer’s journey.

The Christian life, by nature, is a dynamic, purposeful movement. It is never stagnant even when it may, discouragingly, seem so. The journey is a precise design and is the object on which God acts to draw the Christian towards him. The migration takes many forms as it, by instinct, presses towards the Father’s house. The path can be pleasant, monotonous, or more than flesh and blood can bear.

When I was first offered the words tumor, cancer, metastasis, I fled, in my mind, to the sanctuary of the 23^rd Psalm. Its verses have always exerted a power over my heart, mind and soul. But it was not until I lay in bed, fully terrified, trying to recite it, that I came to this notion that the psalm itself is the image of a pilgrimage. The words represent an odyssey of states of being or locations conducted by the Lord, who is the end of the passage itself.

At this point in my life I am painfully aware of traveling through a shadowland and it is hard not to give in to the fear of its awful presence. So, here I sit in this small confining space with a depth beneath me and a distance to go. As I am able, I hope to formulate my thoughts about my traveling companion.

Living With Birds

Years ago, inspired by a trip to the demonstration gardens, we decided trees brought not only continuous beauty, but also, refreshing shade to one’s little plot of land, so we planted many.

The trees are maturing nicely and with this invitation, many species of birds have chosen to occupy the leafy spaces. Beauty is like that, it multiplies and invites. On a daily basis, I encounter birds. I hear them; I watch them and try to understand the rhythm and importance of their brief lives. I can deeply say living with birds has been educational, spiritually inspiring and because we have a hunting cat…. sorrowful. But this is the point of my blog.

It’s important to set down that the birds stay because the presence of a habitat. Nothing particularly compelling about me draws them. Yet, regardless that they need me not, and in fact, prefer my absence, I persist by paying attention, providing water, occasional seeds and aiding them in their times of crisis.

Life is cruel to birds. They're mauled; poisoned; shot by BB guns; they drown in pools; their nests are blown down by heavy winds and their dead humiliated bodies litter the roads. Why bother?

Torn by a guilty conscience about meddling in the lives of wild things and tired of fishing dead birds from the pool and hating my cat to a point of abuse, I have, in seasons, given up on birds; deciding it best that an arm’s length approach would preserve and protect me from the untidiness of it all. It works for awhile, but then I look outside, see the doves waiting patiently by the feeder and I can’t help it. The doves always draw me back. Beauty is like that; you have to be willing to accept it all in its fallen state.

Deciding to share life with birds is similar to deciding to share life with others of the human sort. At times a sense of comfort, connection and beauty exists in the co-mingling, but then the inevitable reality of the pain which belongs to getting involved with living things unfolds. This is the “Gordian Knot” for me which dominates much of my internal dialogue.

Sitting Here

Just sitting here, surfing the internet( procrastinating some needed studying for an exam), Gregg is on his way to pick up Serenity for a sleepover and Caitlin is into her last 30 minutes of her violin practice. She is playing, La Folia by Correlli and somehow I am inspired by the piece to write a blog spur of the moment.

Caitlin went to a very advanced music camp for ten days in Ottawa, Kansas where she was a VERY small fish in a big pond... and it brought her playing dramatically to another level.

I am fortunate to be serenaded by Corelli, Accolay and Bach in my own home. Being raised around classical music, I am therapied by it. Her playing is particularly on tonight.

Caitlin has become more emotionally involved with her playing in the last months. I think her music is helping her through adolescent issues. She is changing--- growing up, getting quiet(more than usual), testing boundaries and frequently challenging our double standards. Gregg and I run to each other for comfort, advice and blame pretty often these days as we try to navigate the strange waters. I hope we haven't screwed her up too much.

Bronwyn on the other hand........well that is another story. The only thing that comes to mind is Ballet, and mood swings right now. I do need to go in order to prepare for the onslaught of giggling, silliness and snacking that will take place when the sleepover begins. A little studying would be good too.


Good Night