Rain Forest Man

In a thought, I went to the Rain Forest. I saw a man. He was hunting Monkey. I said to him, “My people are lost. Can you help us?” He kept hunting. I said, “I don't know what to do. Can you help?” He kept hunting. In frustration, I shouted, “We have forgotten so much, we don't even know that we have forgotten.” He stopped and turned his face toward me. Smiling gently, he said, “If all that is true, how is it that you knew to come here for answers?”

Nightshade

Deadly Nightshade is a viney plant that likes to grow around the garden. Right now there are large swaths of it growing North of the Rhubarb, covering the paths. The thing about Night Shade is it vines out from a central root. What can seem like a huge patch is actually only one plant. Nightshade reminds me that something can seem huge and overwhelming, when it actually is manageable. But in order to know that I have to start pulling.

Today, I will be paying attention to times when I am putting off getting started because I have already made the task overwhelming.

Cherry Tree

To the North of the cabin there is a Cherry tree. It is one of the largest and oldest trees on the land. It is dying, and eventually it will fall to the ground to begin the next cycle. But it's not dead yet. It is still tall and majestic, a sentry of the days when the land was a Cow pasture, and it stood alone.

Today, I am remembering to enjoy what is, and not be distracted but what will be.

Air

As I sat on the back deck this morning, I realized that the air that I breath connects me across time and space to everything. It is the air that has been breathed since there was air. It is the air that everyone breaths everywhere. There is only one air. Air connects us to one single cycle of breath, in each moment of each day.

Today, I am grateful for gift of air.

Moth

This morning I found Moth in the screen house. It was no bigger than an Appleseed. It is our practice here at the cabin to catch bugs trapped in the screen house, and bring them outside. My impulse about this moth, however, was different. Because it was so small, I thought I didn't need to do anything.

I was struck by the idea that this small creature didn't deserve the same care as something larger.

Today, I will be paying attention to how I make determinations about what deserves care and what does not, and the ideas behind these thoughts.

Comfrey

Tracks are everything and everything is a track. The Comfrey outside the Western window of the cabin is a track. I could follow the tracks of that plant back to the origins of how it came to be outside the window, but that is only one Comfrey path. The plant is also a track of its own origins back to the beginning. In its DNA, its roots, its Spirit, the tracks of its beginnings are all right in front of me.

It is the same for everything and everyone. I am a track of the path that brought me to this moment, right here, right now. I am a track of my ancestors and their origins. I am a track of the Earth, and the Cosmos, and the origins of everything. We all are. In this way, we are all connected to the infinite in every moment, in everything we do. We are inextricably linked to and a manifestation of the infinite. And its all staring back at you when you look in the mirror.

Today, I am remembering to pay attention to my connection to the infinite. I will use this to change my perspective when I am invited to take up the idea of finite possibilities.

Around the Corner

I didn't want to pick Strawberries today because I didn't want to accept the the harvest was waning. I did anyway, and found more than enough for breakfast. My path took me to the Mint for tea, then past the Wild Blueberry patch. The berries are just starting to ripen. Now my breakfast includes some of the beginnings of the Blueberry harvest. All this reminds me that abundance follows abundance. Rhubarb to Strawberries to Blueberries to Potatoes to Garlic to Apples to Pumpkins. On and on.

Today, I am paying attention to when my attachment to something can keep me from seeing the abundance that is around the corner. These are tracks of love.

Bug

While I was sitting this morning, Phoebe came and perched on the woodpile. She had a bug in her mouth. Phoebe seemed to doze for a moment, and I thought”What would happen if, in a doze, she didn't notice Hawk?” Then I thought, “Where is her mate? Is he dead?” Moments later, he showed up. I was relieved and noticed how much I loved them living on the East side of the cabin.

Later, as I opened the door to go pick Strawberries for breakfast, I startled Coopers Hawk. She flew from the ground up into the canopy. Not twenty feet to the North, on the dog run, Phoebe looked on. Had her mate just been killed? I walked down to where Hawk had been. There were small gray feathers scattered around in the grass. My heart sank. The other Phoebe flew away.

I walked up to the Strawberry patch to pick. I was not quite steady on my feet. In the moment it seemed that there were no more berries. “Has the time of Strawberries passed,” I thought? Then I began to see them. Still there. Still many. Why hadn't I see them moments before? “What else am I missing,” I though?

Once I'd picked enough berries for breakfast, I walked East to see if I could spot the surviving Phoebe. The Eastern deck came into view, and I saw one. I waited for the moment. Then I saw the second. Grateful, I though, “Not our Phoebes.”

The thought shuttered through me. “Not our Phoebes?” What about Hawk? What about the bug in Phoebe's mouth. Bug died. Phoebe died. Strawberries were picked. Then I started to see. Attachment to Phoebe had caused my heart to sink. More importantly, my attachment had distracted me from something larger. A friend of mine introduced me to a powerful image. It is the image of holding a frame and pulling it back, allowing more to become visible. I use this image to change my perspective. In a small frame the death of Phoebe is tragic. In a larger frame, Bug, Phoebe, Hawk, Strawberry, and I are all part of something miraculous. Something where death and life meld together into a sacred flow of purpose.

Today, I will be doing my best to hold that larger frame, though I want so much to return to the smaller more familiar one. The familiar one where Phoebe and her mate live forever on the back deck, and I watch them happily, choosing not to think about bug.

Elder

Here, in the woods of Maine, the Elder is in bloom. Elder teaches me the difference between living in the future and planning. Elder is a gentle antiviral. A tea brewed from the dried flowers has taken the edge off many colds for me and my family. However, in order to have the tea, we have to pick the flowers.

Picking the Elder flower is not living in the Winter cold, it is paying attention to what is. In this moment the Elder is in bloom. What do I do next? I pick the flowers. Once the flowers are hung, I have done what I can do.

The freshly cut flowers hang from the Cabin rafters, swinging rhythmically to the gentle breezes of early summer. That is what is happening in this moment, right here, right now.

Upside Down

Upside-down, Squirrel clings, motionless, to the side of Maple tree for a long long moment. As a sometimes rock climber, it occurs to me that in order for me to do what Squirrel is doing, I would have to be at ease. Then I think, in order for me to be at ease with where I am, I have to be at ease with who I am. In order for me to be at ease with who I am, I have to be at ease with what I am doing.

Today, I will be paying attention to what I am doing, and the proximity of intention and action.

Recieve

As the interest in these reflections has grown, I have realized that my relationship to them has shifted. As it did, they became harder to write. I wondered why. I realized that I have started to try to do something, in stead of just passing something along. By doing so, I have removed myself from the flow. The abundance of summer teaches me that the Earth gives. Earth dies not try to give. I receive or I don't. There is no “try.”

Today, I am paying attention to when I am trying and when I am receiving.

Generosity

It is early in the season, and I'm already having trouble keeping ahead of the Strawberries. The Arugula is turning into a small hedge and the Rhubarb is three feet high. Rogue Foxglove is popping up in several spots, Violet greens are everywhere, and the Blueberries are turning from green to blue.

I am struck by the generosity of Earth. I am surrounded by overwhelming unconditional abundance. Today, I will be paying attention to how and when I can take up this model of generosity in the face of the invitations of fear of scarcity.

Different

This morning, as I sat in my spot, I noticed something different. It was to the North East, out in the Pine Grove. The silver shine of pine exposed to the weather for a long time shone bright in the morning sun. Something had flown in front of it, and this registered to me as “different.” I was struck by how, after sitting in the same place at roughly the same time every day for some time now, I can see slight shifts in the view and register things as different. What is striking to me is that I can't tell why it's different, but simply that it is different. It comes as something less than a thought. More like a, “Hum,” then I know. Something has changed.

Today, I will be noticing when I notice, in things that are familiar, that something is different. I will be letting go of trying to figure out why it's different, and just noticing that it is different.

Pain

The strength of the summer sun always seems to take me be surprise. I got a sunburn picking the Strawberries on Saturday. It got worse yesterday, so sleeping last night wasn't easy.

I appreciate pain. I find it centering. It reminds me to be grateful for the times when it is absent. It reminds me that, like all things, it will pass. It reminds me that everything is always changing. Sometimes the sunburn pain is really bad, sometimes I don't even feel it. It reminds me about acceptance. Acceptance disconnects me from what might be or what might have been and brings me back to what is happening right here, right now. I can't make the pain go away, but I only have to experience it in the moment I am in.

Today, I am paying attention to pain,

And experiencing it,

As it is,

In the moment I am in,

Right here,

Right now.

 

Catbird Medicine

This morning, my path to my sitting spot took me out around the South side of the cabin. I was approaching the grape arbor when a bird flew out. I was struck by it because it flew as gentile as rain. It didn't chirp as it flew, nor did its feathers unsettle the air enough to make a sound. It was not a bird I was familiar with.

It flew out ahead of me then banked East. It had the same coloration as Catbird, but its tail feathers were much shorter. It bonked into the deck railing, righted itself then flew down into some tall grass. I went ahead and sat down in my spot. That's when Catbird showed up. She sat on the deck rail looking, in turns at me, then toward the tall grass. Catbird squawking, but quietly. Catbird squawks at me a lot, but not quietly. Catbird is a generous squawker. This squawk was very different. Somewhere in the midst of all this I figured it out. I had spooked Baby Catbird.

A second adult showed up. This one swooped under a Ceder tree and hopped around, looking for something. I noticed one of the pair appeared on the grape arbor, squawked a bit, then disappeared. I saw the two adults fly up to the Maple tree and chase each other around, than soar North. One of them appeared again on the deck rail, looking at me, then flew off.

I could discern no pattern in the adult's actions, just a simple centeredness around the apparent location of Baby Catbird. They appeared to be doing what they would do anyway; eating and hunting, soaring and perching, chasing and following, flying away and returning, squawking and feather flipping.

It got me thinking about how I teach my children. I imagined that Baby Catbird was watching everything the adults did, taking it all in. Learning, not from instructions, but from actions. Learning how to be. Seeing what adults did and learning what was possible. There were no requirements, only possibilities.

And the tests were built in. When Baby Catbird evaded me, it was an opportunity to try out some skills, but the stakes were real. Baby could not know whether I was walking, or hunting. And Baby's parents could not protect her. Baby was taking what had been taught and putting it into action.

Today I will be thinking about how I teach my children through my actions. Anyone who knows me knows I love to talk. I think of this as Snake Medicine. Snake Medicine is instruction. Stories are Snake Medicine. This writing is Snake Medicine. Catbird is reminding me that my actions are powerful teachers. Catbird can't tell stories or give instructions with human words. Catbirds teaches by living in the presence of Baby Catbird. Today, I will be practicing Catbird Medicine.

Valerian

I woke this morning and my wife had already gone downstairs to feed the animals. I had missed the dog nudging her with a quiet whimper. I had missed her getting out of bed. I had missed the squeaky stairs. These things usually wake me up. It's the Valerian. Not that I used any last night, or chewed it, to be more accurate. It is in bloom., however.

Valerian is a great sleep aid. Better, in my opinion, than home grown Chamomile. Some of the Valerian plants that grow around the cabin are five feet high, with flowers ten inches around. The sweet and somewhat off putting smell wafts around the land this time of year, replacing the scent of Wild Rose that has just gone by.

There are lots of studies about how many people experience the effects of medicinal and mind altering substances before they enter the body. It is well documented how people begin to relax and unwind upon ordering their first drink. Is it possible that simply having the Valerian at our disposal is what gave my such deep and restful sleep?

This gets me thinking about how I come to believe that I need some form of aid in order to accomplish something. I used to think that, in order to really be free, I had to take a shower before singing. I still wear the same tee shirt when I work out, even though I don't believe it does anything but keep me from sticking to the bench. I am wondering if there are any other hurdles that I put between me and whatever it is I have come to believe I need “x” to be able to do. It seems there is so much that we are capable of that we doubt because of some prerequisite we have been told has to come first. I am obviously not sleeping well because I am chewing Valerian. Is it just reminding me that I am capable of good sleep? Am I giving myself permission to sleep because it is in bloom?

Today, I will be looking out for roadblocks I don't even know I have put up that get in my way. And I will be asking myself, “What are you waiting for?”

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