swansong

Sky

I have noticed, when I am out of doors for whatever reason, but particularly
when I am walking, day or night, my eyes and my attention are invariably at
some point drawn to sky. This is quickly followed by an intake of breath, an
“Oh, look at the sky!” to my companion or my self, and a momentary pause to
awe. It matters not whether sky is laden with portentous clouds or distant
stars, awash with vibrant watercolors of autumn sunsets or the expectant
grays of snow, painted with early morning hints of pink and gold, or evening
shades of red. Cerulean blue or moonless black, I am enthralled.
And suddenly, no matter how chaotic, confused, or lost I may have felt in
the moment previous, feelings of disease somehow dissolve into peace.

I wonder what is it about sky that can bring such instant comfort, making me
feel suddenly at ease and safe upon this earth. Gazing rapt, caught up in
her splendor and feeling unequivocally small beneath her vastness at once, I
somehow find myself knowing I am home. Her very groundlessness grounds me so
utterly and firmly that the feeling of belonging lingers like a lullaby.

It is as if the pause to wonder reminds me on the spot of this- my
connection to earth, which is my home, my source, my nourishment, my road
while I travel in this body. While at the same time, her spacious mystery
connects me to that something greater and beyond, which provides the same
elements of nurture and support to the spirit that is also me. The great
go-between, she channels, filters and condenses, pouring forth and making
real the ideas of the Unseen, one of which am I, miracle that I am. Even as
she provides a barrier, holds me close, intact, so that I’ll not wander
aimlessly into the void.

Perhaps it is the way she blankets and embraces every moment, ever present,
constant. Perhaps it is the way she holds me, sees me, like a mother gazing
down upon the beauty of her child, awestruck, as am I who gaze up from
below. Perhaps it is the reassurance that where’re I roam, no matter how
strange and foreign the terrain, she will be there in her familiarity, and
so it is with her that I am always home.

The great unifier, she alone embraces all that is this earth in its
diversity with her overarching presence, connecting the whole of creation
across time and space. And in her presence I recall that I am one, one with
all who are, all who were, and all who ever will be. I recall previous lives
gazing upwards upon this ethereal dome. I remember future ones in this
endless cycle that I am. I recollect my sister in Taiwan, reminisce about my
brother in Iran. Breathing peace into my heart, I feel the instinctive pull
towards home, knowing all is well.

Swan

Other times, gazing upwards at sky, I desire to open up my wings and join
the ones who captivate my imagination and my longing with their flight.
Knowing somehow that I am a swan temporarily donning women’s clothing, I
yearn to shed my skin and return to the wild from this crazy experience of
human being, for which I volunteered. Oh, to soar above the trivial
anxieties and fears of this life and take in the view from a fresh, yet old,
perspective, basking in the beauty passing beneath me as I now do that
above. How the earth does then appear, a masterpiece of untold beauty, my
home. I long to glide on quiet lakes at sunset, on clear skies at dawn, to
open wings and softly float on currents, o’er grasslands and lakes, forests
and oceans, flatlands and rolling terrain. Fearless, effortless is my
natural flight, trusting in the integrity and power of my wings, the way I
do my human legs when I walk upon earth. No uncertainty, no faltering, no
falling, my wings open and close with power and grace from the center of my
heart, a heart filled to overflowing with the bounty of this earth. I alight
again upon quiet lakes at sunset, still, serene, content, I take in
nourishment from below as I did from above. The silence is especially deep,
for there are no words at all, no need for words. I simply witness, and am a
part of, beauty, without need to name, describe, or de-fine it. Returning to
my self as a swan, life would simply be, as I.

Beauty

Could it be that I am made to bless the world with beauty? Can that be a
purpose for being? I am bound to beauty, that is what she said. As if there
were no escaping it, as if it is tied to me. And oh how the binding in that
dream was as to wings!!

Last night, I dreamt of a greenhouse, a woman starting seeds. I dreamt of
transplanted seedlings filled with hope that they would bless with beauty
the lives of those who selected them. May I be the blossom that brings peace
and beauty to the hearts of others, simply by being me, growing, blossoming,
brightening up my corner of the earth?

And does it matter one bit, does it change the fact that I was/am beauty, if
they come and cut me down, either to claim me as their prize, taking me into
their artificial light, or to cut me down to size because they cannot see me
as a flower but as weed? Does it change for one moment the fact that I have
brought beauty to this place?

And does the fact that I likely will be cut mean I never dare to blossom?
Should my life be about avoiding the cut, or accepting that it will come and
blossoming anyway? Which will bring me peace? Certainly not refusing to
become, but perhaps resting in the truth that it is not my fault…in either
my abundance of lack of beauty from their perspective..…that they choose to
cut me. It is always their choice to harm in the seeing, and not mine in
the blossoming. I can choose to be a tenacious bloomer, sending up and out
new buds and blossoms with each cut. Prolific, sensuous, ephemeral,
unceasing in my blossoming, I am beauty.

I am earth. I am sky. I am blossom. I am bird. I am.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

M.C. Reardon

photographer~painter~poet

Emmaatlast's Weblog

a place to be

First Sip

a place to be

Abbey of the Arts

Transformative Living through Contemplative & Expressive Arts

The Kitchen Door

a place to be

Canoeguy's Blog

For those interested in restoring wood-canvas canoes

a place to be

The Dragonfly Woman

Aquatic entomologist with a blogging habit

Nature's Place

The place of Nature in the 'ordinary' Spiritual Life through Meditation using Macro Photography to illustrate.

Small Things With Love

Finding meaning in the everyday

Adventure Bound

The only things you will regret are the risks you don't take

Katrina Kenison

celebrating the gift of an ordinary day

UnTangled

tell a redemptive story with your life. now.

%d bloggers like this: