Sounds of Life

The days and nights move along slowly for me. Activity and busy-ness don’t come into play much as I move slowly towards recovery. Patience is now a mantra as I try to allow this slow moving, almost stillness, the space it requires from me.

As I begin to write, one of my cats, Bert, sits in front of the window making little chirpy cat noises as she watches birds at the feeders. Short, high pitched little snippets of sound that indicate she is excited. She interacts with life in her own way, but what she takes time to observe and respond to is what animates her. Otherwise she is asleep!

There is sound all around us. An infinite soundscape, like a smorgasbord of food, but for sounds. Right now I hear the subtle sound of the timer on the fish-tank ticking the minutes down before it comes on again.

I have seemingly endless time now to be aware of the variety offered up by my home soundscape. From kitty chirping to timer ticking, there really is no true silence here. Life around us is all about doing things, being busy and productive. It’s all about noise: music, TV, movies, radio. There is beeping and buzzing from endless sources. Even the refrigerator and furnace speak up from time to time. And Bert and Stewie chime in with their meows, purring and squeaks.

When life creates a lot of noise I find myself becoming jittery and tense. Almost anxious. To be clear, it is usually an anxiousness about nothing in particular. It just a response to noise. Maybe you’re thinking “So what?”

If I pay attention to my body and mind I find that I can get wrapped up and lost in background noise. Some of it is like fingernails on a chalk board. Not all noise grates. There are also softer, melodic sounds. Sometimes they get drowned out by the harsher more abrupt sounds.

With these sounds and noise just about everywhere, I expend a great deal of energy trying to buffer or quiet them. I find I am more aware when there is a pause or lull, and I notice my mind and attention wandering all over they place now that I don’t have to filter the noises as much. My thoughts speak up, usually creating their own stories that may be positive or not. The point is not always to judge them but rather if they are true or not. An unchecked mind can wander aimlessly and walk along, arm in arm with emotions and feelings. Generally this results in thinking that becomes lost and confused. Stories are narrated that are not real.

If you think about all the “noise” in our lives that is generated by re-playing conversations/thoughts/events, self talk, list making, small talk, negotiating, important conversations and all added together with car and traffic sounds, machine noises, other people talking, the radio, electronic buzzing, quiet, let alone actual silence, is hard to come by. Does it matter? I think it does. It does for me.

It is difficult to silence thoughts that come to us as we settle into sleep at night or as we rustle awake in the morning. When our feelings get hurt we become expert story tellers.

As I spend time sitting, reading, drawing, “working” on recovering I become more aware of sounds and thoughts. Sometimes I can figure out how to turn off or ignore some of those sounds. My thoughts are a challenge to turn off. If I have presence of mind to stop moving  I am able to focus on listening to the softer, secret sounds surrounding me. In so doing the other sounds fade and sometimes even silence arises.

The softer, secret sounds may be leaves dancing together in the wind, the sound of a snowflake landing on a carpet of snow, an eagle calling across the valley,

Why does it matter? For me, I am reminded of that snowy winter day when I stood still, my boots no longer squeaking  on the frozen ground. When I stopped moving I saw fluffy snow falling around and on me, it was like being in a snow-globe. Then I heard it. The sound of a weightless snowflake landing on a drift of other snowflakes. Just a soft, soft, pffft sound. I had heard wind and sleet before, but never a snow-flake landing! A feeling of awe and wonder embraced me.

Another time I was reading outside on a summer’s day and heard a buzzing sound. I looked up thinking I would find a bee or mosquito darting around. Nope. No bee or mosquito anywhere. But there was a hummingbird! I was hearing the buzzing of those insanely fast wings working to keep the little body in the air.

Decades ago as I lay on the grass near the Taj Mahal in India, eyes closed, body and mind at rest, I heard chattering near me. Without moving I opened my eyes to see a squirrel sniffing my hand. Tentatively his paw reached out and I wiggled my finger. He scurried away squealing something in squirrel language.

Something happened to me as I experienced these things. First I experienced awe and joy, but I also had found beauty and mystery in the place I inhabited. “Nature” became something important and not abstract. It was dynamic and alive and I sensed how little of it I probably paid attention to. When I did, it presented beauty and mystery and awe.

When I tuned out the sounds of a “busy” life I discovered the whispers of another world and the wonder of this world. A world I share with miracles. A world that sustains awe and beauty, fragility, power and life.

Now, when snow falls I listen for the feather soft landing of a snowflake, and I experience wonder. Now, when I hear a sound I look up to see birds dancing together on a branch, a tiny, newly hatched baby bird providing the song they are dancing to.

When I experience the sound of a snowflake landing or see birds dancing to a chirping lullaby, I am changed.

I am reminded of Wendell Berry’s poem: The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world 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 with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

heron2

A feeling of being balanced occurs. I come back into alignment with Nature, with the Earth. I am humbled and renewed. The art of being quiet allows me to hear the sounds of life.

This time of healing and renewal is challenging for me. I become restless and frustrated, wishing for a faster return to strength and health. As I watch sparrows dancing together at the feeders I am coming to understand I can choose for this slower pace, this occasional stillness, to be a blessing, if I would only close my eyes to just listen and then, when it is time to open my eyes and see what I may not have noticed and feel the power of awe and wonder as healing powers. So many gifts and lessons from Nature.

 

 

 

Advertisements

The Opposite Of What We Want

I’ve been out of the hospital and home now for a little over two months and I really want to be able to say that things are going well, but honestly I have to work on making myself believe this on a daily basis. This is not intended to be a pity party, just a snapshot of what my recovery is like. Not surprisingly, it is hard work physically, mentally and emotionally. And while there has been progress and improvement, each day is filled with therapists, doctors, exercises, tiredness, frustration, aches and pains and way too many medications. While I do improve and get stronger, I still have a feeling of “stuck-ness.” I can’t drive. I’m not allowed to cook alone. Can read but do not remember what I just read when I turn the page, can draw and, if someone is around, play board games.

I have lost a certain kind of freedom and I miss it. I feel as if my body has failed me, or if that is too strong, at a minimum it has left me feeling let down and disappointed.

As I search for some comfort and reassurance to cradle me while I try to patiently regain my perceived “being-ness” and independence, I grab on tightly to the love of my family and friends and sometimes the sentences and thoughts in the books I try to read. Reading is now a slow, uncomfortable process, but I read and search for threads of hope and healing and do find comfort on occasion in the words and thoughts of others.

Today this jumped off the page and into my ruminating thought process: ” The wisdom that took longer for me to acquire, through direct experience rather than being told so by someone else, was never to assume that trust always lines up with desire. The offerings of the holy are often the opposite of what we want. They don’t sort for our willingness to receive them. They’re abundantly bestowed, like them or not.” (Magic in Plain Sight by Patricia Heavren.)

I interpreted this to mean is this: I was being “offered” something ‘holy’. Within that however, is the message that the universe is not concerned with what I might want or desire (health, strength, trust). There is no concern as to whether I would like to have an aneurysm. Rather, it was “bestowed” upon me with no concern for my thoughts. The “Holy” saw things differently than I did and had determined I needed to be presented with something I had to work on unwrapping patiently in order to figure out what it was.

“On a fundamental level, everyone plays with the swing of seeming opposites. Advancing and returning comprise an ageless dance with infinite expressions. Everything emanates out and eventually returns home again. It’s the breath and essence of all life, an ever-flowing, sacred change of direction by the One.” (Magic In Plain Sight) So, was I being called to move towards some ‘sacred’ change of direction or something else? Geeze…..this is a lot to process, to ponder. Why on Earth would this be so? All of this would seemingly be the opposite of what I wanted in my life!

There was no place for me to go but inwards.  The only path before me was to try to see, in the quiet spaces of my heart and mind, my true Being. To see what was there, even if it appeared to be hiding or a little bit out of focus. As I kept reading, Patricia revealed a piece of the puzzle, the magic and value of ordinary things: “….one of the early clues that vast intelligence and enormous heart are ever-present in ordinary things, a kind of living wisdom that can take a lifetime to recognize and appreciate, if ever.”

‘Living wisdom’ concerning ‘ordinary things’. I am in no way suggesting that an aneurysm is an ordinary thing. It is scary and serious and dangerous. Perhaps what is ‘ordinary’ for me in this bumpy, restless, time of my life is understanding that my body and spirit are held together by a desire to live. Held together by the threads of unfailing love that cradles and comforts me. Was/is this a call for a sacred change? For me? For my loved ones, my friends and family? What was the living wisdom I was experiencing? How was I to understand what this was and turn it from something I resented to something I could appreciate and value?

There have been teasingly small glimmers of understanding, but like the child blowing on the fluffy seeds of a dandelion flower, scattering them into the air, these glimmers just danced away like sun sparkles on water and the scattered dandelion seeds. Pretty and awe inspiring, but gone quickly. Never to be regained or held on to. Ever fleeting and temporary.

So now I am trying to give positive meaning to something scary. Why? Because I have “lost” so much time. I have missed making beautiful memories and instead have frightening memories and emotions. I am not able to just let all this “be”. I have to find a way to make sense out of some thing that is medically cold and straight forward, and shift it towards some thing that has value and purpose. Otherwise these months will remain “just” lost time. Ultimately the outcome will be determined by the path I take and the destination I choose to pursue. Of course things will appear that I haven’t foreseen or planned for, like an aneurysm, but what else can I do? Stop? Stand where I am, not moving? No thanks. I’ve successfully climbed too many personal mountains to give up or doubt I can get through this.

In quieter moments when the view is not clouded with sorrow and worry, I do see a open path towards healing and growth. Along this path are turn outs where I can pause and refuel and take time to be aware of the “living wisdom” of “ordinary things.” As I gaze  ahead I sometimes feel I am walking among those “ordinary things” and they come into view and focus. The sacredness of the “living wisdom” is always before me with its hand held out and open. Illuminated in the glow and softness of hope and trust. For me, hope is soft because it has to be pliant and pliable, not hard and anchored. Ordinary and sacred might not seem like they go together, but really they do.

As I sit here writing there is a cat in front of me making those little cat cooing sounds that I interpret as sighs of contentment. The snow is dripping off the roof and has become the background music for the dance of the birds that flutter and vie for positions at the feeders. These are ordinary things during the days here on Turkey Hill Rd., and to me they are sacred events. This is how I see life in the days I am living. This is what “living wisdom” is for me…..taking the leap and creating a space and the time to see sacredness in the ordinary. And my path now is to walk this path of recovery and maneuver around the bumpy parts of discomfort and frustration, fear and loss, seeing those things as part of the sacredness. The sacredness that highlights the path so that I can see it more clearly and step with more confidence and determination. A sacredness that gives space for understanding some things may appear to be the opposite of what I believe I want/need.

highbanks1mh

I may discover as I meander this path that the end ebbs and flows in front of me. First near and then further away. Maybe there is an end to the path, maybe not. Where would the “end” be? Maybe I’ll just come to a fork in the path and just continue to meander along in a different direction. This continuation might just be an invitation to see more expressions of the sacredness in the ordinary, and not just be a longer way that delays the arrival to somewhere I think I need or want to be. Just allowing the paths/journey to be the experience. The trail signs with arrows along the way direct me to “Be here now”.

I have not always enjoyed this part of the journey. There has been confusion, pain, loss and resentment. I lay my head on the pillow at night and silently lament “why is this happening?” I hear several  answers. “The medical reason is….blah, blah, blah” That reason offers no comfort. Another response is fierce love from family and friends that almost yanks me awake while wrapping me a tenderness and certainty that has no room for faltering or failing. The other response is softer and highlights the question to Mary Oliver’s offering: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Within that question is also the answer.
Mary Oliver links

So here I sit fingers tapping the keys, gazing out the window upon the grayness of the season. I am here. This moment is sacred to me. And I will continue to try to find the ways to honor the sacredness, understanding that I am being offered many keys to many doors. It is no concern where the doors lead but rather if I can discover which key opens which door. It is about walking through one ‘ordinary’ door after another with eyes wide open, curiosity pulsing through me, anticipating a meeting with sacredness.

So many of you reading this are part of this sacredness. With you by my side and in my life,you are the sacredness in my life. Your friendship and love illuminate my days allowing me see the sacredness in the ordinary, making my life and life experiences extraordinary. My family, husband, children, siblings, in laws, nieces and nephews, friends, all tether me to what matters, to what is sacred in this life. Your love and kindness nourishes me, sustains me, heals me.

Now I’ll close and move on to my physical therapy exercises and try to give space to allowing them to be the keys that just might open another door to something extraordinary. You never know!

Thank you for being the sacred parts of my ordinary life.