As I type these words, a time of rest and contemplation is winding down. I've taken 11 days off from work to celebrate my birthday, as well as two milestones in my relationship with my husband. Yearly observances such as these are perfect times to open to deeper meaning.
This has been a time of richness, of honoring the path that brought me to the present, tuning in to where~~and who~~I am now, and listening for the voice calling me forward. As I age, retreats seem more essential than ever, though there has never been a season of my life that hasn't benefited from quiet time. Our culture may not encourage such reflective periods, which simply makes them all the more necessary.
This one follows the recent death of a woman in our small town, five weeks after a massive stroke left her mostly mute, paralyzed on one side of her body, with severely limited strength and movement on the other. She had just moved to a rehab facility, and while her prognosis had always been guarded, she became more engaged and communicative in the two days prior to her death. She spoke a few words, blew air kisses, engaged with loved ones, worked in PT.
And then she exited. Between nursing rounds and before visits began again with loyal family and friends, this woman who had always and ever done things her way, left her body. While my western~trained mind recognizes that this departure likely came from another stroke or one of the many mechanical events these bodies of ours are subject to, it doesn't feel that way to me. It feels like choice.
It feels like she gave her loved ones time to make the decisions that would allow her a chance to heal. It feels like she waited for family and friends, including two who were on a cross~country trip and visited the day before she died. And it feels like her five weeks of enforced stillness allowed her the opportunity to clarify her own wishes and to make this most important decision of her life. And she then stepped through the veil and entered into whatever comes next.
I am not ready to follow her and, barring an accident or sudden illness, I won't anytime soon. But inspired by her story, I've found myself listening with what I imagine is a similar alertness to where spirt wants to move next in my life. Holy work, this human venture we're each in the midst of, one worthy of our loving consideration and attentiveness. There is an inner voice that seeks to guide us every step of the way, and listening for and responding to it is our spirit's calling.
In a book by the superb urban fantasy novelist Charles de Lint, a character offers the following advice: "Look inside yourself for the answers~~you're the only one who knows what's best for you. Everybody else is only guessing." I laughed out loud. Truly, well~meaning others are only surmising, offering us the best they have to give. And those people "shouting their bad advice", as Mary Oliver puts it in her poem The Journey, just have a vested interest in our doing things their way.
Yet what will matter when we each lie on our own death bed is whether we've been true, if we did as we felt called and to the best of our ability. The rest is embellishment. Important, but not the painting's main design or its purpose.
One of my birthday gifts was The Starseed Oracle, a beautifully executed deck of cards offering one avenue among many for accessing the inner voice. As I shuffled the deck on my birthday morning, I asked for guidance for the coming year. I drew a card showing a woman on a stylized mountaintop, the sky a series of interconnecting fractals, and the words Your Life Is A Canvas. The message in the small book accompanying the deck encourages a conscious creativity.
Isn't this a good suggestion for each and every day, year after year: Don't waste the opportunity these precious few years offer you. Grow in awareness of the choices you're making for your life, and choose wisely. Live fully and always exactly as yourself.
As my retreat draws to a close and I fully enter the first leg of my next year on the planet, I commit to continuing to paint that canvas in ways that are true to the promise of my birth. After all, slapping any ol' paint up there is not worthy of the gift. I am a painter~~alas, only metaphorically so!~~and I have a whole pallet of colors available to me. I intend to use them well. And though I will, of course, fall short of the mark often, it remains my intention to not miss one moment of active, conscious creation. And I send many prayers that the end result is a thing of beauty.
In closing, there is one more thing...In this jingle jangle morning, dance on, sweet Rena. Dance beneath that diamond sky with one hand waving free, silhouetted by the sea, and circled by those circus sands. Yes, dance on! Dance on!!!
Leia
And though the focus of this poem is a bit different, it's still a GREAT poem. Click here!
No comments:
Post a Comment