Our
world is full of magic. I am referring
to the most ordinary, commonplace daily magic of answers being delivered just when
we need them. These answers come in many
forms. We may have a friend on our mind
after a disagreement, and for some reason we aren’t even consciously aware of we
turn our heads upward and our eyes lock on our friend’s favorite bird flying
overhead. Ordinary magic.
My
eyes often seem to catch the flight of great blue herons, and I am moved in ways
that cannot even begin to be described in words. This bird is mythical in nature yet is a very
real and tangible part of our world. The
great blue heron for me signifies an ancient nature that dwells within all of
us and it flies with such grace and elegance.
It transports me to open space outside of time.
Animals
share our world with us and yet are by some human beings treated as less than
sentient beings. They may be abused or
used by corporations to test drugs or other consumer products. This is fundamentally dangerous. It demonstrates an intrinsic lack of
understanding of the essence of all life and the interconnectedness of every
being.
Many
years ago when I was in my early 20s I was living for the first time away from
home in Chicago. I was not overly
confident at that time and really was fearful but I had attained a certain comfort
level within myself to strike out on my own to attend graduate school in a new
city. I was certainly courageous and
daring even if I was frightened to be alone and on my own. I found a new freedom though at that time in
the world and in my being in the world.
I realized what I had always known -- that I liked to be alone. I felt relaxed and in my element when I was
walking the city blocks by myself or biking the streets of Chicago to and from
work.
I
attended outdoor concerts and neighborhood festivals by myself. I sat in coffee houses writing in my journal
and reading books and went to the independently-owned movie houses to see
foreign and independent films. I really
loved Chicago for so many reasons. I came
of age there, I came to know myself intimately, my fears, my loves, my genuine
heart of sadness all floated up to the surface. Despite finding myself, opening myself to
myself and the world and learning to trust my instincts, I wanted to meet
someone special, to experience the beauty and tragedy and joy of living with
someone who was like minded and kind and open.
I made many friends, some still friends to this day. I knew that friends and girlfriends
specifically were gems that I needed to stay grounded and awake in this world.
My
search for that one special person to get me led me into one relationship and
another and another, a real revolving door of lovers and boyfriends. My habitual pattern was to find someone else
before ending the previous relationship so I wouldn’t have that sense of being
alone. It is easy to look back and play
connect the dots, seeing clearly how each relationship led to the next and the
next stage of my life and learning. Also
looking back I see that it wasn’t all about me and never was. If I had realized that sooner I could have
saved myself a lot of heartbreak, emotional turmoil, depression and angst.
In
the middle of my stay in Chicago, I knew that the revolving door and the
continual need to fill up some bottomless vessel in my heart was depleting me,
robbing me of my vital force and energy to be alive for myself and to help
others. I always had a sense that caring
for others would bring me greater joy and serenity than focusing on myself and
my little dramatic world.
My
first journey alone away from Chicago was to Arizona, to the land of barren
scrub and desert heat. I went to see the
Painted Desert, to walk through ancient Indian ruins, to feel and experience
the red rocks of Sedona, to meander through Jerome, an abandoned, dusty ole desert mining town. I flew into
Phoenix and spent a night in a little motel alternately calling my former
boyfriend and a lover, wanting them to take away the ache, the loneliness, the
fearfulness. I can still see myself lying on the bed hanging up the phone from
the last call and crying my eyes out.
Crying because of my uncertainty, my aching sadness, all the while
seeing that the answers were within my reach, within me all the time.
I
spend that week hiking the red rock canyon, riding horses, eating Huevos
Rancheros for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
I loved that journey and how it broke me open a little more despite my
grasping to these boyfriends with expectations that they could make all my
sadness disappear. The next year I
returned to the southwest this time New Mexico to join up with a group of
people working in the world of recovery.
The weekend program was called Path of Maximum Service. I knew even then that to be of service to
others, to be happy myself and at peace, I had to learn to help others.
My
visit to the Navajo and Hopi lands made a lifelong lasting impression on
me. The day before I was expected to
meet up with my group, I visited the Four Corners (Colorado, Utah, Arizona, New
Mexico) and toured with a group to see the ancient pictographs on the monolithic
red stones. A young handsome Navajo man
asked if I would be camping that night and if he could join my campfire. I just knew I had to say no. I struck out for the open desert road and as
the day turned from dusk to night, a torrential rain began causing many inches
of water to stand on this long dark stretch of desert highway. Flash floods in the desert are not unusual
and I arrived in a small town, ordered my usual, Huevos Rancheros, and my
waitress suggested that I take the last room in town. I needed little convincing. I fell asleep that night very late and had to
get up way before sunrise to make it from where I was in Utah to Santa Fe by
mid-morning.
With
my belly still full from the night before dinner, I hit the road and drove into
the early morning. The stretch of desert
highway can be so hypnotic, I feel like I become a part of the landscape rather
than as observer. I am no longer destination
driven but awake and relaxed in the moment.
As the sun began to make its ascent, a herd of feral horses, Mustangs, came
into view. They were running alongside
the road as a drove. I just couldn’t
believe my eyes, the power, the majesty, the natural elegance and dignity of
these beings. I knew then and have never
doubted since that animals are sentient beings that feel and know. The wild herds of horses in New Mexico are
Mustangs. I can still vividly see in my mind’s eye their
coloring, and their rippling muscles beneath their skin. They were large and muscular strong
runners with an air of tremendous confidence.
How often do we wish for things to be a certain way, another way than what is. Many of us struggle with this and there are very often particular areas with which we really struggle. As we edge ourselves in a certain direction in our mind with someone or something, we begin to attach the idea of it. The idea is not solid but somehow we feel that without it we may perish.
The truth is that grasping and clinging will
never bring happiness, only more suffering. Hoping is hopeless and indicates an attachment to a mentality of never having enough, that we are never enough.
With this mindset and view, we will be continually disappointed.
“We are just attached to being attached.”
What is there when we let go…space. Space by
definition is empty and in our society we may think of emptiness as bad,
negative, lonely. Yet, space or
emptiness is where freedom lies. We can
take this freedom which is devoid of our concepts and thoughts and labels and
assumptions, and see that it offers us a palette, a clean open free palette to
view the world. In this place we can
touch compassion and experience what is known as basic goodness, the
fundamental good that our world is. When
we strip away the assumptions, what do we have -- free, open, clear, relaxed
mind. And we can breathe here. We can run free like the southwestern
Mustangs I encountered all these years ago.
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