Spring has sprung in all its colorful, full throated glory. Robin redbreasts search my grass for worms, a morning dove hatched three babies in a nest above my kitchen door. One of the nestlings took it’s first flight just as far as the porch railing and then sat there for hours uncertain of his ability to fly back. The fox is a frequent visitor, trotting around the newly leafed oak trees, getting Lucy all riled up as he sniffs my flowers. Hawks are pairing up, calling out as they circle around each other overhead. In short, no one has told Spring to self isolate. She isn’t the slightest troubled by our pandemic woes. There are times I can’t help but wonder if indeed she is trying to put her best foot forward because she knows there’s not a whole lot we can do right now except to notice her, to listen to her. We are spring’s captive audience.
The first thing I noticed when we all just stopped was the silence. I had missed that kind of quiet ever since we’d relocated to the East Coast. Even in the lovely, wooded setting of our new home, the sounds of humanity are often loud and invasive. It was jarring for me, after the years I’d spent in the stillness of the desert. That was where I’d first learned how life changing quiet could be. Without the cacophony of human endeavors, I could hear the wind rolling like a wave through the pines, I could hear all kinds of birdsong, insect buzzing, the beating of hummingbird wings. But, most importantly, as I sunk deeper into the silence, I found I could hear the earth sing. It is an ever present pitch, deep and resonant, and once you know where to look for it, you can always find it. It vibrates all around us, and from within us. It connects us.
When the pandemic started shutting the world down, and human activity came to a screeching halt, I heard people everywhere commenting on being able to hear the natural world. They spoke with awe, with joy, of something they hadn’t even realized they’d been missing. I know I am not the only one to wonder if this pandemic might have some important things to teach us about the value of slowing down, of taking the time to listen, not just to Spring’s glorious soundtrack, but also to each other. We’re all in this together is not just a catch phrase, it is the reality of our existence. We can not prevail against this virus, or others that we are assured will also come, unless we fully comprehend just how interconnected we all truly are.
When the planes, and the cars and the factories all stopped, it was surprising to discover how quickly the air cleared. I heard an NPR story about how in only a matter of days, the Himalayan mountains emerged from behind the smog of Dehli’s relentless human activity. I wondered what it felt like to those city dwellers when they first looked up to find all evidence of their industry vanished like a puff of smoke. Those majestic peaks emerged so quickly, emphasizing for everyone what was permanent and what was not. Was nature attempting to speak plainly to us? Was she asking us to consider that the solution to many of our global problems might be to embrace a different mind set about business as usual? What if we shifted our perspective of what it meant to get ahead in this world? What if we changed the focus from taking advantage of people and resources to taking care of them? It is literally the change of a single word to make this shift. What we need in this moment is to be thoughtful and far sighted. What we need in this moment is to make a choice about who we want to be.
High in the Himalayan mountains, there is a small suburb of Dharmshala called McLeod Ganj. It is the home of the Dalai Lama and of several Buddhist monasteries. Everyday, the Dalai Lama and the monks pray for an end to all suffering, and for all life everywhere to experience enlightenment. The pursuit of enlightenment is not for oneself, it is for the benefit of all life everywhere. Saving ourselves requires us to save each other.
Friday was my 62nd birthday. It was a small party, just our little Connecticut family bubble, Mark, Jamie, David, Natalie and Avery, but it was one of the loveliest birthdays, very spiritual in nature. The desert had taken quite a toll on my flower essence collection, so much so that I’d stopped using them for several years. Only a handful of bottles remained to me, so for my birthday gift this year, I asked the kids to replenish my Green Hope Farm collection. Those lovely, little blue bottles always arrive exuding such positive vibrations, and they definitely set the tone for the birthday. Avery was immediately enthralled by them, and was not only eager, but very insistent about trying them.
The flower essences had stirred forgotten memories in David and Natalie, and they found themselves wanting to delve deeper spiritually. They asked if we could pull out the Native American Medicine cards, which we also hadn’t used in years. Everyone pulled cards that showed us lot about ourselves, and things we hadn’t fully realized about each other. Even Avery drew three cards. We were all delighted by how well those animal totems fit his toddler personality.
I drew Crow, which resonated strongly with me.
The message focused on how human law is not the same as Sacred law, that there is a higher order of right and wrong, that one shouldn’t be afraid of being a voice in the wilderness. You must stand in your truth, and “caw”, make it heard. I followed Crow’s advice when it was time to blow out my candles. Avery was eager to help, but I had to make him wait long enough for me to capture the birthday wish just right. I wished for an end to all suffering and a pathway of enlightenment for all beings everywhere.
The best gift I had this birthday was a wonderful family closeness, a sharing of our deepest selves with one another, a very joyful coming together. I hope there are many more days ahead just like that, not only for me and mine, but for everyone, everywhere.