The trail that leads to the meadow is as familiar as a lover’s face, changing with the day’s hours, with the seasons, and always holding some surprise, a new wrinkle, you might say, and yet fundamentally the same. Today it is lush with summer and taking its leisure in the warmth. The heady rush of springtime is over. Alongside the trail, summer’s work takes on an easier pace. It knows what the earth wants to grow where. It knows that it knows how to grow it. It’s done this before. So the earth relaxes into the season’s warmth and lets the light and shadows play as it steadily grows its luxuriant green, its luxuriant, healing green.
Here, in the world where time flows, not everything happens at once. The symphony has its movements, its measures. It has its rhythms and moods. Each thing unfolds according to its nature. Coming when it is meant to come; leaving when it is meant to go. Trust that. It may not always seem so, given the limitations of our view. But after sufficient seasons have passed, your heart begins to know that time has a way of doing things in exactly the right order.
Windlessly, clouds creep in from the west, their weight easily borne by the thick, dense air. In the garden, parched plants ache for rain. The trees’ spring-fresh leaves droop in the heavy stillness, praying. Finally, off in the distance, thunder rolls and all the green things hold their breath in hope and anticipation. (Please! Please!) It takes the rain a full hour to begin. But then it falls in fat, cool drops that plunk like the strings of a bass on the hosta leaves outside my open kitchen window. The fragrance of wet soil wafts through the screen and everything rises and breathes its joy.
What if you were to breathe this serenity into your heart? What if, before you spoke, before you formed a judgment or opinion, its green calm flooded your mind? What if its harmony revealed the way to peace? What if you spent this day enveloped in its sacred song, letting go, letting go?
The blackberry vines are in blossom now, their arched, thorny branches clumped in the fields and tumbling down the hill. You can see the baby berries forming in their centers, summer treats for the birds, a worthy trade for their songs. And look, little beetles are fattening themselves on the leaves beneath the blossoms. The Yes feeds the leaf-eaters, too. It denies nothing that contributes to life’s thriving. Why, the whole planet was built on its song—beetles, birds, baby berries and all.
June floats in, all vivid and warm, and flying the colors of summer. In her sky, hawks soar in great circles beneath huge whipped cream clouds. Iridescent damsel flies and butterflies flit through the irises and peonies. Leaves dance. The grass sings. Everything’s in motion. Children bare their feet and run across the lawns, whooping the sounds of freedom. June laughs at the boisterous welcome, unfolds her green wings and settles in, her gossamer gown swirling around her, hiding gifts in its folds for all.
C’mon, June! Bring on your romance, bring on your moon. Haul in those long summer days. Settle us into the green of things, into the barefoot warmth. Give us the whir of hummingbird wings, the flutter of leaves in an evening breeze, the crack of a bat hitting a ball, clear nights and starry skies. Bring on your leisure, bring on your ease. Stretch us out in your mellow. C’mon June. Bring it!
This past Memorial Day found me thinking about a beloved old friend of mine. He returned from Viet Nam with a heart full of pain, developed paranoid schizophrenia, and ended up hanging himself one cold, winter day.
All wars are tragic, taking their toll on our hearts and minds long after they have past. That, I believe, is the ultimate meaning of the day set aside to remember those who lives were lost in battles. It’s a message to us to keep trying, regardless of our history or the odds, to find better ways to solve our differences.
Synchronistically, last week I happened also happened across Eben Alexander’s book Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Afterlife. If you have heard that near-death experiences are nothing more than illusion created by a dying brain, Dr. Alexander’s vivid description of his own near-death will seriously challenge your assumptions. Until he experienced it himself, he, too, was wholly skeptical about the reality of life after death.
Like most who have had a near-death experience, he struggles to find words to describe his own experience of what he says is so profoundly rich and beautiful that it cannot be put into the narrow framework of human language.
It’s a fascinating read. And I found comfort in it as I thought about loved ones who have died.
Anyway, I remembered my old friend, his extraordinary personality and brilliant mind – the one that I was privileged to see and know beneath his mental illness and his pain. I smiled inside, feeling that he somehow got the greeting my heart sent him and returned his own beams of love.
He was pretty convinced that the world was a dark and confusing place when he died, seeing it as being awash in danger and evil. As I read the daily headlines, I can understand how easy it might be to see things that way, and to lose hope, to lose sight of how fully goodness outweighs the evil in the world. Dr. Alexander says that evil exists so that we may experience free will and learn to use it wisely.
Yesterday, while I was driving through the countryside collecting photos, I drove through this tiny farm town, a village with a population under 400. To my surprise and delight, down the other lane of the highway that cut through the town came a parade! A color guard of four young teens led it, marching proudly in their Scouting uniforms, perfectly in step, solemnly bearing their flags. Next was a big tractor, driven by an old guy in a straw cowboy hat, pulling a float with a sign that proclaimed its occupant the Grand Marshall. He was even older than the man driving the tractor, grinning broadly and waving at the people who lined the highway. The Potato Queen rode the next float. And then there was the fire truck and a polished antique car and cheerleaders from the local high school. That was about the whole parade, and it looked like most of the village’s population had come out to cheer it.
I thought about how fairs and festivals and parades will be happening all over the planet as people celebrate the coming summer or, in the southern hemisphere, winter’s advent. Community still thrives.
I thought about all the young people graduating from high schools and universities this week, about all the young minds that are preparing themselves to be doctors and astronomers and teachers and artists, to explore the intricacies of math and science and the beauties of language and culture and the arts.
I thought about all the sports teams that play in the local fields, and all that kids will learn from participating in them about how to handle victory and defeat, about disciple and teamwork and striving to be your best. And that made me remember a video I saw this week about a brave young woman who became a champion gymnast even though she has no legs.
Yes, our world has its evils; but it is far richer in things that are good. And that’s true of each of our individual lives, too. We all have our crabby streaks, our shadow sides, and failings. But we learn from our unwise choices and keep reaching to be better, and stronger, and kinder, and to love more.
And in the end, it’s the plus side that will win out, no matter how dark things may sometimes appear.
Wishing you a week rich with awareness of life’s balance and beauty.
No matter how I dream of you when the nights are long and the air is devoid of song and frozen, you never fail to exceed my expectations. You come with your flowers and perfumed breath, with the songs of a thousand birds in tow. And the earth wakes and births miracles. And hope sings again in the morning skies, and love falls in raindrops and dances in the sun all around us. And I cannot help but think that I have tasted heaven in your hours. It is no wonder that the sky itself weeps at your going, no wonder that fresh flowers open to offer you their thanks. My own heart flowers with gratitude, too; my own eyes weep at your passing. But my tears are more in joy than sorrow, because you brought me hope, and life, and love. Farewell, sweet May. Until we meet again. Farewell.
Someday, eons from now, when you are sitting around a bonfire with fellows who rose from worlds afar, and they say to you, “Earth? What was that like?” may you tell them what the woods were like in spring, how, in the blink of an eye, plants the color of emeralds sprung from frozen soil in a thousand shapes and sizes at the feet of ancient trees. May you tell them of the flowers that wore all the colors of the sky, from its palest dawn to its most splendid sunset, and how bees collected their pollen to make honey and how butterflies floated among them in air sweet with soft perfumes and birdsong. Tell them how these things kept you true, how they made you believe in Goodness and in the Great Yes that gave rise to their being, and how their songs still live in your heart to this day.
