Bottles of Hours – Page 9 – Notes from the Woods

Day 22 – Sometimes the Magic Works

I forget what movie it was, but one of the main characters was this wise old Native American man who was considered a sage in his community. He had an easy going manner and you couldn’t help but like him. If I had to describe his attitude toward life I’d use one of my favorite descriptors: He lived with divine nonchalance.

I think of that as a kind of faith, a trust that everything is as it should be, whether it’s what you wanted or not.

One day he decided it was a good day to die and he went off to the mountain top to offer his life to the Great Spirit. He performed his ritual, burned his herbs, did his chant and stretched out on his sacred rug to wait for the Great Spirit to take him.

But it seemed the Great Spirit had other plans. So after a day or so of waiting, he made his way down the mountain to return to his tribe. “What happened?” one of the men who greeted him asked.

He shrugged, and with a little smile said, “Sometimes the magic works; sometimes it don’t.”

I never forgot that. Despite our best efforts, sometimes the magic doesn’t work. And when it doesn’t, the best you can do is shrug, smile, and carry on.

Day 21 – Snowbirds

“Good Mmorning, Little Friends,” I sing as I scatter sunflower seeds on the rocks beneath the lilac bush. “Here’s your breakfast.”

Minutes later, they came . . .

The Red-Bellied Woodpecker and a Sparrow Friend

It was a fine feast, and a good time was had by all. Especially me.

Day 20 – Frost Forest at Sunrise

The sky’s colors sing the coming of the sun as it pushes upward to clear the eastern hills. As they brighten, they illuminate the frost forest, etched so silently during the night on my north-facing window.

I hold my breath in wonder at the scene. How could I not be thrilled!
What a gift!
What a sign!

Day 19 – Different Views

See that stop sign at the base of the hill? That’s where the side road merges onto the truck route that runs past my house. I love the view from here, and today’s winter hues especially please me.

Just behind that stop sign you see a group of dark pines. The road swerves behind them and climbs a hill. Above that dark stand of pines, up past some bare treetops, you see the tops of three more pines. They aren’t really pines; they’re spruces. And these are three of the six that border my house. I call them my sentinels. We have a decades-long history.

Here’s two of them, dancing for you:

From their very top branches, you can look east and see the two roads merging. Up the hill behind my house is the remnant of another road that used to join the main one. They formed a stretch of a trail that, a hundred years ago, ran between New York and Chicago. These trees and my house have been here all that time. Double that time if you want to know the whole story.

They tell me my house used to be a stagecoach stop. I know one of the men who lived here before me was a blacksmith. A friend showed me where he’s buried, pointed out the remains of his brick oven down the hill on the other side of the road. Said the old guy was a student of the Bible, could quote it to you all day long.

He probably had an interesting perspective of things. He saw life through a far different set of lenses than any of us wears today.

Like him, the trees have their own unique way of understanding how they fit into the where-and-when of their lives. The passersby on the road below them each have their own. Just like you and me.

I like the way that looking at things from different points of view broadens you, lets you see things in more depth. It kind of makes you feel richer somehow, doesn’t it?

Day 18 – Marching Orders

My friend and I agree. Big things are ahead, maybe harrowing things. And we had better be ready. They’re going to require all the love we can let flow. Every ounce of it. Every drop.

That’s what we’re here for, after all. To be conduits for love.

(You already know how. You’ve always known.)

But being humans and finding ourselves in a most strange world that tosses us into all sorts of roles and stories, we tend to forget that we came here to be a channel where love could flow. Right now is the time to remember that and to clear out anything that gets in its way. Let it flow. Full force. No matter what.

(Oh, and just in case you need reassurance or reminding, it feels awesomely good.)

Day 17 – On Leading Horses to Water

You don’t have to be right or to prove anything. That’s a good thing to know. It’s better simply to be kind, to be present and kind. Besides, as that Jeff Peterson dude says, “Truth is always learned; it’s never told.”

It’s the old thing about leading a horse to water. Once you get to the stream, the best thing you and the horse can do is to stop on its grassy banks, relax together for a while, feel the breeze, smell the smells, maybe tell each other stories, share a laugh or two.

Works every time.

Day 16 – Realigning with Joy, Part 2

I woke remembering my intention to exchange my complaints for appreciation.. That in itself made me happy and I began the day with an easy smile.

The sun was out, a somewhat rare occurrence of late, and the temperature had risen above freezing. It was a perfect day for grabbing some photos. But I’d better go now. The forecast said clouds would be moving in by afternoon.

That’s when I discovered what, precisely, it is that I don’t like about winter. Everybody who knows me at all well has heard my annual statements about the season. I tell them, year after year, that we are part bear and should be hibernating now until the berries are ripe in the spring.

I don’t like being cold, I tell them. But today I realize that it’s not the sharpness of cold against my skin. As long as my body feels warm, I am okay with cold air. Sure, there are extremes to avoid, But you can be exposed to surprisingly cold air without sustaining damage. So it wasn’t the cold that I didn’t like.

I complained (as I am wont to do) about the season’s lack of color. But this year I am reminded how much I appreciate its hues. So I couldn’t blame that either.

I was thinking about this as I pulled on my boots and laced them and tied a double bow so the laces wouldn’t come undone and trip me. I put on the fuzzy hat with the wonderful ear flaps and tied it under my chin. I slid into the puffy winter jacket and zipped it up and snapped the snaps, and then I pulled on my gloves.

“Good grief,” some little voice inside me sighed, sounding impatient. “Can we go now?”

I could only laugh. That was why I didn’t like winter! You had to go through this huge, long ritual before you could go out and play. In summer, you could just run out the door.

I felt like the voice belonged to the five-year-old inside me who was chafing at the bit to get outside. I imagined taking her hand and walking with her to the creek, and showing her how to notice the feel of the air on her face and how the sun slightly warmed it. We listened to the winter birds and to the trees’ bare branches clicking in the gentle wind. Then there was the creek and we carefully climbed down the steep bank to its edges and wondered at its colors and dance and song.

As I peeled off my hat and gloves and jacket and boots when I got back home, I smiled at what I had experienced. That’s what its like when you trade your complaints for appreciation. The joy-beams get through.

Day 15 – Realigning with Joy

“I am too full of complaints,” I say to myself, complaining about my complaining.

Admitting that allows me to see it as another learning opportunity. Complaints block the the joy-beams’ glow, after all. I need to call up the janitors to sweep them away.

I laugh as I hear the words “Your next assignment, should you choose to accept it” echo from some hallway of my mind.

I accept the challenge and begin by asking myself what attitude I would like to install in place of complaining. (Once you decide to do something, you may as well begin.) How about appreciation? Yeah. That would be cool. I make up a game. (Call if an exercise or a practice if you will.) Here it is:

Every time I notice myself complaining, I will choose to identify three things in my immediate vicinity that I appreciate.

First, I will say “Thank you,” to the part of me that called the complaint to my notice.
Then I will say “I’m sorry; please forgive me” because I fell into the trap of complaining.
Then I will say “I love you” because the world is stuffed with things that offer joy.
After that I’ll identify the three things, just for the delight of it.

And that’s the game.

We’ll see how it goes.