A Feast for the Senses - October 19, 2020
Thanksgiving Day was rainy. It was a steady, gentle rain, the type that sticks around all day. Taking heed to the wisdom that there is no such thing as bad weather I dressed to be warm and dry for a walk in the October forest.
Augmented by the rain, the smell of the forest changed as I followed my path through the woods. Pine cedar and spruce all have their unique yet kindred scent. Like children, I have a favourite but love them all equally; wet leaves and damp earth, the musk of the forest, appear and fade with my steps.
The calming white noise of the rain filtering through the leaves sets the field. The occasional gust of wind creates a cascade of the captured rain. The chickadees, tame and used to being hand fed announce themselves to those who are paying attention. I imitate their voices and they come to meet me.
As they land on my hand they communicate two surprises. I’m struck by how light they are. It seems they are made of feathers and air. Their grip is gentle, strong and confident as they examine the buffet of trail mix I hold out for them. I get a profound, spiritual sense of communion from the contact.
Bright yellow, cheerful and optimistic, stands in contrast to the mood of the day. The orange leaves and the tree limbs, black from the rain, create a Halloween theme. The drama and passion of red contrasting against the moss covered rocks and the deep, dark evergreens; against the full pallet of colours of the forest in bloom is stunning. Each event is captivating, causing pause, forcing one into the moment.
At home, a cup of tea and a piece of cake warming on the kitchen counter awaits me.
How to Fish - July 2020
Wake up at dawn, before the sun rises above the horizon. Black coffee to go, slip your canoe into the water as quietly as possible and begin stalking the lake.
A black plane of glass, so uniform, that the boundary between two universes dissolves. For a moment you exist in both worlds. Caress the water and drift gracefully through the mist. Your colours begin to fade into greys and your definition, your existence in this world loses substance. You become a spirit on the water.
If you’re fortunate, a silent companion: a muskrat, a turtle, a heron. The gentle chorus of birdsong is accented by a loon’s aria; the smell of the pines, the lake, your coffee.
Exist in the infinitesimal, shrinking, moment and discover yet another universe. Lose yourself and find the soul that remains; a soul that belongs in this world and in this instant.
Leave your line on shore.
SAVING HOPE by Mike - 26-March-2020
We have witnessed a plague, born in a city in Asia. Whispers and rumours of a terror a continent away, in a reclusive and enigmatic state, on the other side of the world. It spread through the most populous nation on earth. Like a wildfire it traveled through the Middle East and then on to Europe and throughout the world. Like plagues that have come before, it overwhelmed our resources, an unstoppable flood. It has landed on our continent. It has taken hold and is running rampant on our very border. We are being stalked by a monster and it’s now on our doorstep.
The stakes dictated by this menace could not be greater. On the table are your life’s accomplishments in their entirety. Everything you have built, strived for and accumulated, from the time you came into the world until now, are at risk of being swept aside in a single blow; a chip on a roulette table.
We have been blessed with generations of peace and prosperity. We have grown secure and complacent in our comfort and abundance. We have no frame of reference for an event of this magnitude. For this reason, from the many, there will be a few who are deniers and cynics: some will be foolish, some will be selfish. This cannot be avoided. Our saving hope lies with the many; it lies with each of us. There are many precautions to be exercised, all small, taken on their own but for each and every one of them there lies a promise and a potential of immeasurable proportion. You will never know which of these is the one, but certainly, if many are taken, one of them will result in a live being saved.
ADDICTION AND COMPASSION by Mike at Wakingspirit.com ©
In the decades I worked nursing the organism that is our telephone network I’ve met tens of thousands of individuals. I’ve seen them at their best and at their worst. In the intimacy of their homes, made transparent by their possessions, I’ve had fleeting glimpses at the unadorned heart; a stolen glance at life. Surrounded by pictures of loved ones, near and far, here and gone, won and lost. Through their possessions they have involuntarily revealed themselves to me; two individuals sharing a moment of candour.
I remember Bill even though I spoke only briefly with him. I was in a disadvantaged part of town when Bill approached me. He spoke to me in what seemed like English with a warm, engaging smile. The phonetics and structure sounded like English but after several attempts to understand him I realized he was just uttering gibberish. He wandered across the street at an odd tact without looking for traffic. I was sure he was having some sort of dissociative experience and I worried for his safety. I called the authorities for his protection. It was a police officer who gave me Bills name. The officer advised me that Bill was harmless but had only a few years left to live. He was doomed, addicted to inhaling solvents.
Bill’s damaged mind no longer had the cognitive capacity: the rational resources, the mental assets to pull himself out of the trap he had fallen into. He had fallen into a black hole; toxic chemicals were slowly destroying his organ of reason. Doom possessed his soul. The fate of his humanity, his life, his soul, cast into oblivion.
Years later, mindful that Bill no longer walked among us, I thought about him and understood that if Bill had been asked at, say age 14, what he wanted for his future I am sure he would not have answered that he intended to forfeit his life by inviting a demon to slowly consume, his mind, his humanity, his soul. Bill made some bad choices, like each and every one of us has on our path through life. People don't choose addiction.
The next time you see some poor soul down and out understand they deserve our compassion, not our contempt. No one chooses addiction and there is always a tragedy behind the tragedy.
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