Tag: miracles

“This Is the Best Day of My Life”

Sometimes bits of life wisdom show up in quite unusual places. I’m not really a fan of so-called “reality” TV shows, but I have to admit that I have always found “Amazing Race” to be compelling to watch. Pairs racing around the world, doing various complicated and strenuous activities and tasks, competing to win $1 million. If nothing else, it’s a study of human behavior under stress. And also, most interesting to me, some very clear illustrations of how people live their lives: driven by a compulsion to always “win” at any cost or filled with the joy of experience itself. This season two young gay men illustrated the latter in a beautiful way. They are best friends, gamers, who love to play Dungeons and Dragons, so when, during a segment in Portugal, one was asked to don knight’s armor as part of his task, he exclaimed with absolute beaming delight: “This is the best day of my life!” So much happiness in just playing. I loved it.

Meanwhile, another contestant constantly complained in anger and disgust whenever he and his wife were not in first place along the way. He seemed extremely unhappy a lot of the time. A life lesson there, in those two responses. True, it’s a contrived “game” in which people are in competition to win an excessive amount of money, but the reactions of the two participants, each so different, gave me pause. I realized anew that I want to live life in celebration and not complaint.

It’s not difficult to find things to complain about these days, whether it’s increasing political conflict, physical or emotional pain, or any one of a number of life difficulties. I know that I have complained about many of them. Yet I don’t want to live my life that way. In my heart and soul, I know that life is a blessing, and there is so much to be thankful for. I need reminders at times, though, and this particular show was one—loud and clear. I thought immediately of Anne’s and my wedding day (June 2014 at Auburn Lake), where friends and family from across the country gathered in love to celebrate with us. At the end of the day, I said to Anne, “Today is the happiest day of my life.” She agreed with all her heart.

It doesn’t have to be a wedding or a TV show to remind you to see the miracles in every moment, no matter what else is going on in the world. God finds all kinds of ways to wake us up at the most unexpected times and center us in appreciation. A passing comment or an act of kindness from a friend or stranger; an out-of-the-ordinary event that moves you to tears of gratitude. For me, it’s often the sights and sounds of Nature, especially birds. There’s always room for more heart expansion, love, and compassion, if we can only remain open and accepting of all of life, however it appears. Every subtle or obvious reminder is a gift. My greatest wish now is to begin each morning remembering: “This is the best day of my life!”

Joy, Grief, and Miracles

My entire life I have carried within me, in equal parts, exquisite joy at being alive and profound grief at one day having to leave this world for the vast unknown of eternity. That unknown, and the sorrow surrounding it, frightened me terribly as a small child. At night, I would cry about this seemingly insoluble dilemma of life and death and the infinite universe. As I explored a spiritual path in my adult life, I came to see that this life/death dichotomy arose as part of being embodied spirit in physical human form. My soul saw no polarized separation; only my mind did.

There have always been times in my daily life when I saw the world as my soul did: expansive, wondrous, flowing, filled with miracles. When I am walking quietly in Nature, surrounded by birds and trees and flowers. When I am with friends and family, feeling the love that connects us. The trajectory of my life has been to balance out the joy and grief, to come to peace with all the varied and sometimes contradictory experiences of living as a human being on Earth. Perhaps this is what we are all doing in our own way.

Immersed in presence in the natural world, I feel that balance. Trees, birds, clouds, flowers, seasons. I am outside of time, beyond the mind’s observations. I connect to all parts of life with each breath. Breathing like a tree, like a flower, like a bird. Therein is calm, a surrender to something greater that is comforting not frightening. Here, infinity is who I am. It flows within me and surrounds me as well. In Nature, I recognize that life holds infinity in everything. Somehow grief falls away in those moments, and I only know the peace that is at the center of my soul.

The key perhaps is to see the entire world as one with Nature, to recognize that Mother Earth and Spirit are a single seamless creation with no beginning and no end. And within that eternal, never-ending Presence is something beyond the mind’s ability to understand. Only in completely letting go of the need to solve the puzzle of existence and accepting the wonders before us each day do we experience peace. And a balance that brings together joy and grief in the human heart and makes them whole.

This is where I am now, sitting silently on the edge of eternity and knowing it as who I am, who we all are. William Blake could hold “eternity in an hour,” infinity in the palm of his hand. He saw a “World in a Grain of Sand, and a Heaven in a Wild Flower.” To me, this is the greatest and most exquisitely beautiful wisdom I’ve ever encountered. Within it is the amazing grace we all hope to find in our lifetimes, no further away than our own miraculous hands or the flowers at our feet.

Remember

I have just finished rereading the ending of Ann Patchett’s new novel Tom Lake. I am crying—at the poignancy, at the beauty, at the soul wisdom. Last night I watched a 1988 PBS production of the play Our Town, which figures so prominently in Tom Lake, though always in the background (Tom Lake is a summer theater). I wept at that too. There are such deep life lessons in both of them, ones that few remember in their lifetimes. The characters Lara and Emily open to these lessons over the course of events in the novel and play. As does George in the film It’s a Wonderful Life. As are so many of us now at this time on Earth. We are awakening to how extraordinary human life really is.

Don’t miss a second of your life on this remarkable planet. The sadness and suffering as well as the joy and celebration. It’s all such a tremendous unrepeatable experience, like no other in the universe. Each morning, when you wake up, remember. The poet Rumi said it: “The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep,” This is the greatest wisdom of each of our lifetimes, throughout time, and especially now. Don’t go back to sleep. See the living spark of divine light in your partner’s or child’s eyes. Love your friends and family with all your heart. Appreciate them. Love yourself. You are a miracle.

Look around at the beauty of Mother Earth, the birds and trees and flowers. Everywhere there is beauty, even in the smallest detail of the most insignificant blade of grass. Even in a cemetery. A cemetery is a central figure in both Tom Lake and Our Town (and It’s a Wonderful Life). It stands as a coming together point of all life and eventually all the wisdom that arises from living. Spirit lives there. Spirit, which continues throughout time and space.

There is a cemetery that is a central figure in my life as well: Mt. Auburn. It is also a nature sanctuary, and for more than 40 years, I have walked there in the sweet silence and sounds of the natural world. I greet the birds each spring as they migrate and sing their lilting songs. Anne and I were married at Mt. Auburn, under the trees by Auburn Lake, the most beautiful day of our lives. I heard about the death of a friend there, tears streaming down my face as a bright red cardinal appeared on the path before me. I felt my mother’s spirit there after her passing, a cardinal singing nearby then too. And I have sensed my dad’s energy in the trees and the crows calling overhead. One cold November night many years ago, Anne and I watched meteor showers streaking across the cosmos in the deep darkness of Mt. Auburn at 3 a.m. Some of my most powerful moments of connection to something greater in the universe (Spirit, the Great Mystery, God) occurred there. All of life and death coming together as One in my awareness.

In Tom Lake, a cemetery on a rural wooded hillside brings everyone together in love and continuity. I feel that at Mt. Auburn. That is why I return, year after year. It helps me remember. We are all finding our own ways to remember now, we latter-day poets and saints of the 21st century. We came to Earth at this time to become fully awake and aware, to connect with one another, and to see the miracles in everything. In life/death, in pure being. Don’t go back to sleep. Remember. It is the gift of a lifetime, of all lifetimes.

Make of Your Life a Song

In crisis or not, we humans wonder at times what we should do to bring meaning to our lives. A question that touches the depths of the soul—and the heart of all life on Earth. We were given our human lives by a universal intelligence beyond naming. Within that act of grace is infinite possibility and expression as well as a world of incredibly diverse experiences. Each day presents a kaleidoscope of wonders to us. When we are children, we see those wonders clearly, our eyes sparkling with delight. As adults, we begin to take them for granted. Our vision may become clouded with habit, loss, or misfortune. Life, of course, can be challenging as well as wondrous. Perhaps the greatest challenge is to continue to experience wonder no matter how your life unfolds.

One year ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It shook me to my core. Yet my actual experience of the months of treatment, in spite of any discomfort or pain, was filled with moments of connection to the Spirit of life, which carried me through the days with surprising synchronicities and inspiration. In the most profound of those moments, I felt one with everything, my own life part of a universal flow of beingness. Within that, my sense of wonder at the daily miracles of life—sunrise, birdsong, human kindness—reawakened and grew. Not that I had lost it, but so often life events get in our way. Our perception is incomplete, shaded. Until suddenly, an event or experience shines a light on each moment, showing it to be the miracle it is.

It may not be cancer that awakens this latent sense in you. It could be anything, perhaps just the course of a lifetime. Many of us, as we grow older, realize the relatively short time we have on this planet. A poignancy and appreciation fill us, an intention not to waste a moment in regret or complaint. The “one wild and precious life” we were gifted with suddenly reveals itself in all its splendor. You don’t want to miss an opportunity to meet each day with joy and gratitude.

There are countless ways to do this, as many possibilities as there are living beings on Earth. Those who have gone before us advise us to share with others our unique essence, our humanity as well as our divinity (they are inseparable) There is no one else like you, so don’t hold back. Make of your life a peaceful prayer, a poem of inspiration, a celebratory dance. Like the wood thrush and robin, make of your life a song that carries the love in your heart to all who hear it. Your soul will guide you.

This is why we were born, why we journey through challenge and crisis, to finally come to understand that each moment carries within it Heaven on Earth. The reward for living, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, is life itself. It sometimes takes an entire lifetime (or many lifetimes) to come to this realization, but each of us is destined to do so. We are currently living through an extraordinary time of transformation on this planet, one in which separation from Spirit and from one another will fall away, sometimes gradually and sometimes with a thunderous crash. We may think we are lost, but there is much more here than what our habitual perceptions show us. Our days are woven from a tapestry of miracles. Open your heart, and let it reveal to you the sweet song your life is meant to be.

The Birds!

Inevitably, people ask me why I moved from Florida back to Massachusetts after only two and a half years. I answer a little differently each time, usually something about missing friends/family and the change of seasons. However, as spring begins to flower in New England, there is one answer that rises to the top: the birds! Meaning the spring bird migration that brings thousands of birds from Central and South America northward through Massachusetts. And right down the street from me to Mt. Auburn Cemetery, which is heaven on Earth for birdwatchers from April to June, especially the first three weeks in May. With the exception of the last two years, this is where I could be found early in the morning to mid-afternoon on most spring days over the past 30 years.

More than anything else, I missed this exciting yearly event.  Even though Florida has incredible birds of its own (herons, egrets, ibises, gallinules, pelicans, parrots, woodpeckers), it was the excitement of seeing warblers, tanagers, orioles, grosbeaks, and thrushes passing through Massachusetts (some nesting here) annually that tugged at my heartstrings and called me home. The thrill of encountering these beautiful songbirds each spring is like nothing else I’ve ever experienced. Through long snowy winters, northern birders anticipate their arrival.

When the male cardinal begins to rehearse his spring song in late January or early February, even with snow on the ground and freezing temperatures, it is the first hint that indeed spring is not far away. Soon I hear house finches, song sparrows, and mourning doves singing, as the days lengthen and the changing light cues the birds for their seasonal roles. For me, robins turn the tide. Some of them overwinter in Massachusetts, but it is the arrival of flocks of migrating robins in March that lift my heart: I know that spring is right on our doorstep now. The trees and lawns fill up with robins, and they can be heard calling and singing in the mornings and often throughout the day. This is what I missed most in Florida: robins, with their red breasts, bright eyes, and cheery songs. They sing spring into being, and soon all the other amazing migrating birds follow.

Mt. Auburn is a green gem of woodsy wildness in the midst of the busy streets of Cambridge, Massachusetts. When I walk through its gates, I step out of the city and into the country, or the closest thing to it in a metropolitan area. Tree elders of all kinds, as well as native plantings, flowers, ponds, hills, and dells, are a striking visual invitation to birds who have flown all night on their thousands-of-miles marathon journey from Central and South America. They drop down out of the sky at dawn into this oasis and begin to replenish their life force by eating the insects that come to the flowering spring trees. And we bird-lovers are there to welcome them.

In April, the first warblers appear: yellow-rumped, palm, pine. Then as May begins, the rest begin to fly in: black-throated blue, black-throated green, black-and-white, yellow, northern parula, magnolia, chestnut-sided, bay-breasted, common yellowthroat, ovenbird, American redstart, and so many others. I especially anticipate seeing the Blackburnian with its fiery orange iridescent throat and the Canada with its delicate black necklace. Each warbler has distinctive markings and color patterns that can evoke audible gasps among birders when the sun lights their feathers and their varied songs fill the air.

Around the same time, Baltimore orioles, scarlet tanagers, flycatchers, vireos, and rose-breasted grosbeaks arrive, and the rainbow of bird colors expands. There is nothing to compare to the sight of flashy orange-and-black orioles swirling through the trees chattering at one another and whistling melodically. The scarlet tanager is another showstopper, brilliant red and black among the green leaves, singing its hoarsely sweet song. Then there are the thrushes, whose songs are ethereal flute-like trills in the quiet woods. The veery and wood thrush, in particular, always fill my heart with joy and my eyes with tears as I listen in silence, motionless. Listening as much as watching is the delight of being with birds.

In its simplicity, birdwatching teaches silent presence as well as immersion in the moment. Within that is also surrender to a powerful invisible life force that flows through the universe and carries humans and birds alike. Great spiritual wisdom is embodied in the lives of these tiny feathered beings and awakened in our own hearts. So many birds, so many wonders that play out each spring in a passing parade of color and sound like no other. We are incredibly blessed to share the Earth with birds, who fly so far to light up our souls with their songs and presence. Living miracles each one of them. Who would want to miss this once-a-year magic show? Not me. And that’s why I moved back to Massachusetts.