Messenger

 It was resting on the back porch of the house, the largest and most vivid moth I have ever seen. I was curious about this fascinating creature and wondered why it was there in my life at that particular moment.  What message it was bringing? I ran to get the camera to take photos of it before it flew away. Internet research revealed that it was a Cecropia, or Robin Moth, a specimen of the largest moth in North America.  I believe it was a female, judging by the size of the abdomen and the antennae.

 In ancient Greek mythology the goddess Psyche was represented by a moth, the symbol of soul or spirit. Moths are also symbols of sensitivity and intuition. They are guided by the moon, for the night is their realm.  Like their more flamboyant butterfly cousins moths are identified with transformation and metamorphosis (meta is Greek, “change beyond,” morph is “shape”, and osis is “state, process, condition)” from a caterpillar in its cocoon into a winged, more refined creature.

To me, the story of the Cecropia is both joyful and heartbreaking. Their short life spans have a single purpose, to breed.  To this end they don’t eat, as these moths have neither mouths nor digestive systems.  The male, attracted to the female’s pheromones will fly as far as seven miles to get to his mate.  When he finds her, they spend one day together from early morning until the evening.  After the mating is complete and the female lays her eggs, both moths fly away to die within seven to ten days.  The cycle of life is complete.

Why had this Psyche moth stopped to rest at my doorstep? Was she merely resting?  Perhaps she was exuding her sweet fragrance to attract her mate, or she already laid her eggs and had embarked on death’s journey.  I don’t fully understand the significance of her appearance; maybe her presence at that moment was a reminder to embrace the cycle of life and to give me courage as I move forward on my own journey on this earth.  Whatever her message, to find this exotic creature in my own back yard is a miracle, and that is enough for me.

Stream of Consciousness

Lately I have been absorbed in my family history and the more I delve into it the more I want to know.  My grandmothers especially. Grandmother Anna B, and Great Grandmother Lucy Sivils Payne on my mother’s side; Grandmother Olga and Geat Grandmother Olive on my father’s side of the family.

                I feel the thread that connects us and the stories of the trials, loss and joy that weaves the pattern of life. Watching Downton Abby has been a catalyst for those of us living here in the house. Tonight I was reminded of how much I was wounded by the separation from  my daughter Tirzah but I realize that we all have been deepened by loss in this life, trials that test us beyond what we think we can bear. And the point is that we are not victims, we are merely playing our parts…just as Shakespeare said, and we are all but players on the stage.

                I am thankful for these moments of objectivity. I feel my mother very much since Dad died. Her strength and the deep loss that she feels. I feel it too but not in the way that she does.  The power of music, the power of art, the power of words; it is how we cope with life on this planet.

                Family and unconditional love is what we are here for, no matter whether or not we even understand the part we are playing or why things happen the way they do. A flash in eternity; the moon is nearly full, this is powerful medicine and this is why I have kept the curtains open tonight.

                Sometimes I feel limited in my expression of my beliefs but now I realize that I have been empowered and it is time to take my place in the circle, the web….the seed has been planted; the stone has been dropped in the pond. I have given birth six times, surely that gives me some wisdom in spite of what I have perceived as failed relationships. 

Haibun

The River

I get up early and walk upriver to enjoy the fresh morning breeze and the birdsong. The sunrise reflects on the glossy surface of the river creating diamonds of sparkling light. Near the estuary where the spring joins the river I notice a creature swimming towards the shore. As it comes closer, I see that it is a beaver. I stand motionless and watch as he makes his slow progress across.

serene of morning

undisturbed; creation’s peace

sunrise in command

I spend this summer day by the banks of the mighty Columbia River considering its mystery and ponder the workings of my own life.  The river is wise and powerful and its silence is comforting. Despite rocky shore, various plants thrived on the sandy ground and bloom with tiny wildflowers.  The osprey flies to and from its nest on the opposite bank. Once or twice a day the train etches itself along that ridge. The rocks scrabble noisily down and I wonder if the bank will give way. I shed my clothes; wade into the chilly water in as far as I dare and plunge under.

Deep cold water

soaring birds against the sky

sharing river life.

Today's Writing Tip

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/29/books/review/colson-whiteheads-rules-for-writing.html?pagewanted=2&_r=1&nl=books&emc=edit_bk_20120727

Haven

The drive over the North Cascade Mountains of Washington State is breathtaking, and even in May there is snow alongside the highway. This year we caravanned from Western Washington with my son; two vehicles pulling trailers with all our possessions to settle in northeastern Washington near the Columbia River not far from the Canadian border. The last time I lived here for any length of time was over three decades ago when my 2nd born daughter was a little girl. I’ll never forget the first time I saw the cabin nestled among the pine trees, felt the serenity of this land and witnessed the majesty of the Columbia River. Now I am here at my daughter’s house, the one she and my son in law built several years ago. This is where my husband and I will stay while we are building our home.

There are few distractions here; one is graced with the essence of simplicity. To be near the river and surrounded by the Ponderosa Pines is a gift that frees my spirit and I cherish my time here. While I look forward to the future the past is my treasure, for the discovery of this sanctuary all those years ago fulfilled a dream.

I have so many memories of the early days; summer afternoons with the children swimming in the river, hiking up to the apple orchards, and the “berry walks” harvesting the mulberries and abundant serviceberries. I remember the rattlesnakes and the bears, (I saw a young bear close up in an apple tree one year) and the osprey’s nest across the river. I remember hitchhiking into town for groceries; giving birth to my youngest son in the deep, quiet winter of a January morning. These were times of faith, simple times, deep times.

Nature was all around us so each day was a learning experience for us all, both adults and children. At one point there were three households on the land and between us we schooled our children, teaching them math, reading, and art. My daughter tells me these were some of the happiest days of her childhood. There was always plenty of excitement like the stump fire that broke out behind the cabin one summer which took us all day to put out. Exhausted as we were by the end of the day we still had to deal with a wild dog that attacked our chickens as we were sitting down to dinner. There was the day my daughter broke her arm and we had to go all the way to the hospital in Spokane.

We had few possessions in those days. The kitchen was furnished with wooden apple crates for cupboards and we kept our perishables in the spring box up the road behind the cabin. We had electricity but cooked with a wood cook stove and did laundry outside the cabin in standing washtubs and hung our clothes on clotheslines. We baked bread and grew our vegetables which we canned, froze, or stored in a root cellar.

Every now and again there was a day when I was alone on the land and it was these days that are some of my most precious memories. I was complete in stillness within, with the sun on my face, the trees singing in the wind, and the chirping of cicadas. Many years later I am again granted this peaceful feeling as I gaze at meadow that unfolds in front of the house. There, in the middle of the field is Angel’s tree, the tree beneath which lay the ashes of my grandson who was stillborn almost two decades ago. I can’t think of a better place for him to rest.

When Hello Means Goodby

Awakening to Unconditional Love

     Within her a pregnant woman carries sacred life and the love a mother has for her children dwells deep in her heart. Mother and child are one, generation after generation. Giving birth to each of my children filled me in a way I never thought possible, but when I became a grandmother for the first time the experience was a circumcision of my heart. The night before she gave birth to her first child my daughter had a dream that God was rocking her in His arms. I was with her at the hospital when, at noon the next day she gave birth to a stillborn baby boy. The breath of life was not within him, but he was a real part our lives; this tiny little being whose presence in that moment changed us forever.
      I can still picture my little grandson, so still, cradled in my daughter’s arms, a portrait of mother and child, of perfect innocence and pure love. I remember this experience with clarity, even after seventeen years have passed. Having to greet this little being and say good bye to him in the same moment awoke in me an understanding of a true and deep love for life.
     We left the hospital that day with empty arms but we were blessed by this angel, which became his name, for indeed he brought a message and a blessing by his very being. What came into my heart was “be still and know that I am God” and God is love. There was no conversation as my son in law drove us home, but we were bonded by the silent tears we all shared. It was on that ride I understood that there is a reason for every being created and grief is part of love; it deepens us so we can experience life fully and accept a greater power than ourselves. In the years since Angel’s birth I have realized that life is a journey and that unconditional love is the single most power of all.

QUINTESSENCE

                                                 
Firstborn, nameless, your birth was not what I expected,

but I felt your spirit profoundly
as you lay so still, a newborn babe
cradled in your mothers arms,
a miracle to fill the soul with meaning.
I caressed your downy softness
and perceived Divine Love.
The Breath of Life was not within you
 yet you brought a message
so deeply and gently delivered
“Be still and know that I am God.”
It was then I received the courage
to love you completely and to let you go,
in an eternal moment to acknowledge,
“Hello, Little Angel and farewell.
Unbidden tears, bittersweet pierce, yet soothe my heart,
I feel you now a part of me
and recognize the angel in myself.
You blessed me with mercy and goodness;
I am at peace, thankful for your guidance
through the Valley of the Shadow of Death
and I fear no evil.

Inspiration

The power of words is undeniable. The origin of all poetry was magical invocation of the goddess..and when the Muse visits, she brings with Her a magical feeling of channeling.


"Though they are only breath

Words that I command
Are immortal."

~Sappho~



Natalie Goldberg writes: "Writing can teach you many things. To learn the art of writing is to obtain magical powers. They are a secret. No one can give them to you. You must work at them yourself. And do not abuse it"

Another woman writer that I admire is Anais Nin:


"To write without feeling is to miss the one element which animates every line with life" or "writing itself is often a waking dream" 

THOSE GENTLE GRAY EYES

When one is good.
Those eyes, so terrible,
When one deserves it.
Those eyes that pierce the night,
Following me when I run away,
Those dark eyes that pierce
My heart.
Those tempting eyes that
I sometimes run from
Because they are too sweet,
Alas, where can I hide?
If I do wrong, they are so angry!
If I do right, so good, so sweet
that my heart melts.
Those eyes, an illusion, perhaps,
They are the eyes of the conscience
Of my soul.

~Anais Nin~