Gratitude

I am drawn to where the past lingers on, like Sturbridge Village Museum in Massachusetts, where people dress up in yesteryear clothes and character. It is truly amazing how these people fit their parts so well, as if being transported back 300 years.

Seeing the farmer in a long coat shepherding a flock of sheep thru the village green.

Seeing the potter casually spinning a clay pot.

Seeing the tinker making a lantern of tin or a candleholder of pewter.

Seeing how they cook in a hearth with an open fragrant log fire.

There’s something about a very old photograph that really draws me in. Perhaps it’s the black and white monochrome world that looks oddly “at a distance” – as if that’s the best that could be done at that time – almost like a dream.

I like to see how people are dressed and I try to sense how it felt to be in that place at that time. Did the air feel different?

I was born into a prepared place here,
Where geniuses leave their marks,
That everything is better still.

Thank you you who first sung a song.
Perhaps the birds led the way.

Thank you you who first baked a pot from clay.
Perhaps fiery stones led the way.

Thank you you who first made a word.
Perhaps the call of sheep led the way.

Thank you you who first picked berries and nuts as food.
Perhaps you watched the deer and squirrel.

I love walking thru fall leaves.

Not just walking thru them, but really kicking them up into the air, like wanting to see them fall again and again – to float gently down, swaying this way and that, living a little poetry for a minute, something myriad generations before had admired and enjoyed.

My wife lost her glasses. They were missing for over 3 weeks. Each of the four of us in this home tried looking for them several times over – we just could not find them.

Then I tried something different. Instead of telling the universe, “Oh my, the glasses are missing.” I said out loud, “Thank you for showing me the glasses.” I hopped into the future with the end result being the glasses were in my hand, and being thankful for that too.

Out of the blue came the hoot of an owl.

Sometimes this happens in my back yard. Sometimes in my neighborhood. Sometimes I think it follows me.

It was a very pleasant surprise - three long, slow, low hoots. A pause, then it repeated. A pause again, then it repeated again.

It calls up in me the feeling of the deep woods. Where there are wise animals, knowing old, huge oaks, and the feel of soft, moist dirt underfoot.

The woods are alive with mystery and quiet surprise. At any moment there could appear a deer, a chipmunk, or a giant, black crow.

You’re staying home.
You’re washing hands.
You’re drinking water.

Now what?
Are you still anxious?

Do you realize the entire world is now focusing single-pointedly on well-being?
Everyone in their own way.
Vast numbers, hidden, like stars in the sky in the daylight.

The doctors and nurses and researchers in their way.
The caregivers in their way.
The people of all religions in their way.
The light-workers in their way.

Listening to my Higher Self, El, I finally heard perhaps the most important truth of all.

I pushed on in my conversation with my Higher Self, who I’m calling El, and asked, What is the gift of my aloneness?

And this time my answer came as a stream of questions.

Did the loss of your intimate relationship not force you to reclaim your projections and encounter many hidden aspects of yourself, in the process healing, by loving, all of your Being, and teaching you how to give unconditional love to others?

And did this not make you a better healer as well as a more peaceful human being?

Handicaps or disabilities can be things like poverty, a less than pleasing appearance, or a lack of freedom, support or community.

In my case, My Higher Self, El, revealed, my handicap, or disability, is the lack of several types of partnership that I have always fervently desired and am not currently enjoying in my life – the intimate kind; the sustained, soulful work/business variety; and the type that comes from a group of people working together, up close and persistently, on a cause that is dear to their hearts.