Into the Fire

A week of cell-exploding beauty; which included probably thirty hours of just sitting and watching the birds, chipmunks, deer, and mountains outside my window, along with no spoken word for five days.  And then I came back to...  Life.  Which I never left, of course.  But when the most important thing that needs to be done is to fill the water dish for the birds, one can get a little, er... forgetful about the fact that Life has its own plans.

First, the kind of bliss that I, in my naiveté, would choose for the world, if I were to run things:

I arrived at One-Of-The-Closest-Places-To-Heaven more than ready for

Silence.

And other than a small amount of book reading that I did and a few profoundly wise and insightful offerings of notes written back and forth between me and a friend, planted and discovered in a secret hiding place down in a gully under a big rabbitbrush, I had no human or verbal contact with the world for five blissful days.

I realize that might drive some people crazy.

It emptied, then nourished my soul.

This is what replaced the views I have at home:

Looking east from my little cabin

The view looking out my western windows

(Are ya jealous yet?)

The view about six feet outside my big southern window.

The first day or so, I watched as birds discovered and drank from the water I had placed in this (what do you call a dish that you put under a potted plant?) bird-watering dish.  The dish held a gallon of water (one whole milk jug that I found under the sink).  What a perfect place for birds to drink in this parched desert!  For hours and hours, I sat and watched all kinds and colors of feathered creatures delicately sipping.

After a day or two, a mountain bluebird walked into the water and waded around a bit.

Mountain bluebird

Then, he just went into fits of birdbathing joy.

Splish splash, I was takin' a bath

It had never entered my mind that this was not only a place for drink, but also a place to bathe!  (Drinking and bathing and shitting in one place... oooooh, yum!)  Obviously, I have not been around many birdbaths in my life.

I am not exaggerating when I say that watching the bird show outside my window for days was one of the most healing experiences I can remember having.

Deer also came to visit the bowl a couple of nights, and they drank it dry.  One morning, I got to see two males imbibing.  I was THIS close, but behind glass, so they didn't know I was there.  I saw how their noses move when they drink.

When all one has to do is to sit and watch, or sit and ponder, or take a walk and ahhhhh at the beauty and spaciousness, a clearer, more open perspective to life takes over.  Spacious and accepting.

After staying up late the last night of the retreat, due to cleaning my cabin and having fun reconnecting with the other retreatants, I drove home through rain, hail, snow, and incredible yellow aspen views.  I was very much looking forward to slowly entering the world that everyone here had continued to inhabit.

But my experience of coming back was more that of a c-section birth - Bam! From womb to bright lights - than a natural transition.

I won't give you all the gory details, but I'll just say that my family took the opportunity of my absence to have much more drama than I would have preferred (but who asked me?).

And Michael and I ended up in the ER about seven hours after my arrival.  Fortunately, the hospital didn't keep him overnight.  Unfortunately, they did entertain us until 2:00 a.m.  I have to say, if I need to be partying until all hours of the morning in a place with mostly cold, institutional decor, I am happy that the people I'm partying with are my sweet hubby and the kind and wonderful people at our nearby hospital.

We still don't know the source of Michael's excruciating gut pains, but it's not his liver or his gallbladder.  Pain meds, anti-nausea meds, and stuff to coat his digestive system helped.  Is this a cancer thing?  Is this irritation from all of the weird things he takes?

Cancer (and other diseases, I'm sure) changes the game.  Every physical issue that comes along brings up wonders and worries about its cause.

This morning, I opened a book that I had ordered before my retreat and which arrived while I was gone.  From the preface I read:

This book is about liberation.  That doesn't mean the end of earthquakes, wars, bankruptcies, unemployment and cancer, and it doesn't mean a life without heartbreak, depression, anxiety or addiction.  It's about recognizing that this is the Holy Reality, and that the Holy Reality is not somewhere else.

Amen.



(Quote from Nothing to Grasp by Joan Tollifson.)