An Old Photograph

An Old Photograph
 
An old photograph resurfaced after many years in my closet ‘Collection of Artifacts and a Myriad Mysteries’. It was a picture I took of my husband, Roger, and our two children, Alissa and Aaron, both in their pre-teens.
There was nothing extraordinary or ‘special’ about our little family, but now and then we glimpsed the special magic of Nature. Perhaps it was just our receptive appreciation of Nature that often attracted messengers of the wilderness into our lives.
Looking at that photo, I recalled the journey of that first of July, ‘Canada Day’. My memory became more vivid, feeling the sizzling heat of the day and my aching muscles as we winched and coaxed our aluminum boat and fishing gear up the challenging portage. It was a slow, exhausting process that grounded our visions of carefree relaxation floating on the lake beyond. We all pitched in to make it through that frustrating, mosquito-annoying, hot and arduous struggle. I remember taking sips of cold water mixed with my sweat and a little fly-repellant, and being just too tired to care. I remember thinking The Eternal Question—‘Why are we here?’ Then, free of the hill and burden of ‘details’ we’d brought, we were finally back on water enjoying the luxury of a working outboard-motor. As we sped along, I thanked God for the millionth time and all the ingenious humans who’d ever invented labour-saving machinery. I have never been sophisticated enough to take such things for granted.
An hour or so later of cooling breeze and boat vibrations, we decided that we’d ‘arrived’ at our unknown destination. The lightened cooler was opened once again, and we hungrily devoured our sandwiches. Mine also had the added flavours of sweat and fly-dope and fish bait. I can taste the memory even now.
Shortly after our meal was eaten and our bait was put to work, we had a visit from an unexpected guest. A messenger of Nature surfaced near our boat to thrill us with a clearly communicating display, soundly slapping its large, flat tail on the water. Everything is truly the meaning one gives to it, and from our welcoming perspective we interpreted the warning sign to be the ‘Canada Day Beaver’s Salute’. The timing was perfect! We had worked so hard to get to that ‘special place’ of quiet peace and floating freedom, like the beaver who ‘greeted’ us. I understood the natural warning of ‘Don’t anyone even think of taking these values away from this place!’ That’s when beavers shape-shift into fighting creatures much more aggressive and fierce. A sanctuary of peace and freedom is what Canadian families, and so many individual Canadians, have worked so hard to create, to continually maintain, and to gratefully enjoy. We salute all who share such values and warn those who don’t.
Then I thought, recalling that extraordinary/ordinary event on ‘Canada Day’—‘For however long we Canadians choose to unite as a country, may Canada’s national pride aways be tempered by a healthy humility as it grows to be a co-creator of a higher vision of World Unity. That isn’t too much for any Global Citizen to hope for, n’est-ce pas?’
I placed the old photograph back into my closet ‘Collection of Artifacts and a Myriad Mysteries’ with a wistful smile.
April 27, 2006

Spiritual Reminders

 

 waterlily
L ove Transforms
U nderstanding Evolves
C ompassion Heals
K indness Blesses All
Y ou are Spirit
Y ou are Life
O neness is Life’s Truth
U ltimate Truth Frees

The Cow

 
With one artful brush of her cow’s tail
an annoying mosquito was hurled
with its poison through the air—
only to return with countless others
eager to critique her form
in hopes of drawing blood.
Despite these minor, frustrating attacks,
her life was a rhythmic harmony
in tune with Life’s pastoral symphony
in which she played her own small part.
As a participant contentedly standing in the imagery
of country landscape photos and paintings,
she lived her days in gentle quietude
and peaceful contemplations.
She savoured sunshine and stillness,
yet found endless fascination
in the sweeping dramas of storms.
She loved the light of early morning,
the vibrant green pastures of Spring rains,
the still waters of the pond,
the well-worn paths to the welcoming barn.
She loved resting in calm communion
with the Spirit of Nature, the joy of oneness,
the creative process of eating—
chewing and cud-chewing
of food and thoughts cows think.
Just a common cow, she vainly regarded
her black and white markings
as being special and beautiful
and regarded her milk as being a uniquely fine gift.
Like a nun, she prayed to be forgiven
such vanity and pride when the habit of immodesty
covered and hid her better qualities.
Unlike a nun, she looked at creation
from widely different angles and perspectives.
She knew that cows had been used universally
as a symbol for worship by many humans
and as a symbol for mockery by many.
Such reverence and ridicule she faced
with equanimity mixed with bewilderment
and a healthy sense of humour.
Perhaps she’d be a whale in her next life.
Perhaps a frog.
She had a strong mothering instinct,
even toward those human creatures
who’d arrogantly ‘bought’ her at auction.
She lovingly worked to nurture them
with her flow of desired milk.
She gave freely and wholeheartedly,
celebrating Life with this self-giving.
Shy and mild-mannered most times,
she was a pleasingly good-natured cow
despite the occasional naughty kicks
she gave at milking times—
and the occasional bellowing of discontent
whenever boredom weighed heavily on her fat hours.
More than not, she was content—
not from expectation but gratitude
for the wonder of her life.
She so enjoyed the creative process
she saw in her own nature,
and the comforting communion
which utterly filled her quieted mind
and heart to overflowing expressions.
Her thoughts poured out like streams of milk.
Her milk poured out like streams of thought.
Some animals responded to her
with contemptuous or jealous eyes.
Some gazed at her as if she were
a garden statuary inspiration.
She looked at herself one day
in the pensive pond,
staring in humble reflection.
There she saw all creation in which she was absorbed—
all creation as being a divine, operatic play
evolving act by act
in a glory of expressed perfection.
The cow then lifted her head heavenward,
heart rejoicing,
and in tune with her own nature
voiced a truly happy moood.
April,1992 revised May,2004 February,2006

The Loon

 
A black and white vision of solitude on a lonely lake,
the loon moved silently on the still water
surrounded by the mysteries of the early morning mists.
A battered canoe glided into sight,
piloted by a human male whose appearance
likewise declared a love of wilderness and solitude.
The man’s searching eyes disclosed
a shining clarity of thought miscalled madness
for want of understanding by those who judged him so.
Society had shunned him as he had shunned
the mad cruelties and rigid intolerance
of outdated, unevolved social structures.
The loon instantly recognized a companion of spirit.
With wings outstretched in a universal sign
of respectful acknowledgment and acceptance,
he voiced his shrill, reverberating salute…
The loud, clarion call haunted the visionary atmosphere
through which the poet followed his quest.
While alarming more fearful creatures, this call
stimulated the predatory instincts in other hungry listeners.
Inspired by the amazing power of this peculiar poetry,
the human echoed the lyrical call with gratitude.
Then, in silence, the loon moved further up the lake
exploring the mysterious mists beyond—
the mists he loved and could not fear.
April,1992 revised May, 2004 February, 2006

The Rabbit

 
A small and insignificant wild rabbit
quietly hopped about the challenging landscape,
refusing, when he chose, to limit his free movement
by the border fences of rigid human rules.
Passing through religious and political barriers
with the ease of a ghost,
he ignored the forbidding signs
and psychological warfare
aimed at freedom-loving creatures like him.
Overcoming his natural timidity,
he charged with determined courage of conviction
up the ominous, fortified ridge of man’s intimidation.
There he took his small but spiritually significant
stand for freedom’s victory.
Upon the ridge, he rested in silent thought.
Then he saw a greater victory head.
He filled his humble heart and mind
with an all-encompassing and all-forgiving love—
even for those tiny, malicious mosquitos
and their unending invective attacks.
The lush garden lay invitingly before him
and he rushed to his reward…
April, 1992 revised May,2004