Tag Archives: awakening
As she drew the curtains to let the sun in, her Big Ben door chimes rang out. The bay window afforded a view of her front door, but no one was there. The bell rang again, this time, with a strikingly sweet diinnnng! She entered the hall to find that her roof …was gone! The sky seemed to envelop her, sucking her in; no boundaries, no past, no future, no time – just – unfolding present. The deepest blue she had ever experienced evolved into a permeating nurturing pink – a conscious intelligence that knew every moment of her and it loved her without limit, without judgment, without expectation of any kind.
Behind her hundreds of “her” people had gathered, and their arms thrust her with such enormous speed – Whoooosh! Like child on a swing – it took her breath away, though she had no sense of breathing, only of the white light – closer and closer – it should have blinded her eyes with searing pain, but didn’t. She couldn’t look away. It, too, knew her with complete, perfect, and even amused love.
All too soon, from light years away, a pin prick voice called her name. Immediately she began to fall and the light, still brilliant, grew smaller and more distant, and she knew it was consciously letting her go.
“Don’t send me back! Please,” she cried. A sound – a loud, sharp CLAP dropped her and she was back, standing at her open front door where a ragged stranger was asking for a glass of water.
“Of course, come in,” she said and gently ushered him to a chair. At long last, she truly understood: the only reality and the only real choice is love.
As she waited to hear back from the hospital she found herself thinking about her brother’s bedroom – magical, mysterious, and strictly off limits unless she knocked and received permission to enter. A rare treat that he gave only when she promised not to ask too many questions….
“Brucie, what’s this?” she asked, fingering a fishhook from the tin box on her brother’s workbench.
“Put it down. If that gets stuck in your thumb, I’ll have to push it all the way through and you’ll cry like a girl.”
She examined the sharp point and barb, then dropped the hook and picked up another one. “What’s it for?”
“Fly fishing.” Her brother set a small hook in the workbench clamp. Taking two scarlet feather fronds from a cardboard container he placed them against the hook and spiraled golden silk thread round and round the ends, flush to the base of the curved steel, transforming the hook into an alluring winged insect.
“Wow, that’s pretty. What do you do with it?”
“You tie it on your rod like this…” Retrieving a spool from his tackle box, Bruce threaded nylon through the fishhook loop, then tied a knot and cut the line in one deft movement. He tossed the hook into the air and flicked the line back and forth. Light from his workbench lamp glinted against the shimmering gold and scarlet.
She forgot it was merely feather and steel and sat mesmerized by the dancing insect that responded to her brother’s hand.
“When this lure strikes the water,” he said, “the trout thinks Supper! He leaps to the surface, gulps the insect, and snap!” Bruce jerked his wrist. “That’s when the fish becomes my supper,” he said with a laugh.
~ * ~
It was the jangling telephone that dragged her back to the here and now. After the call she sat in stunned silence. “He’s gone,” was all her sister could say.
She imagined the neurosurgeon tying silk stitches, closing the hole where the tumor had been. The surgeon’s thread was shimmering gold.
At the corner of her vision, something flickered past the window drawing her attention outside. There an incredibly beautiful, scarlet dragonfly danced in the morning sun.
“Hi Bruce,” she whispered. “How did you do that?”
Starting the day by counting ten things that open my heart leaves me awash in Gratitude, a perfect morning prayer.
Thank you for:
Pink-tinged sunrises, transforming trees and silhouettes
Eagle’s mating cries between wings that steal the sky
Heron – still as stone – takes flight, a squawking winged dinosaur
Red-shafted Flickers dropping madrona berries on my roof,
and each happy Plunk, landing like a new idea
My golden retriever’s Sigh, soft as her silken Fur
Fresh-ground, steaming-hot Island Coffee with milk and two sugars
Words, and finding just the right one
Windows – my eyes into this island’s Soul
and Doors – God’s open arms into His
“They’re starting – Quick!” I said to him
“It’s the trooping of the Queens’ Guards
Take my hand, and we’ll find a place
in the front where you can see.”
I led him to the palace yard
clasping palms we chased the parade
hearts beating along to drums,
to soldiers’ feet, and horses hooves
and triumphant marching songs
My grandson and I stood and watched
row upon row of belted tunics,
scarlet red of Britain’s blood
gold buttons flashed by noon-day sun
black trousers and shoes in scissor-leg moves
snipping in time, wooden, all as one
Left right, snip snap
Bayonets fixed on sky-aimed rifles
Canadian bearskin-heightened heads
glistening fur bounced and swung
while people jostled, tradition bound
Left right, swish swoosh
“How many?” he asked above the din
“What?” I said, too thrilled to hear
He pointed at the black fur dancing
noble and thick upon their heads
Left right, snip snap
“Grannie” his query pierced the music
Left right, the soldiers passed
I cheered with the crowd but Farley cried
“For the soldiers hats,” he demanded the truth
“How many bears have died?”