More Feathers

Late afternoon last Friday, I placed my yoga mat under a maple tree in the far corner of the yard.  I had never set up over there, but on this day, it was the only spot that felt private.  Although it had been warm out earlier, by the time I sat down it had cooled off significantly and I considered moving indoors.  However, with the long range forecast calling for rain and lower temperatures, I realized that it could be quite some time 'til I could practise outdoors again so I grabbed a blanket, and began.  Within moments I noticed a small, white feather drifting down, eventually coming to rest on the grass nearby.  Soon after, a second white feather appeared, undulating - dancing softly in the breeze, like a scene out of Forrest Gump.  After crossing directly in front of me, it continued on at eye level, passing under the branches and eventually travelling beyond my field of vision.  It had been many months, possibly even a year, since I had last seen this special sign, and I smiled at the loving message from spirit.  Earlier in the week, I had asked Michael to please show me a physical sign of his presence, to remind me that his essence was still close, and now, here it was.  As my poses flowed from one to another, I repeatedly heard the message: remember to keep your perspective broad and open, rather than narrow and closed - you will feel lighter and more content.  I interpreted this to be a reference to living with his passing, but of course, it applies to everything in life.  So richly rewarded for my decision to remain outdoors.

Salmon Inspiration

While swimming lengths at the pool recently, I was surprised to feel fatigue setting in around the 3/4 mile mark.  I contemplated slowing down or even cutting my swim short, but then I considered the salmon in my local river.  When they were young, they made their way down to the ocean.  Now, those fortunate enough to have survived to maturity have returned to their birth river.  Swimming upstream against the current, periodically challenged to leap over rock barriers, these salmon exert themselves fully for days on end.  Their goal is to return to their spawning grounds regardless of the hurdles that await them en route.  As I thought about the determination each one of them exhibits during that long and arduous journey, it was an easy decision to finish out my little swim without compromise.

I Still Call Bullshit

This morning, while placing flowers at the memorial plaque engraved with my son's birth and death dates, the voice in my head is still calling bullshit.  On a soul level, I understand Michael's passing, however, as his mother, I doubt if it will ever make sense.  The accident happened two and a half years ago today.  It might as well be two and a half months ago, since time has done little, if anything, to alter my day-to-day reality with respect to this intense loss.  How could it?  He is gone. He will never again give me a hug, never again call me on the phone, never again sit down to a family meal.  Regardless of what is happening in my day, experiencing joy or sadness or anything in-between, this companion called grief is with me, always.  I would not have anticipated this is how it would be, but as with any profound life experience, you don't know until you are in it.

Cartwheels ... Just Because

While walking along the seawall, I noticed a young bikini-clad woman performing a cartwheel on the beach.  This reminded me of an old photo taken at another local beach where my toddler daughter is cartwheeling naked on the sand.  A simple pleasure, done ... just because.  I got to thinking - when had I last executed a cartwheel?  How old was I?  Most likely in my twenties, three decades ago.  Where was I and who was I with?  What if on that day, someone had said, "Vera, this is the last time you will experience the joy of doing a cartwheel." Would I have laughed at the absurdity of that statement?  Would I have thought the person crazy?  Would I have then made a conscious effort to continue incorporating cartwheels into my life?  As I continued walking, I decided that another cartwheel was long overdue.  Arriving home, I placed my hands firmly on the grass, then swung my legs up and over.  It was not very graceful but it was a cartwheel nonetheless.  I am sure that my granddaughter will happily practise with me.