Friday, August 15, 2014

an unusual story perhaps, and… - part 3

I stood on the shore for several minutes, not doing anything other than absorbing the moment.  Everything felt perfect, in harmony, at one.  Not just in the earth and air and water and light around me.  But every element within me as well.  In body and mind, heart and spirit.

With time, I decided to make my way back home.  I was strolling along the sea wall when I came upon four adult Canadian geese looking after perhaps 40 goslings, tiny little beings fresh into this world, munching on the grass.  It seemed rather odd to me, the percentages.  Forty goslings and four adults.  Seemed like a lot of goslings for so few adults.  And it was the sweetest scene.  I was immediately taken by the abundance of new life, the wildness, the innocent trust.  The four adults were ever on their guard, protecting the little ones.  When anyone got close, they were soon advised with great certainty and sincerity to stay clear.  I watched this flock, from a safe distance I might add, for several minutes.

There was something deeply personal going on here.  It was as if they were reflecting something back to me.  New life.  Innocence.  Trust.  Protection.

Eventually the flock starting making their way toward the water.  They had to cross a path and leap over a short rise of rocklike brick perhaps 5 inches high, before they would disappear, descending a slope down to the shore.  The adults led the way, the infant goslings struggling to keep up.  Four or five of the goslings were inadvertantly left behind.  They trailed along and by the time they got to the brick, they were uncertain as to how to make the leap. Chirping frantically, they scurried first one way, then the next, hapless and seemingly left behind.  A few moments later, you could hear the distinctive call of a single goose and slowly first the head then the long neck of one of the four adults rose into view.  The little stragglers perked up their heads.  It was almost like you could see their little hearts shifting from the rampant beating of fear and anxiety to something still rapid in tempo but instead…  cared for? found again?  reassured?  reconnected?  All of the above?

Again, the scene felt as if it were choreographed strictly for my benefit.  Like mother nature was trying to tell me something I really needed to know.

I'm not done yet, or perhaps I should say, beautifully symbolic and synchronistic and grace and ritual infused life was not done with me yet.

I left the scene feeling like some wonderful and unexpected gift had been laid at my feet, in my hands, within my heart.  I climbed a gentle slope to a landing where I practice t'ai chi from time to time.  I thought, "What better time than this?"  I stood in the initial pose and turned to the right.  My eyes were blinded by the morning sun.  I lost all visual orientation.  I had to internally FEEL my way, FIND my balance point.  It wasn't all about grace and synchronisity, I also had to be engaged from an internal place to make my way.  I had to become more focused.  I needed to relax.  To become more aware of my body, my presence on the earth.  I felt my weight sink, effortfully at first, to an organic alignment that is fundamental to t'ai chi but which I don't access often enough.  I continued on through the various poses.  Searching.  Finding.

And I'm still not done.  It could be said that my, or my ego, is a tough (coco)nut to crack.

Not long after returning home I decided to finally sell some of my books to a bookstore that specialized in psychological and spiritual texts.  I dropped my box of books near the counter, the bookseller was talking with another customer, and I browsed around, finding a book or two I thought I might enjoy. The customer having finished, I reapproached the counter.  The bookseller was a man with whom I had spoken a time or two, and someone who impressed me during those discussions as a person who had not only read but imbibed significant aspects of the books he was selling.  In other words, he impressed me as having a wisdom to his way.

Before long, and unintentionally, or at least as far as I know, we started talking about myth.  The gist of the conversation was his identifying in a way that was quite off-hand and yet right to the point how when we enter the dark forest we need to be brave, we need to trust.  JEEZ.  Alright already.  I'm getting the picture, tough nut or not.

I resigned from my job the very next week, with no job in sight, bouyed by a strange sense of directionless direction, but still very anxious and scared.  But not of the 'known' and 'known to be not in my best interest', but of the unknown, and therefore permutated with the dark forest and therefore with mystery, excitement, promise.  Rich with wild, innocent, trusting new life.  Ripening with support and guidance and protection.  And quite probably demanding in terms of needing to be engaged from an internal place to find my way.