Tuesday

"He respects Owl, because you can't help respecting anybody who can spell TUESDAY, even if he doesn't spell it right." A. A. Milne

Our Tuesday visit to the Owl family.

(Don't worry, they'll be out of the nest and gone soon, and I'll be having to find something else to post about. I think that owls are way more interesting than anything that I have to say.)

Babies in the nest (lower left) and mom nearby (upper right)

On our way back, I saw what I thought was a white plastic bag caught in a tree. But then it moved and I pulled out my binoculars to find:

A black-crowned night heron

Spending time with the birds makes everything alright.

Of Trash Cans And Babies' Eyes

From Awake in the Heartland, The Ecstasy of What Is by Joan Tolifson:

One day at the post office in Oakland, I saw a little girl, who was maybe four or five years old, in line with her mother. The little girl was totally alive, looking at everything with amazement. She ran to the wastebasket in the corner and gazed down into it as if into a sea of jewels. She was ecstatic. The mother kept pulling the girl back, telling her to stop this and stop that. Every other word the mother said was “stop” or “don’t.”

Finally they are up at the window, and at the next window there is another mother who has a little baby in a basket sitting on the floor beside her. The first little girl stands beside the basket, and the baby and the girl gaze unabashedly into one another’s eyes with total absorption. The mother of the little girl again pulls her back. As they leave, the little girl waves goodbye to the baby as if to her dearest friend.

It was such a clear display of the unobstructed love, wonder, and awareness that is there, and the process of human socialization which trains us to pull back from this aliveness, to stop looking, to stop being ecstatic, to close down. We learn to shut down and to live more and more in a mental world of ideas, so that by the time we are adults, we are uncomfortable looking for too long into a stranger’s eyes. And it would never occur to us to run up to a wastebasket and actually see what’s inside it as something we’d never seen before, with curiosity and interest. Because by the time we're adults, we think we know what's in there. We’ve got a word for it. It’s garbage. We don’t see it any more. And we don’t see one another, or the love between us, because we’re afraid of it. We’ve learned that a person who would look with wonder into a public wastebasket, or too long into a stranger’s eye, is a crazy person, a mad person. We’re afraid to be in love, except in the allowable, relatively safe confines of romantic relationships, or perhaps in rare moments of communion with babies and very young children. For the most part, we’re cool, detached, afraid of the natural ecstasy of being.

Our lives feel empty. We long for the spontaneity, joy, and wonder that we seem to have lost. We take workshops and consume mind-altering substances to regain it. We undertake rigorous meditation practices and throw ourselves at the feet of exotic gurus. We run up enormous visa bills, looking for what is simplest and most ordinary, for what is already here.

When we finally "get it", we get nothing at all. We have not arrived at some fascinating foreign place. We're exactly where we always have been - right here. Here is all there is. But when we're looking for something else, we don't see how extraordinary here actually is. We're preoccupied.

Here and now is alive. It's the only thing that actually is.

Here's to coming back to the curious, open people we truly are, beneath the ideas of social correctness. Here's to authenticity. At this point in time, how can we afford to "pull back from this aliveness, to stop looking, to stop being ecstatic, to close down"?

As Nick says, "it's time to celebrate and do a Snoopy dance"!

(That's me before I learned that it's not OK to look in public trash cans.)

Ooooooh, Baby!

Mom Owl was out shopping. Dad, after hanging out late last night, was napping in a nearby tree. And the two young'uns were left alone at home. With no parents to contend with, my job as a peeping Thomasina was nice and easy today.

How do kids grow up so fast???

A few days ago, they were little puff balls. Now, they look like awkward adolescents.

The precocious and out-going child

The outgoing child with shy little sister or brother peering out from behind.
(With thanks to my rock star son for editing out the little branch that was in front of little owl's face.)

Kool-Aid tree. (I don't know what they are called, but they fill the air with the aroma of Kool-Aid that is so strong, I can almost taste it.)

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

Peace & Love to you!

Earth Day, 2009

This is a cute test to find out the size of your ecological footprint.

I began the test thinking that my footprint would be pretty small. I'm not very much of a consumer, I carpool, and I'm not a world traveler, but still, it would take more than one planet to support a world full of people like me. I'm not proud of that.

So, I begin my journey to figure out how to decrease my ecological footprint so that the next generations can thrive on this big, blue ball.

Introducing the Owl Family, 2009

Dad

Mom

Can you see her?

The little sneaks. They nested inside a tree - WAY high. We were probably looking right at them last week and we didn't even see them. Somehow, a man found them and while he was watching them, my friend came upon him. If it weren't for that bird-watching stranger, we would probably never have found the nest.

Today I watched as two little, fluffy, white heads with beaks and big eyes peered around mom. Oh, it was WONDERFUL!

An Exclusive Memorial

I am remembering the Columbine shootings that happened ten years ago this Monday. Columbine High School is about 25 minutes away from where I live. I didn't know that the shootings had occurred that day until my son came home from his High School and told me. I turned on the television and, as with the events of 9/11, I ended up watching heart-wrenching scenes replayed over and over. For some reason, we find a need to take an event that happens once and replay it - on the television and in our minds. Over and over. Our bodies and minds get to experience the fear and sadness anew each time. The only people that experience the tragedy once are those who perish from the event.

Yesterday, I heard a radio interview with Columbine's principal. He is the same principal that was there when the shootings took place. He spoke of the memorial that has been displayed in the school ever since it was remodeled following the attacks. It acknowledges the THIRTEEN people who died that day. A light shines on it 24/7. Sir, there were FIFTEEN that died that day. All of them were Columbine students or staff. The principal never mentioned the other two in his interview - the two that were suffering so much that they found it necessary to terrorize a school and kill themselves.

After the event ten years ago, many spontaneous makeshift memorials were put up. On a hill were placed 15 crosses in memory of the FIFTEEN that died. It didn't take long before someone who only values certain lives took down two of them. Now, there is a permanent memorial in a park near the school. It is a tribute to THIRTEEN of those who died that day.

Since that day in 1999, people have memorialized the "innocent" teens, telling of their lives and families as if they were some of the most stellar people that have lived. That is what happens when people die - we honor them and tend to overlook any weaknesses and faults. Maybe it's right that we do that, I don't know.

But were the other two not ever innocent youngsters, curious about the world? Did they not have families and friends who loved them? Did they never do anything good for another person or visit their grandmothers or go fishing with their dads? We have reduced their lives to a single, horrible act.

I can't guess at all of the possible reasons that Eric and Dylan did what they did. Maybe they had chemical imbalances. Maybe they were treated like crap and couldn't take it anymore. It's possible that they had bad parenting. Or maybe there is such a thing as just being a "bad" person. There are a lot of us that have these issues and we don't take out a bunch of people, so who will ever know what led to their act?

Maybe a contributing factor is that our culture tends to see the world in black and white. If you are lucky enough to be considered "white" (not necessarily talking about race here), you are seen and if you are "black" (still not entirely speaking of race), you are invisible and your life and death don't count.

I think that we all co-conspire in creating such events because we can't even open our hearts and include those who are angry and hurting so much that, at 18, they feel their lives aren't worth living.

Does shunning those who already feel alienated help them to be the people we want them to be?

On Monday, there will be a remembrance for the THIRTEEN that died. Those thirteen will be lovingly remembered, and that is right. Today, I remember the other two - the two that are left out once again - along with their families. They should also be lovingly remembered.

I want my heart to be open and loving. It's too painful to hold hate. I hope that Eric, Dylan, and their families have found peace.

30 Things

I found this on the blog, A Walk in the Drizzle. I thought it sounded like a nice exercise. The suggestion is to jot down 30 thoughts in 30 minutes. I found that I got done in about 25 minutes. And it was much more interesting than cleaning my office, which is what I set out to do today.

1. The gray sky seems to hold secrets behind it. They are let out when the skies become transparent and the sun can smile freely. Or is it always free?

2. I hear birds singing. Incessantly singing. Oh, to be so what I am that my life manifests as my song.

3. I have been cleaning off my desk this morning. It's so easy for me to accumulate "important" things that can't be let go. I read each piece of paper as I go through the piles and I find a wealth of wisdom; quotes that I have written from my teachers or from others. Does keeping them on paper make me wise, also?

4. I found an old friend on Facebook. I always loved her. We have very different lives. Am I still able to love through all of the differences? I want to practice that. If I can't, I am a fake when I believe that we can avoid war and work together in this world.

5. I think of the peas underneath the dirt in my garden. They are busy pushing upward toward the sun that I KNOW is behind those clouds. I love the thought of the innocence of those little peas doing their thing.

6. We went to the park, looking for the owl and the owl nest. I feel like sometimes I try too hard to get what I want. When I quit "trying", things come. I usually see raptors when I am trying the least.

7. Thirty things, huh? Okay.

8. "How to dismantle an atomic bomb. Love. Love. Love." That's what is written on a piece of paper in front of me on my desk. Written in my husband's handwriting. A Bono quote.

9. When I remember this very moment, there is such a sweetness. I truly believe that I can access that, remember that, relax into that at any time and taste the sweetness.

10. Yesterday, on my way to the dentist, I got the hiccups. I seem to get them more than any adult I know. As I drove myself to the dentist office, I was holding my breath, trying to rid myself of the constant hiccuping. I knew that I would hic really loud as I held my mouth open for the dentist to work inside. I would be embarrassed, but it would be funny, too.

11. As I waited in the chair for the dentist to come, I got the thought that I could just relax my diaphragm. I did. That was that. So easy.

12. My mom's cousin goes to the same dentist. I was talking to the dentist about her and her husband. I said things about them that is none of my business to say about them. I wonder why I do that.

13. I never want to talk about other people again. I've said that before. I'm better than I used to be, but I NEVER want to talk about other people again.

14. I told the dentist that he and my mom's cousin will have to talk about me when I'm not there, since I talked about my mom's cousin when she wasn't there.

15. Do I talk about people to soothe my ego? So that I look like I know something? So that I can be somebody?

16. It's painful to me that I do that.

17. The Buddha dog wants to go outside. I know because I hear his heavy breathing behind my back. His way of talking...

18. I am learning that I don't have to attach to the stories that float past my consciousness.

19. The story that I feel bad about talking about my mom's cousin. It is only there when I bring it up. Where does it go when I'm not thinking about it?

20. I love my mom's cousin.

21. When I'm not an "I" that wants people to be the way I want them to be, I feel so much love for it all.

22. If we all knew how free we were, if we let go of our personalities, egos, "I"s, would we finally realize that no one can take anything away from us?

23. I am trying to not be attached to the finches staying in their nest outside our porch. I mean, how cruel to want them to do something for me. Most important is that they do what is best for their family.

24. Birds and spring flowers and babies open up my belly. I physically feel my belly get bigger and more open inside. I did the same thing for myself yesterday, opening up my belly, when I relaxed my diaphragm. It's all the same.

25. I want my office to be clean and organized, because suddenly, I'm feeling that that is a great gift of love for myself. It will free the mind.

26. Ram Dass asks, Do you want to be a meditator or do you want to be free?

27. We can't be free and be the same people that we were before. If we think that we will be thinking the same thoughts we've always thought and also be free, we're wrong. Are we willing for who we think we are to die in order to be free?

28. I used to think that love was an emotion, a feeling. I'm seeing that differently now. Thank God!

29. Love is the pea sprouting under the soil, the bird building the nest wherever it thinks is best, the owl hiding its nest so that people like me can't find it, the Buddha dog wanting to go outside when it's time. And me letting all of that happen.

30. Good thing I'm at the end. Love is letting my poor arm rest after I have asked it to type this much.

One of Us

Today we watched herons and hawks. They flew through the sky and among the trees. They sat on branches. They warmed nests.

One hawk soared in circles over and around me. I watched with my binoculars and I felt like I, too, rode the currents. I felt like I was flying free.

It reminded me that, when one of us frees our self so that our acts come from love instead of ego and self-interest, when one of us is clear and sees the truth, we help free those around us to do the same.

Our Housemates

This photo isn't great, but finches are skittish little creatures, so I took the photo from inside, far from the door. Mom is in the nest and dad is next to it. I'm soooo hoping that they will stay this year. I don't know how many nests they've built here over the years, but they've never stayed until babies hatched. All doors to the backyard are near this nest, and the birds ALWAYS fly away when we even THINK about getting near their home, so I'm trying to be very quiet and slow as I let the Buddha dog in and out. I just wish that Buddha would understand this situation so that he wouldn't bang on the door when he wants in.

I LOVE birds!

What Do You Know For Sure?

"Is there to be found on earth a fullness of joy, or is there no such thing? Is there some way to make life fully worth living, or is this impossible? If there is such a way, how do you go about finding it? What should you try to do? What should you seek to avoid? What should be the goal in which your activity comes to rest?" - Chuang Tzu

What if you took all of your answers to the above questions and contemplated the possibility that the opposite could be true? Do we really, for absolutely sure, know the answers to these questions?

Message From God

After months and months of wearing layers which barely warmed my bones, I went out into the 60 degree day of sunshine and sat in the springtime air today. Birds were tweeting, a flicker was rat-a-tat-tatting on one of our big cottonwoods, and Buddha the dog was sunning himself at my side. I wanted to meditate in my backyard with the sun on my back. I settled into my camping chair, closed my eyes, and started counting my breaths.

It wasn't long before some scary-sounding sirens filled the air. The kind of sirens that say something like, "The end of the world is here, but we have no advice on what to do about it. Still, feel the urgency with which we are shouting at you!"

I checked in with myself to see if I had any information about action I could take. I decided that sitting outside was best. That way, if the bomb comes, maybe I'll be hit directly instead of having to suffer a long, drawn out death. (Remember I'm meditating here - and yet, the stories abound.) There were times during the loud blitz that I just went into the sound and there were times when I thought about the fact that I don't think anyone knows what to do when the sirens come on, so how effective is this system? After awhile, a voice called out from the skies. It sounded like God, and she told us mortals that this eardrum-shattering sound was only a test.

Dear God, it might have been nice to have heard that at the beginning of the alert instead of the end of it!

Mothering a Squirrel

About 5 years ago, our then-next-door-neighbor wanted to show me the plants she had put in her backyard. As we passed the Blue Spruce that grows between her property and ours, I heard a weird noise. Under the tree, belly crawling among the dry, sticky needles, I saw a cute, little creature. It didn't take me long to figure out that it was a baby squirrel, even though I had never seen such a young, little squirrel before.

My neighbor told me that she had seen the little critter on her driveway when she and her kids were leaving earlier that day and she had scooped it up with a shovel and dumped it there, under the tree.

It was NOT okay with me to leave this sweet, young thing there to die a slow death, so we called someplace - I can't remember where - and found out that we needed to find some dog milk for feeding the little squirrel. All of my mothering instincts came out as I carried my new baby around in my shirt. He was the sweetest thing!



We kept the little guy in a tall laundry basket. His eyes weren't even open yet, but he could climb up the side of the basket until he got to a place that was smooth and he couldn't climb anymore. At that point, he would squeal loudly until I picked him up and put him back in his little nest.

Is he not THE cutest thing?

As much as I truly loved the guy and would have enjoyed raising him, it wasn't going to work due to my lack of knowledge about such things, the fact that I have no set-up for it, and the craziness of the Buddha dog every time the baby squirrel squealed at the top of his basket (I also just read that it's against the law to hold wildlife for over 48 hours without a permit - didn't know that then!).

Within a few days, we found a wildlife rehabber and took the little baby to her. The last I heard about baby squirrel, he was learning to get food for himself so that he could be let back out into the wild.

I feel somewhat like a mother who put her kid up for adoption. I wonder: Is he still alive? Does he have kids? It's snowy and cold out; is he okay?

Freedom

I copied the following from the March, 2009 Shambala Sun Magazine (found at the main building of the retreat center). I didn't write down the name of the article or the author. My apologies to anyone that minds. I'm willing to pay the karmic price...

We can see tremendous power of loving-kindness in the example of a great meditation master who spent 22 years in a hard labor camp as a political prisoner. After his release, when he was in his 70s, he said, "Physically, I suffered through the years of hard work, but mentally I don't remember that I ever felt sad. I dealt with the situation with two meditations. First, I accepted my misfortunes as a result of my own karma - the consequences of my past misdeeds - then I rejoiced, since the karma was now being cleared. "Secondly, I meditated on compassion and loving-kindness for those who were responsible for putting us in prison and forcing us to work very hard. Since they were responsible for the suffering of so many, I knew that they, in their future, would suffer severely as a result of what they were doing. The thought of their future suffering enabled me to generate compassion."

I can't think of any rational argument for looking at this man's situation any differently, can you? I mean, there are a few ways to respond to a hard experience, but this man's response is one that doesn't add to the suffering. Even though he was held captive, he was/is free.

I don't know if, at this point in my life, I have it in me to do what that meditation master did, but I can start practicing now with the small day-to-day stuff.