Listen. It’s raining. Luckily, it’s not yet snow. For the last four or five years, we have become more aware of how extreme and precious the rain can be, switching between either drought or flood. It comes like a storm, harsh, or like a shadow, then it’s gone.
But not today. The rain is steady, and the sound is beautiful. Like the sound of crickets and cicadas, the wind, and the waves of the sea, it’s absorbing and surprisingly comforting. For the moment, it even washes away any anxiety over the election.
Even the muted light is soothing today.
I notice the fallen leaves, yellow, burnt orange, a bit of startling red. The leaves almost cover the deep green grass, which is eagerly drinking in the rain. The earth is thirsty.
I close my eyes and just listen. The sound gets more distinct. There are currents in the rain. The pace of falling water speeds up, creating a wind of rainwater pushing against my body even though I am in the house. Then it softens to barely a whisper. What before seemed steady and continuous is now revealed as something else, something unique in its pace. When I simply listen, there is more to hear.
Two days ago, my wife and I drove into town. From the opposite side of the road, just before the farm stand where we buy corn in season, an eagle rose out of the tall grass. Majestically and ever so slowly, it took flight right in front of a dark van. Its wingspan was wider than the van, yet somehow the eagle wasn’t hit. It flew off in front of my car window, unhurt. But the driver of the van barely maintained control of his vehicle and then pulled off the road and stopped.
We can easily assume so much. That one moment will be like the previous one. We walk out of the memory of yesterday’s door and drive on our memory of yesterday’s road.
We might assume that because we can (hopefully) vote, now, or because we have (hopefully) protections on the job now, or can get Social Security, or healthcare, we will have it tomorrow. We might tell ourselves or others we will have it no matter who wins the election on Tuesday, November 8. But as the GOP have said, all this can and will end if they win control, just as they work to take away a woman’s right to make decisions regarding her own health and when or if to have a family.
We need reassurance that our world won’t totally flip over on us. But to get that, we must pay enough attention, and be ready to act, so we’re not shocked when today almost slams into the windshield of our car….
What We Once Had, We Might Not Have Ever Again: Speaking for the Majesty of an Eagle Taking Flight
Listen. It’s raining. Luckily, it’s not yet snow. For the last four or five years, we have become more aware of how extreme and precious the rain can be, switching between either drought or flood. It comes like a storm, harsh, or like a shadow, then it’s gone.
But not today. The rain is steady, and the sound is beautiful. Like the sound of crickets and cicadas, the wind, and the waves of the sea, it’s absorbing and surprisingly comforting. For the moment, it even washes away any anxiety over the election.
Even the muted light is soothing today.
I notice the fallen leaves, yellow, burnt orange, a bit of startling red. The leaves almost cover the deep green grass, which is eagerly drinking in the rain. The earth is thirsty.
I close my eyes and just listen. The sound gets more distinct. There are currents in the rain. The pace of falling water speeds up, creating a wind of rainwater pushing against my body even though I am in the house. Then it softens to barely a whisper. What before seemed steady and continuous is now revealed as something else, something unique in its pace. When I simply listen, there is more to hear.
Two days ago, my wife and I drove into town. From the opposite side of the road, just before the farm stand where we buy corn in season, an eagle rose out of the tall grass. Majestically and ever so slowly, it took flight right in front of a dark van. Its wingspan was wider than the van, yet somehow the eagle wasn’t hit. It flew off in front of my car window, unhurt. But the driver of the van barely maintained control of his vehicle and then pulled off the road and stopped.
We can easily assume so much. That one moment will be like the previous one. We walk out of the memory of yesterday’s door and drive on our memory of yesterday’s road.
We might assume that because we can (hopefully) vote, now, or because we have (hopefully) protections on the job now, or can get Social Security, or healthcare, we will have it tomorrow. We might tell ourselves or others we will have it no matter who wins the election on Tuesday, November 8. But as the GOP have said, all this can and will end if they win control, just as they work to take away a woman’s right to make decisions regarding her own health and when or if to have a family.
We need reassurance that our world won’t totally flip over on us. But to get that, we must pay enough attention, and be ready to act, so we’re not shocked when today almost slams into the windshield of our car….
*This is an update of a blog from October, 2020.
**Please go to The Good Men Project to read the whole article.
You might also like
There’s (Almost) Nothing Normal About These Times: Stop the Pretense in the Press; Work to Stop the Destruction and Create Something Positive
Listening to news media can be a confusing act nowadays. There’s the political chaos caused deliberately by DT and company to shock us. Then there’s the reporting itself; for example, if a newscaster shows a clip of a speech by DT that’s totally filled with lies and threats to our lives⎼ and then, later the…
Writing to Help Us When the World Hurts: To Write Well, Write Truthfully
How do we write well? Probably thousands have written about this. Certainly, writing is about language. It is about metaphor, rhythm, imagination. Experience. It can seem it’s about which words to use, or how to find a unique story or approach. But from my point of view, it really is about understanding the mind and…
Fear-Wall Gorge: The Poetry and Joy that Can Arise in Mindful Awareness and Self-Compassion
In 8th century China, the classical Chinese poet Tu Fu, as translated by David Hinton, described his journey down a river through Fear-Wall Gorge. It was a war-ravaged time. At first, I didn’t see or feel the poetry of the poem, the artistry; it seemed simply a list of natural and personal elements. Then I…
Entering the Darkest Time of Year, and the Yearning for Gifts of Light; Are There Any Gifts We Can Give Each Other to Help Us Survive the Coming Years?
Both politically and seasonally, we’re entering the darkest time of year for those of us in the northern hemisphere and the US. The winter solstice is this week, along with several other seasonal and spiritual holidays. And in the next year, next month, a new political reality arises, filled with so many unknowns and threats,…
Next ArticleDo Not Assume. Research, Then Vote: For the GOP to Claim They Care About Violence Against Most Americans Is Laughable