There has never been a timewhen you and I have not existed... There will never be a time when we will cease to be
~ from the BHAGAVAD GITA
This morning as I took a meditative walk on a beautiful, mild, summer day with my old dog, Maggie, I thought about the cycles of the seasons, of life, death and rebirth. I felt the awesome power of life being experienced in a single moment, deep in my bones, which is not surprising given that we're in the month ruled by Cancer, archetype of the Great Mother. This is a time when we are often more aware of emotions washing over us like ocean waves, flowing in, baptizing us, and then just as surely flowing back out to sea. There is no need to do anything other than notice and accept the inevitable tides.
I have come to see I am in the autumn of my life and I am beginning to accept that I must slow down and take pause, experience more of the present moment and less frantic hurrying to the next. It hasn't been an easy surrender, and I am not sure I am even there yet, as I still have things to do. But there is a subtle shift taking place within me, a shift of perception, a need to turn the prism lens and see things differently, to allow new ways of being to take hold.
The ritual of taking a morning walk begins with Maggie, our black lab, dancing around me eagerly when she sees me putting on my shoes. I don't dare say out loud that we're going for a walk or she will bark incessantly, unable to suppress her excitement. I am aware of the time I spend with her now as I know that at 11 years old, she doesn't have many years left with us. Yet she still has plenty of puppy energy even though her chin has turned white with age. (I am starting to see the similarities between us.) She has become more protective of me lately and follows me around the house, always close at hand, usually napping contentedly, while I cook or read or work at the computer. When I leave, she curls up on the rug by the door to await my return. Thoughts of Maggie's presence in my life and the gratitude I feel for her companionship shift as I walk with her down our shady street to thoughts of my mother and father.
Yesterday, my husband, Rob, and I rode our bikes the half-hour trek on country roads to the Honeysuckle Tea House for a Sunday sup. When we walked into the peaceful, open-air teahouse, the medley Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World by Israel Kamakawiwo'Ole was playing. This song is one I have designated as my dad's song as he loved the song, What a Wonderful World. Rob and I exchanged a smile and my eyes welled up with tears. It is a song that is reflective of my dad's optimistic and appreciative view of life. I feel fortunate that I had a father who would say to me, "Life is beautiful. Every time you hear a bird sing, remember that." He told me that my grandfather opened his eyes as he lay dying and spoke his last words, assuring him "It's beautiful."
My thoughts of my mom have been more and more about the gifts she gave me even though I spent much of my adult life focused on what I didn't get from her and longed for. My life's journey, and indeed, my soul's purpose, I believe, has been to heal the mother wound that was passed down, through her and through my grandmother that originated who knows how many generations back. I feel that wound is healed now and I feel deep forgiveness for her unintentional emotional abandonment as she did not know what to do with her own feelings of loss, nor did her mother, and so it went back through time.
The gifts my mother gave me were of a fertile and active imagination and the need to seek a deeper spiritual understanding of the world. As I walked this morning, I remembered how she comforted me at night when I had restless thoughts of spirits in my bedroom and feverish dreams of other worlds. She rubbed my back and taught me a prayer that began, "Father Mother God loving me..." These were the seeds of the divine feminine taking root in my psyche that would later provide the soothing balm to the ancient mother wound. I believe the reparative work she helped facilitate healed back generations of women in my family and forward to my daughter and for generations to come.
I see now that it didn't begin with me. She was trying to heal, too, and so was my grandmother, but they had fewer resources, opportunities, and support systems. It may have been an evolutionary process: They tried to find answers in the best way they knew how and passed on what wisdom they could. Perhaps it was left for me to pick up the threads and weave them together in such a way that a tapestry was formed of interconnected lives in which boundaries of time and space are but an illusion. And perhaps there will be dangling threads for my daughter to pick up and sew as well. Perhaps these are my gifts to her, and so it goes...
"Your soul is the priestess of memory, selecting, sifting, and ultimately gathering your vanishing days toward presence." - John O'Donohue, Anam Cara