Moments of Grace

5 am this morning and I feel the nudge of a cold, moist nose prodding against my hand which is dangling weightlessly off of the bed.  I am in a deep sleep but I feel myself slowly rising up from underneath my dreams as if soaring towards the surface of some deep body of water.  I open my eyes to see the face of my twelve and a half year old dog, Becca, grey around her chocolate brown eyes, constant companion, strictest confidant.  This is one of the very few faces in the world that can get me to do just about anything regardless of how deeply I am sleeping or how intensely sore my body aches.  Very barely clothed, I follow Becca to the sliding glass door in our bedroom and pull it open.  I look out on the enormous body of water which covers the horizon before me.  I scootch down onto my heels just in case there is the chance of a low-flying helicopter catching sight of me at this barely lit breaking of dawn.(as if there is any possibility of that)  Becca searches for the perfect spot as I try to bring my weary eyes into focus.  I remind myself as to how incredibly lucky I am to live here, on the Pacific ocean, and in my mind I send out several prayers of profound gratitude.  The first one naturally goes to God.  How solacing it is to believe, with all of my being, that Adonai is always close, in all of the details, in me.  The second prayer goes out for my husband.  Keep him safe in all of his travels throughout the day.  Keep him safe, dear God.  Keep him safe.  The third, to my four daughters.  Thank you for choosing me to be your mother.  I am here, I am here, I am forever here...  I look up into the sky.  In my line of vision, there is the Century Agave plant that I first wrote about back in April.  Bright yellow flowers bursting against the early breaking dawn.

And busily buzzing around those blossoms is a tiny wisp of a bird, a Hummingbird who has made this possibly one hundred year old plant, its home.  Her color almost equal to that of the flowers, I know this must be a female as male Hummingbirds have ruby-red throats and pointed tail feathers.  Females have a more rounded shape to their tail feathers.  She zips along from flower to flower, sipping the sweet nectar.  At first, I watch in complete amazement.  I have seen countless numbers of Hummingbirds throughout my lifetime, but my fascination with them never dulls.

I think to myself that I wish I had my camera and then I remember that it is sitting right next to my bed.(It is usually only an arms length away)  I scurry over to pick it up hoping that the Hummingbird will still be there when I return.

And she is.  Like an angel bird foreshadowing the harbinger of a beautiful day to come, she flits from flower to flower making me almost happy to be awake at 5 am in the morning.  I put down my camera and watch her for several minutes longer.  I want to dream about Hummingbirds when I crawl back under the covers again.

Becca trots back over to me and I kneel down to scratch behind her ears and kiss her stinky head.  To me, she is so beautiful.  I give her a "cookie" which she takes back to her bed to eat.  I settle back into the warmth and security of my bed.  When I look down at her again, she is contently snuggled back into her bed, breathing deeply, almost softly snoring already.  I sink slowly back down in to the realm of dreams, my breathing in perfect sync with the rhythm of this morning.

When I rise up again many hours later, the sky is cerulean blue and the flowers on the Agave plant are now a bright Crayola yellow.  Becca dances in front of me to let me know that it is time to get out of bed for the day!  I reach down to scratch her on the head, but she inches away from me coaxing me out of my bed.  I laugh as I follow her to the back door.  We walk out the the edge of the bluff but instead of looking down to the water, I immediately am drawn upwards.  To the top of the Century Agave plant, to the buzzing of a Hummingbird's wings, to the sky, to the sun, to God.

May you take notice of enough details in your day to remind you that there is always a reason to say thank you. Sometimes, you might have to search for it a little harder than other times, but it is there.  It is always there...

The Messenger

Two tiny eyes tracked me as I walked out to the edge of the bluff.  It was a sensation, at first.  That slight inkling that even though you are seemingly alone, you are not alone, and that there is someone, something focusing in on you.  Oftentimes when this feeling arises, I glance around only to find that I am only imagining things, that there truly is no one else there.  But still, there is that strange sensation.  That feeling.  That whisper.  And so, on this day, I paid some extra attention to the feeling.  I slowly did a 360 degree spin.  At first with my eyes open and then, with my eyes closed taking in all of the surrounding sensations.  My palms raised up towards the sun.  Breathing in the freshness of the ocean air.  Allowing the whisper of a breeze to tickle my skin.  When I stopped, I stood for a moment with my eyes still closed.  Enjoying the sensation of not-aloneness.  And then, with my feet planted firmly on the earth, I opened my eyes.

There she was perched on the smallest wisp of a branch.  She, with the two tiny eyes, watching me.  Observing me.  Curious, but not afraid.  A beautiful little Hummingbird.  The one that I have written about here before.  The one who calls the bluff outside of my home, her home.  The one who buzzes playfully around my head on days when the air is still and the sun is especially hot, beckoning for me to fill her feeder with the cherry red nectar that she loves so much.  We observed each other for what seemed like a very long time.  Two members of two very distinctive species.  Yet in her eyes, I could feel her saying, "I see you."  Not through you, or around you, but you.

And then she did something that I have never witnessed a Hummingbird do before.  With her feathers translucent in the sunlight and her eyes still keenly focused upon mine, she began to stretch wide.

She raised her delicate wings upwards towards the sunshine as she fluttered her brilliant feathers apart.  Her miniature, four inch body became as expansive as it could possibly become.

As she clung with her talons to the edge of the tiny branch, we continued to observe one another.  No fear, no threat, no aggression.  Just genuine curiosity and admiration.

Acknowledgement.

And as her wings relaxed, her lightening-speed tongue which is shaped like the letter "W", shot around in the air in front of her, as if to take in even more of her environment.  Tasting, sensing, feeling.

Connecting.

And there we both rested.  Eye to eye.  Spirit to spirit.  No longer wondering who might be watching us, but seeing, really seeing.

Knowing by the tangibility of two clearly focused eyes, being reminded, that we are not alone.  That we are being watched and guarded and held in loving, albeit curious regard by beings that we might not fully  understand.  We are kindred spirits yet which one of us is the messenger?  Which one of us was sent to bring ease and peace to the other?

For another several minutes in our newly relaxed states, we continued to regard one another.  Me, standing as still and as serenely as possible.  And the Hummingbird, gently turning her head from side to side so that she could contemplate me with both of her eyes.


How often is it that we really feel seen?  How often do we regard one another with a feeling of awe and mutual respect?   How often do we open our eyes for long enough to understand that we are not alone even when it feels as if we might be?

How often?

When the moment was right, the little Hummingbird checked deeply into my eyes for one more second, and then nonchalantly spread her wings and flew.

I was left standing alone, but not alone.  A feeling of reverence and deep appreciation remained imprinted upon my soul.  A feeling of lightness overtook me and for a moment, just as the Hummingbird had done, I felt as if I, too, might actually be able to take flight.

San Clemente in October

Last week, the skies were filled with a blazing, golden heat which should only be reserved for the dog days of mid-summer.  The sun bore down upon us and the temperatures reached record breaking numbers as we were left to wonder where the fall had gone.

One of my favorite little Hummingbirds began buzzing around me as if to command me to refill his feeder.(Which I promptly did!)  And then he thanked me by lapping up the cherry red nectar with a thirst that seemed insatiable.

The ocean was clear and warm and mild.  Light breezes toyed gently with the sails on the sailboats.  Fresh Kelp beds(the dark areas out in the distance) thrived as the algae spores rose upwards toward the sunshine.

The beaches became crowded, once again, with people seeking relief from the unbearable heat.  They explored the numerous tide-pools on the lazy, heat-infused, autumn afternoons, momentarily forgetting about school and pumpkins and Halloween costumes.

The sun glistened off the surface of a surfboard, as people sought shelter beneath the comfort of a sole umbrella.  Content to be by the water on this misplaced summer day in early October.

The sweltering heat felt like it would never subside.  It hung in the air.  It surrounded our bodies.  It was stifling and stagnant.

Until suddenly, it was not.  Change blew in and the skies began to fill with fluffy, ethereal puffs of white clouds.

The heatwave broke.  Windsocks, flags and palm tree branches began dancing on the balmy, beach breezes.  The rain storms which would take place during the next several days, once again misplaced, were beginning to form.

And once again, the flocks of giant Pelicans remembered that it was time to go home.  They took flight against the grey skies in large numbers, their silhouettes creating beautiful patterns against the darkening clouds.

And as I watched them flying overhead, I once again remembered that I, too, am searching for home.  A home within myself.  A home to which I can fly, even in the absence of wings.  A home that includes my husband and my four Angel Daughters regardless of season, place or time.  A home that encompasses everything I need and not so much of what I don't.

Fragile-Reprise

*August 13, 2010-After writing this post, the other day, I leafed through the mail which was sitting on the counter in our kitchen.  Bills, junk-mail, an ad for a carpet cleaner, a small white package addressed to me in human handwriting.  I opened up the package and found the small, hand-needlepointed treasure which is pictured below.  It was made by a dear friend from Minnesota whom I have known for several years.  Like me, she suffers from CFS/Fibromyalgia/mystery illness and yet, she always cares SO much.  When I saw that it was a Hummingbird, I looked up toward the skies and smiled.  I smiled because sometimes, the messages that we need the most can show up in the form of a hand-needlepointed Hummingbird from a faraway friend.  And along with those messages, can come the whispers of angels telling us that we are not quite alone as we might feel.  Thank you, sweet Kar.  


And thank you to all of my wonderful blogging friends who always leave me notes that remind me of the very same thing:)

Wednesday, August 11, 2010-While in flight, the Hummingbird's heart rate can reach up to 1260 beats per minute.  Yet there are times, when the Hummingbird must slow itself down, that it has the capacity to lower its own heartbeat from 50-180 beats per minute.  It's tiny body understands the necessity to decelerate.  To rest.  To renew.  To restore.

I am experiencing a shift in my souls own need to bring it down a level.  I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is a nagging at the center of my being which is causing me to try to slow it down.  To back away.  To give myself some space.  My heart has worked so incredibly hard over the past several years to remain intact.  To decelerate from the excess, nonsensical stress that has been thrust upon it.  And even at rest, my heart often feels overworked.  Over-taxed.  Fragile.

So like the Hummingbird, who instinctively adheres to its bodies natural need for rejuvenation,  I must somehow find mine again.

A beautiful hand-stitched gift from a kind-hearted friend.