Rain

Water speaks to your heart when you listen. On this day of Rain weaving in and out of the hours, what does she say to you? You may want to go make yourself a cup of tea, sit back in your favorite cozy chair, and close your eyes.

The softer gray light wraps my mind in a pleasant haze and I start getting all poetic on days like today. I've piled dry wood around the wood stove, ready for the first fire and thoughts of wool sweaters and long johns drift in the periphery. Winter is not my favorite season for its frigid temperatures and icy roads, but I do love the mystical quality of a fresh blanket of snow and drinking hot chocolate and baking sweet treats that fill the air with anticipation. Right now the wheel has just turned toward autumn and in order to stay in the present I want to enjoy every falling leaf, every coolish breeze, every snap of a crisp apple, and every pumpkin that brightens the fields. Winter will come soon enough and today Rain calls for attention.

Rain has been elusive these last few weeks but she needs to show off her talents now and again. Without her the world is parched and thirsty for love. Love that nourishes. Love that heals. Love that cleanses and soothes the cracked skin of Mother Earth. Love that urges all of life to grow and flourish.

Without Rain the Sun works overtime, the Moon has too little privacy, and Clouds fear retirement. Oceans and Rivers crave her presence. A Stream will not flow without rain.

Without Rain there is no impish jumping and splashing, no mud, and no bare toes meeting slippery pleasure. Rain loves the upturned faces of children, those who are young and those who remember.

Rain, Clouds, and Sun meet in sky studios to create what they could not accomplish alone. The timing, the placement, the light must be perfect. Let your dreams dance up across their arched artistry and down the other side. Later, the Moon will bathe you in her warmth and share stories of mirrored lakes and diamond rain drops. “Rain,” the Moon will tell you, “holds the very keys to existence.”

Be thankful for Rain! Where would we be without her?

Enjoy your tea!

Robin

"Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

Emily Dickinson

So lost are we on that strange Sea, when fear rages and wracks our vessel against any hope of saving ourselves. I’ve been saddened lately as I see so many who are in fear, forgetting the little “bird” that stays with its owner and never asks for anything in return. The storm becomes less threatening and the music resumes only when we open the doors to the cage and let the sweet bird out to warm us, often for the first time in our lives. To further demonstrate how fear is our greatest adversary, I’ve taken the liberty of using Miss Dickinson’s poem as the framework for it’s opposite:

“Fear” is the thing with anchors,

That keeps us in our place,

And steals our native melody,

And hides us from all grace.

And darkest in the Gale is heard,

That rainbows bring the Light,

And raise our spirits, set us free,

So we crush what’s warm and bright.

Anchors will surely pull you down,

Just as you start to float,

Always, forever in Extreme,

They hunger to sink your boat.

The anchor of fear kept me at bay for the better part of my life, yet so often did the small bird of hope sing softly in my ear. I was good at playing small and scared and unworthy, not because I wanted it that way, but rather because I’d been taught from an early age that these things were true and on many levels I believed it. It was drilled into me that my needs, wants, and hopes were either ridiculous, non-existent, or unimportant. This happens to all of us in varying degrees when the adults in our world, who have never seen themselves as completely worthy and whole, continue to pass down the hurt and pain in unconscious, sometimes subtle ways. I challenge anyone who tells me that it can’t be stopped, that the chain can’t be broken, the bird freed…

For 22 years I lived in a relationship that was lop-sided. I thought it was all up to me to set things in balance. And so I lived without intimacy, affection, sex, the children I so wished to birth and raise, or even a fulfilling job.

At the time I thought it was only my husband that kept me in the proverbial pumpkin shell. I kept up a good front with family and friends and we appeared on the outside to be a long-standing, happy couple. The anchor of fear grew heavier and heavier and the little bird grew larger and sang louder. Hope had been patient for so long, until one day she began to peck and claw at the cage bars. My eyes and heart finally opened to the fact that I was scared out of my mind and afraid to face life.

The bird had outgrown the cage and she knew that if she didn’t fly soon her feathers would fall out and the cage doors would be forever rusted shut. She commenced to slashing at the anchor rope with her small but determined beak.

Instead of accepting a role that made someone else comfortable and pretending to be happy, I started doing things that called to my heart. Instead of wishing I could write like John Boy Walton or Emily Dickinson, or Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I started to BELIEVE I could. Instead of propagating the lie that my husband told me (literally) – that I was just “arm candy” and had no value beyond my teenaged occupation at Burger King – I put complete trust in God and myself and found a rewarding part-time job that supported me through training for a career that called to my heart. I reached down into the vast recesses of Robin and like pulling a rabbit out of a hat, started radiating my true, vibrant self and all the inner beauty that had been there all along. I left behind the superficial friends of my feigned life and found real friends; friends who lifted, supported, cheered, and offered spiritual tools for advancing my authentic self while repealing the lies and feelings of hopelessness.

This sweet, joyful, brilliant, shining bird appeared mostly as a loathsome monster to my husband. He worked desperately to put it back in the cage. His put-downs escalated until for one brief, encouraging moment, the bird rested on his shoulder. There was a glimmer of light in his eyes and the tenderness he once knew. But Fear was too strong – that he could not sustain a self-assured wife - that some things would have to change. With fire in his voice he declared that he liked things the way they had once been and there was no room for the new “me” who welcomed music, life…and birds.

It was difficult at first, weathering the storm that swirled around the cage. Many times I wanted to creep back inside where I once convinced myself it was safe. But the door had been opened. I liked my new self and the happy feelings that urged me further away from my inner confinement. It was startling and remarkable to experience the expanse and breadth of my wings!

Sometimes, on rare occasions, I still want to crawl back into some protective cage when storms hit. But I won’t…I can’t. To anyone who has caught even a glimpse of this rare bird called Hope, I invite you to let her perch a bit longer. Let her sing you a song that transforms wishes into realities. Hear her music rise above the din of the tempest of fear. Though you ache, let the music pull you from your melancholic cage into the dance of freedom. In that dance, allow the notes to fill your heart with joy and may you be ever warmed by your closer alignment with the Sun!    

Gifts of Nature

Wherever I am at any given moment on this planet, I am always open to receiving the wisdom so freely given by nature.

My usual walk through the countryside, though accompanied by a constant drizzle of rain, was made more beautiful by opening my heart to the deeper levels of what lay before me.

Rain. How often do we disdain rather than be grateful for this sometimes elusive gift, especially when we live in an area that receives more than its share. While in San Antonio recently, I observed my host jumping from his seat to watch a passing 5 minute shower, hoping, praying that it would last long enough to end an almost year long drought. He spoke of the “rain lilies,” a flower that only appears after enough rain has fallen. None appeared the next morning and that neighborhood in Texas continued their vigil with heads turning toward the heavens with undaunted faith.

As I walked I thanked the rain for feeding the wildflowers, grasses, and trees that grace my yard; for filling my well so I can quench my thirst, enjoy a refreshing shower, wash my clothes, and fill buckets to keep my home clean; and finally for dowsing me with hope that keeps my heart and eyes forever scouting for rainbows.

And in spite of the rain, or more likely because of it, nature was bursting with messages. As I watched the creek water slipping over the rocks, she told me to keep dancing and singing as she does no matter what kind of news is circulating. She goes on, sometimes racing toward a destination, sometimes pooling to provide a cooling respite for frogs and fish. She eases her way over and around obstacles. All this she does while her bubbling song fills the air.

Trees. So many varieties reaching toward the light, reaching out to one another, sinking their toes deeper into the rich nourishment that supports them. One little walnut called to me as I looked right through a hole piercing her entire being near the base. There appeared to have been an ambitious woodpecker who left several attempts, then finally succeeded in drilling all the way to the other side! Though the little walnut had been invaded and used, she stood tall as every leaf-filled, green branch attested to her strength and fortitude.

On a walk through a well-known battlefield, a friend commented on an ancient sycamore. The first twenty feet or so were knarled, twisted, and knotted, while the upper portion grew gracefully with her branches reaching this way and that like a seasoned ballerina. My friend imagined that the knots and tumor-like knobs were from the trauma of witnessing war. But then as the tree matured, the war a distant memory, she recovered and moved on with a determined beauty. I thanked the trees for telling me to keep growing, have faith, and to steady myself by focusing on what’s truly important.

Flowers. Chicory is commonly a cornflower blue roadside flower. Known as a healthful stand-in for coffee, chicory like most plants possesses medicinal qualities. Aside from these facts, I viewed the chicory through the eyes of the heart and saw how he thrives in the harsh, pebbly, salt laden, conditions closest to the road. One little chicory flower stood out adorned in the purest white; more pure than one would expect from something constantly exposed to carbon monoxide and soot. These soldiers of the flower world practically shout, “I’m a survivor!” Together they folded up their individual petals as though to make sure their undersides were washed clean in the rain. Then, when I visited them awhile later, they had all unfurled themselves to try catching any fleeting rays of sunlight that might be pushing through the clouds. Again I offered my thanks for this subtle display of courage and the ability to flow with the rhythms of their surroundings.

May you be blessed by these gifts of nature and find many more of your own!