Out of Season

It was fall when the concert took place. One of the young women playing a lovely violin piece was wearing a long, pale colored skirt, the length attractive for performing but the colors too light for the season. I’d grown up in New England with fall colors of pumpkin orange, moss green, and rich shades of brown. I imagined the young woman in these—although in late fall, India’s seasonal colors were of dying grasses amid primary-hued flowers. Realizing I was judging, I’d brought my attention back to the violin piece, still wanting to dress the violinist in stronger, darker qualities.

Winter came. Our nights were cold, but on occasion there were warmer days. I wore a wool jacket from Nepal one morning, a lightweight jacket the next, and a sweater, wishing it were bold, sky blue rather than pink.

As temperatures changed, and I was organizing my clothes, I stored a few winter things and took out what was for days heating up. A knee-length, sleeveless, bright pink dress made it into my clothes cabinet. One warm morning, feeling hot in my home, I looked at this dress, thinking it was out of season, but, rationalizing, decided to put it on anyway. Temperature-wise, I was comfortable, but when I joined the group for prayers, as I looked around, everyone was wearing mid to darker colors. I stood out like a cone of fat, pink, swirled, spun, sugar candy and realized the irony.

My realization is, “Truth can be found in simple words of every day speech; it does not have to come in a lecture or a book. ‘What goes around, comes around.’ If we are aware, we will recognize ourselves for what we have judged in others.”

Little Wings

From the corner of my eye, I catch the movement of a small spider on the kota stone windowsill as it rushes to the edge and drops off—presumably landing just fine on the floor.

During a period of time, every night, I tested my nerve to leap into the void. This may have been prompted by reading that the meaning of the swan in American Indian symbolism is “to go into the void.”* I was drawn, in particular, to this idea of going into the unknown, as life continually presents new situations.

Lying on my bed, before sleep, with my eyes closed, I would see darkness in my mind with a canyon-like edge where I stood two inches tall. Leaping off, I fell down into the abyss until each time, little wings opened, and I floated back up.

I shared this with a client encouraging her to try, but she thought No, she wouldn’t, as she gave a small, nervous laugh. And yet, the next week she arrived with a broad grin and told me the story of her leap. As she went down, a big hand came out and went under her, lifting her back to the top. I gave her my widest smile. We both understood she had succeeded by the proof of her rescue being different from mine.

What is the meaning? I guess at the playfulness of invisible guides who work with us, inventing ways to help us know there is a helping presence around us. I don’t need to understand. I simply accept the unusual.

My realization is, “When it is time for each of us to experience aspects of the spiritual journey, we will have experiences we cannot necessarily measure in the material world. Amusing circumstances may gently invite us into new considerations.”

* “Willing to accept the future without changing Great Spirit’s plans”
Medicine Cards, Jamie Sams and David Carson

The Temper Tantrum

Approaching sixty, I had my first and last temper tantrum. I discovered in my counseling practice that prior to my working with a client in a particular category, I would sometimes live through it myself right before the person began. This was different from the life experiences that served me as a foundation for most situations.

My office, at Seraphim Center in Gainesville, was a half hour from where I lived in the country. On the highway, I could drive by the main streets of two towns and then be beyond exits with stop lights. It was a pleasurable ride by pastures and trees, and once in the city I was close to my building.

This morning, "I had left the farm with enough time to arrive at my office five minutes before my first appointment. Starting my car, I backed up—and lodged my back right wheel on a protruding rock. Frustrated, I got out and put boards under the tire. That failing, I attempted to lift the car. When I couldn’t, in defeat I started to walk away, then suddenly dropped to my knees and, pounding the ground, hollered, Why is this happening to me? I’m going to be late. Moments later, I sat up with complete inner calm and said to myself, in adult appraisal, I’m having a temper tantrum. This is what it is like. I didn’t remember ever having one, and had only heard others lose control. Standing up, I went in, phoned my road help agency, then the center, and patiently waited for professional rescue."*

My realization is, "One way we understand others is to have had the experience ourselves, preferably ameliorating our response from what we’ve learned with our own behavior."

*A Flower for God