July 2005

My plan this summer has been to go slowly and see who I am becoming, within the context of a new home and new life on a river. With a new home there is a desire to change things so the environment becomes a bit more of a personal reflection.

Here, a few walls were splashed with paint to neutralize the canvas, but the rest of the time has been spent listening and observing the rhythms and patterns that already live here. 

The previous owner was a plants lover, and the garden beds have been popping out surprises each day. In one garden bed are purple lupins and irises surrounded by a variety of yellow flowers and giant orange poppies. Not surprisingly those same colours found themselves dominating the bedroom, which overlooks that garden. No doubt there are crystals under the house and under the gardens that are similarly hued, as these surface colours are expressions of listening deeply to a place.

Perhaps the greatest fun has been getting to know the creatures who also call this home. There is a family of beavers living just upriver who are so busy along the shore that they quickly decided to trust me, and come very close when I am outside. The two flying squirrels that live in the storage barn also have no fear of me and will get up and run to where I am and watch me from as close as two feet away. Often they sit eating huge dried mushrooms, while I fill tea orders and prattle on telling them stories. And two otters appear quite comfortable sharing the river when I am out for a swim. They float about on their backs and drop their heads backward into the water to nibble on lilies or for no good reason at all, other than it feels good. Their attitude is quite addictive when they are around, and my quick dips turn into more languid floats, watching clouds drift along.  A Canada goose and a loon appeared to be alone this spring so I would sing to them for company, and call out “hello” when they were near. They must have been thinking it all rather sweet that the two-legged was so friendly. Unbeknownst to me, they were males waiting for their mates to finish sitting on the nests, and when their babies were born, both birds brought their families to visit. We made quite a fuss, which they enjoyed.

Through one whole visit two muskrats moved among them picking long tufts of grass for one of their famous musk mounds. It was all so social and friendly. I feel social and friendly too, so this is really the perfect spot to have moved.

There is less separation between myself and my surroundings here, and as a result those relationships are becoming closer. When I go outside and hear the garden tell me it needs watering, I know it told me, and I know it heard me tell it to wait until the evening.  There is no one telling me that I am athropomorphizing, and so I can listen in a new way to what is here, and it responds. For example, I went to the river and told the bullfrogs that I loved their song and that for me they sounded like Tibetan monks, chanting and weaving a spell around the house cradling it in serenity and joy. A frog croaked a response and when I sought out the frog, I saw it sitting under a tree, as if imitating the Buddha sitting under the bodhi tree.

At the local summer solstice dinner and fire, we danced under the full moon and sang songs from around the world that celebrate the fecundity of the earth and expressed our gratitude. In the heavens that night Mercury was conjunct with Venus in Cancer. Their dance together offered the energetic gift of communicating (Mercury) and responding (Venus) to things around us, at a feeling or non-verbal level. Perhaps listening with our hearts will be easier this coming year, in fact perhaps the heavens are encouraging it.

As solstice approached there were a lot of eathquakes along the California coast. Having lived many summers there in my twenties, my heart easily reaches out to the area and I found myself thinking: Being that all is connected what can I offer to the area? The image that presented itself was of the Buddha in repose during a storm. A dear friend reminded me that one of the original founders of Findhorn had remarked that it was vitally important that we work on ourselves, and do our work, so that the Earth’s crust will heal herself in softer ways.

Inspired by the heavenly conjunction and the image of Buddha, I sit in the garden this summer and meditate on inner balance and creative fecundity. I will venture out past the garden’s perimeters and merge my breathing with the garden’s, and then merge our breathing with the planet's breath. After all, what better way is there to offer ourselves to the world, than to breathe in and out, with the Earth.