The Call

Have you felt it? Heard it in your head? Are you in the process of ignoring it or have you the courage to submit to the call? The call, you see, is this~ we are meant to come together to help each other and serve each other as a means to save this planet from ruin. And to save our very own souls.

Service to this planet and service to humanity is the end all and be all of our existence. It is becoming critical that we set aside the self-absorption, the inertia, the texting while driving and walking and pushing a grocery cart through the aisles. (Look up, I say. You're missing the real happenings of the world!) The time is coming and in many ways is actually here, when we will need each other more than we thought we ever would. For everything. 

But to be available to each other for help and understanding, to reverse our ill affects on Mother Earth, we must first get our own shit together. Get. Our. Own. Shit. Together. If you're in the process, keep going. If you have yet to start, get on it. You know what you have to do. Feed yourself better. Stop over caffeinating. Move your body. Turn off the computer and go to bed. Treat yourself with respect. Miraculous help appears when you decide to treat yourself like you matter.

We each have a talent, an ability, a something that will be an important puzzle piece to the whole~ a whole that is needed to keep this world glued together. Be kind to yourself and get ready. Your service will be put on call. Share it when the opportunity lands at your feet. Your effort will be more important than you know. And I guarantee you, reciprocity will come.

All of our efforts combined will save us from the cumulative affects of our previous, unthinking ways. Together is the way to reverse our fortunes and live on this planet wholly. Serve your own needs, then serve the needs of others. Find the people and causes you resonate with and come together to make a difference.

The call is going out. The time is now. Your heart will lead the way.

52 Photos Project~the beauty outside my door

The cherry blossoms came 5 weeks early this year.

And then the temperatures dropped.

It was too cold for the bees.

Bees make the difference in so many things we eat.

Without them, we are lost.

Like the cherry crop that will be less than it's ever been,

come July.

Of beauty and the bee~ for Bella

Rebirth

spring beauty, risen again

And just like that, the message came. It was 11pm, an ungodly late hour for me. But laundry had been forgotten and down to the basement I went. Turn on the light, open the door and whoosh, there he was.

The little brown bat.

Flying in circles, flying in circles, deftly missing me in his passing.

If you know me at all, you know there is no panic in the presence of a bat. My only immediate concern was to open the doors and point the way out. He kept flying in circles. Flying in circles.

Until he flew into the little cubby-room to the south and stayed. I retrieved the laundry, wished him well and closed the door. He found his way in, he'd have to find his way out.

But the bat, the unmistakable bat, is the Native American symbol for rebirth. Preceded by the Shaman's death~ the extensive letting go of the outmoded life, where the initiate would dig themselves a grave and spend the night in the ground, surviving their deepest fears. I could not deny that it had been just me and him at night below ground. So, what else is there to do but open to the ways of rebirth?

I admit, there have been moments of cathartic release since the bat flew into my life. And there was the red squirrel, also little, freshly run over as I drove down the road. I saw it in death-throe convulsions and plucked it off the tar to die in my hands. The little red angers within me bleeding out through the squirrel and laid to rest on the side of the road. Get back in the car. Keep going.

Do not resist the rebirth. Keep going.

There are shudders in the premature grave. New breath brings new life and the rising will come.

The rising will come.

The little brown bat has said so.

The Unexpected

Canada geese in a cow pasture

Tundra swans stopping over at the swamps

Crushed beaver on the side of the road

In the bustle of my days, amid the angst over illness and the demands of the job, I am making room for the unexpected to arrive. Whether it arrives in the field or the other side of my door, I have decided to welcome it with a wide open heart. Miracles are calling my name.

It began, again, with the whisper to carry my camera where ever I go. I had forgotten in the tumult of the bustle. So, when the notion to suddenly drive to the swamps took hold, I was ready.

The reward was swift.

Hundreds of Canada geese honked and wallowed in the cow puddles overflowing with spring rain. I pulled over, camera in hand, and let their raucous chorus vibrate my soul. Then, further on, the jackpot. The unexpected of very large proportion. A pool at the swamps with small, floating icebergs that turned into tundra swans as I approached. There were more than 100. It was a life-list moment.

The moment expanded when 2 women of serious birding pedigree pulled up and walked over to me with their high-powered, tripod scope. They insisted I get a better view. Instantly, I was floating on the cold-water surface counting feathers on the napes of gracefully bent necks.

And there beavers, 5 alive, swimming here and there with last year's swamp grass in their mouths. The crushed one on the side of the road, the one who didn't make the dash from pool to pool, allowed for another unexpected surprise of my first up close view of the spectacular, handy-man's tail and webbed mammal feet.

I am making room for the unexpected to arrive.

I am keeping things cleaner at home. (One never knows when opportunity and love might come to call.) I am lipstick and cash on the way out the door. I am camera and tea in my handbag. I am mornings in silence, listening for the miracle nudge. I am arms wide spread like the wings of a swan, welcoming and ready for flight.