Stepping Deliberately Into The Storm
"May you find beauty and hope where it exists, despite your fears that it does not.”
Not paralyzed by it.
Not afraid.
Present.
Aware.
Attuned.
What a difference a few minutes can make.
I had watched the storm clouds rolling in,
watched their silent approach,
those massive, pregnant upwellings,
ominous looking messengers bearing gifts from afar,
from the nursery of the vast Pacific.
I had seen their darkness approaching,
but was still surprised when the storm arrived,
how completely and suddenly the world around me changed.
The generous chatter among the birds…
And after a few minutes …the silence, as it settled,
as they settled.
It didn’t ‘hit’ as storms are sometimes described to do.
Instead, it merely arrived,
across the miles,
silently, but with force,
daylight halved,
ten thousand snowflakes suddenly peppering my whiskered chin and cheeks,
tickling and perfectly frigid,
distances dissolved, and details…
worries too.
I stood atop a levee,
near its farthest end,
within earshot and sight of a hundred other beings,
feathers and bills, and mostly webbed feet.
I surrendered.
I had miles to go and miles yet in me,
an apple in my pocket,
hours of chilled rapture,
of anticipation and curiosity,
of camaraderie.
And so I walked,
the world transformed.
I had come hoping for this very thing,
reading the weather reports and the tea leaves over coffee,
weighing my options;
go north or go south?
Mountains or tidelands?
There were no guarantees,
but there were wondrous possibilities,
an accumulation of snow and an absence of people…
I crossed my fingers and drove.
Three otters appeared within the first hundred yards,
studying me momentarily.
One snorted and dove. The others watched.
I took it as a good omen.
Acknowledgement by otters nearly always seems like luck.
I continued walking,
listening to the whistling wings of ducks,
crisscrossing the endless grey above me in frozen air,
the distant announcements of white-headed baldies perched atop snags,
the feeding chatter of teal and swan,
hoodies and shovelers, and ring-necks.
The lonely ‘splorp’ of a diving, pied-billed grebe.
No one I encountered within the storm was running from it.
Not a one.
Each just …was,
a part of something profoundly real,
unfolding in its fertile moment.
Harriers continued to hunt, soaring just above the cattails and reeds,
tilting wings, scanning eyes,
moving streaks of rust and gold, and needled toes,
pelted in the fall and swirl.
There was nowhere to go.
Nowhere I would rather be…
And so my list of questions,
my complaints and accusations,
the fretful grudges I had been so carefully feeding,
that I had so deliberately brought along to interrogate,
gave way to wonder,
to recognition.
None of these creatures all around me were distraught,
none wailing that the sky was falling,
even as it was.
All seemed better at trusting than me,
better at becoming…
a sentient sigh,
a conscious thought,
an element of and participant in…
a passing storm
that would not last.
They seemed to know…
it would not swallow them up,
could not change who they were.
I listen and watch,
stand with them in the storm,
tarry and breathe,
determined to deepen,
to mellow,
to learn.
“…Only in hindsight have I come to understand that real goodness and new possibilities are often embedded within the fearful appearances all around me and that having trained myself to be always braced for the inevitable worst, I have habituated to seeing evil lurking just ahead, even where it does not exist. In thinking to protect myself I have become blind to one of the truly beautiful ironies of this world …that goodness often approaches in curious, even ominous looking clothing. And so believing, I have missed much, feared much, believed myself much poorer than I am.
May you find beauty and hope where it exists, despite your fears that it does not.”1
Despite Fears:
In a few days we will see profound changes in our government as a convicted felon promising retribution steps into the highest office of the land for the first time in our nation’s history, and does so while vast swaths of of our second largest city continue to burn or lie smoldering in smoking, ashen ruins.
"splorp." Perfect.
Dear David, I encountered predators this weekend of both the microscopic and two legged kind, though neither were invited, and this after brutal murder in the chicken coop, I have been on feverish high alert, my eyes diverted from many of the joys I had planned. I was distraught...
In short, my weekend was rather hijacked and alas, I did fear, I would find no beauty or peace, until I come to your brave and beautiful stepping's and read "None of these creatures all around me were distraught, none wailing that the sky was falling, even as it was." and think to myself over steaming medications too steeped in whiskey - William has a generous hand - of course it isn't! And, of course it wasn't! Though I am left with little voice, a fact I believe he is quietly delighted by though he says not a word, I am recovering, the sky is up and the predators have departed.
Now, I may continue where I left off and send you my thanks for your being out in a snow storm, the like of which I waited for in vain on Saturday, and reminding me of its raw beauty, for sending me the sounds from webbed footed friends from your wild place and reminding me that the good in this world is contained within.
An icy fingered hug from the wilderness does much to heal... the description of it, when we are too ailed to step out, from a friend even more so!
May your week be blessed my friend - thank you.