There is a time for listening instead of wishing, or even planning. When dreams take me to a dead-end, when my impulse only repeats what’s already been done, it is time to be still and listen. I say out loud the things I know, what I trust, and leave the edges of knowledge alone. It isn’t time to push though it comes so naturally to me. The coyote is grateful for her bit of meat. The deer chews the sweetened grain. The crow tells anyone who wants to know that I am outside. The cedar brushes my cheek as I pass. Mullen bends in my direction and dumps her wealth of seeds. Echinacea has never been so pink. All is well. And I wait. This is not the feeling of an impending earthquake, though that might happen. No “other shoe” is about to drop, though we can rest assured that by morning more bombs will explode and take the lives of children and their worthy parents. Someone I love is sick, but this feeling is not even about that. At the moment something in the spirit is very strict. Usually she can be persuaded to give a little slack, more grandmother than mother. Not this time. She talks to me about integrity, honesty, faith. She promises nothing, isn’t in the mood to bargain, or trade. She isn’t in the mood for my whining, either. Spirit isn’t angry, but she is very serious. I stay close to her, and she explodes my mind with understanding, makes me wise about a choice. She fills my heart with love. “You are about this,” she says, “and not that.” Right. Got it. Let’s do this. |
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October 2017
AuthorJune O'Brien is an author of fiction, non fiction and poetry, living in the Pacific Northwest. Categories |