death

Last of My Stash – ND #58

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Last of My Stash – Photo: L. Weikel

Last of My Stash

We’ve all faced it at one point or another. As regrettable as it is, it’s also inevitable. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing. And that, my friends, is why I’m taking a moment to document this grievous moment. If it’s going to hurt, we might as well share it. It’s the last of my stash.

I’m writing about this tonight because I know, deep down, all of you can relate. Your temptation may not be a milk chocolate cashew turtle from Pierre’s. But surely you each have your weakness, your predilection that yearns to be sated when you realize life really is freaking short.

My attitude may sound cavalier, but I’m also brought up short.

Delayed Gratification

Yeah, I have only one more cashew turtle left to eat. And I probably won’t eat it tonight. I’ll hoard it a little longer (maybe a day or so at most) because I’m a little weird about delayed gratification.

Yikes; that’s probably way too much information to be sharing. But it’s true. I’ve been known to save the best bite for last only to have a puppy snatch that very last savory morsel clean off my plate when I was distracted for a moment. (The fact s/he was even close enough to my plate to do so is a subject for another time.)

But the fact remains that I’m someone who doesn’t like a good thing to end. So I drag stuff out. And it’s not just food-related, either. When I have a good book to read, I’m often torn between racing through the final chapter or several pages, devouring them with glee, or savoring each paragraph and taking a few days to lay the book to rest.

The danger in this, of course, is that one day I may not get the chance to complete anything ever again. What a shame it would be to leave that turtle uneaten. Or the book’s ending unappreciated. Or the story I always wanted to tell untold.

Grief Clarifies

A dear friend and her family recently suffered a sudden and tragic loss. Holding them in their grief (even if from afar), my thoughts have been with the one whose seat will be empty at the next reunion. They were only half a dozen years younger than I am, and at this stage of the game, that’s not a huge gap. I’ve contemplated their worries and stresses of late. Their dreams. Their goals yet unfulfilled.

Were they eating around their filet mignon, saving the rarest, juiciest, most tender piece for last?

From what I can tell in reading about them and even watching a video of them describing how they translated a lifelong creative passion into a fascinating career, what I keep coming back to is the warmth I saw in their eyes and the crinkles at the corners that spoke of kindness and laughter.

I hope they savored as much of their life as possible. At least, I hope there are very few uneaten turtles in their home, either literally or metaphorically. May we all make a point of appreciating the bounty of our now and indulging in the last of our stash. To life.

(T+58)

New Moon In Scorpio – Day 1088

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Tonight’s Sky Without the Moon – Photo: L. Weikel

New Moon In Scorpio

I’m sitting here on my couch anticipating this final new moon of my 1111 Devotion. Specifically, the new moon in Scorpio will occur tomorrow: Thursday, 4 November 2021, at 5:14 p.m. EDT. I feel like I should be planting the seeds for the next chapter in my life.

Perhaps that sounds a bit hyperbolic. Maybe it is. But it’s how I feel and what I’m contemplating as I sit here listening to the silence. For one thing, as I pointed out above, this new moon is taking place in Scorpio, the sign of death and rebirth, hidden or buried treasures, resources, and secrets.

Obviously, one thing that will die during the upcoming lunation is my 1111 Devotion. It comes to an end this month. Will the commitment, the Act of Power, the dedication and devotion it represents to the memory of my son find another expression? Will my 1111 Devotion die in one sense yet find rebirth in another form?

I don’t know. I’ve yet to receive any inspiration or direction from Spirit powerful enough for me to sit back and say, “Yup. That’s it. That’s my next devotion.”

So I wait.

A Card For Inspiration or Guidance

Perhaps choosing a card for this New Moon (I’ll capitalize it in this sentence – it wants to feel special) will give me a clue or serve as an inspiration? As I’ve been working a lot with my Witches’ Wisdom Tarot deck this year, I feel drawn to work with it tonight.

As I sat here shuffling, I held as my intention the question, “What seed can I plant at this time that will serve as the next expression of my devotion to Karl’s life? How can I continue to honor him and his memory?”

Ace of Air – Witches’ Wisdom Tarot* by Phyllis Curott

Ace of Air

At first glance, I’m struck by how similar the background of the card resembles the two photos I took of the night sky this evening as Karl, the pups, and I took a quick walk. It is indeed the time of the approaching Dark Moon. The absence of the moon’s brilliant reflected light allowed the artistry of the clouds and stars to fill us with wonder and awe.

To me, an Ace represents a gift, a seed, a new beginning. So I’m delighted that an Ace appeared as an inspiration for this new moon and the larger purpose of my intention. The nature of the seed I’m being asked to plant? Just from looking at the card and knowing that the element of Air is associated with thoughts and the mind, I suppose it could signify a new project ‘of the mind.’

Magical Sky of the Dark Moon – Photo: L. Weikel

A Few More Details

Of course, the main element of the card (beyond the backdrop of the starry evening sky) is the Celtic harp created from bones. I’m not sure in this moment what those bones signify (or if it’s even Celtic), but they feel sturdy and somehow fundamental. The spurs on the bones? Or are they claws? I’m not sure what they signify – perhaps when I read the narrative from the deck’s creator I’ll understand better what inspired her (and her illustrator) to include them in this image.

There is a sturdiness to the three sides of this musical instrument that sends vibrations, if not melody and beauty, out into the world. It reminds me of how I felt for the first seven years of Karl’s life – that we were a “Sacred Three.” And then of course, with the arrival of M and S, our sons themselves were our Sacred Three.

I’m also keenly aware of the Spider spinning the 13th string of the instrument. Grandmother Spider is the creator of the Universe and thus is the ultimate representative of creativity. The strings also seem to be incorporating the stars, which somehow feels significant. And 13 is a wonderfully sacred number associated with the Feminine and the Goddess – not to mention that Karl was born on a 13th.

Each of the bones comprising the Harp is of a different part of the body. Are they all related to the legs, perhaps signifying movement? Are they even all human – or are any of them? I’m not sure. Again, those talons or claws feel significant.

When I really look closely at this card, I notice something red in the upper left corner of the harp. I’m not sure what it is. And this obvious instrument of great power is sitting atop a grassy hill –  evoking a sense of it being an offering to the sky and the stars…and maybe even the Universe.

Sleep On It

I’m going to sleep on the details I’ve noticed in this image and reflect upon this card’s message as the new moon occurs. Perhaps tomorrow night I’ll share what ‘the book’ has to say. Something may be dying, but surely a rebirth is also on its way. What will this new moon in Scorpio inspire you to end…and begin?

*affililate link

(T-23)

Tomorrow’s Equinox – Day 1045

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They’ll Always Lead the Way – Photo: L.Weikel

Tomorrow’s Equinox

Well, when I mentioned last week that I suspected yesterday’s full moon and tomorrow’s equinox would be some powerful aspects to contend with, I guess I wasn’t messing around. And those are only the more obvious transits happening this week.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I am emotionally cooked. In spite of my hopes and exhaustion, I didn’t sleep well last night. I tossed, turned, and was acutely aware of the absence of Spartacus in/on my bed. That boy slept in the small of my back for 13 years. So stringing the words together tonight is like walking through quicksand. I keep sinking into pockets of random thoughts and then jerk awake, finding I’ve been stuck on the same sentence for twenty minutes.

I did want to mention that tomorrow (Wednesday 22 September 2021) is going to be a powerful day on a number of fronts. The most obvious is the fall equinox, which will occur at 3:21 p.m. EDT. This marks the balance between light and dark and heralds the gradual shortening of our days (in the Northern Hemisphere) and the time of harvesting (on a variety of levels). Once again, this is a powerful time to begin taking action on making the changes in our lives that are in alignment and support of our dreams. Here is a perspective you might find interesting.

Spart’s Rainbow & Heart – Photo: L. Weikel

A Chaotic Day

Besides today being the aftermath of yesterday (how’s that for profundity?!), I also had set up an appointment last week for Precious to be seen by our vet. She’s been a hot mess for a long, long time and I finally made up my mind to have her examined and tested.

This is a bigger deal than you might at first think. She’s paranoid as all get out and of course she hid under the bed in my son’s old bedroom, howling (and yes, I do mean howling) in distress that Karl and I were trying to pick her up. (She bolted upstairs as soon as I looked at her about 45 minutes before her appointment. Damn cat is too psychic for her own good.)

We managed to double team her and not only put her in a pillowcase, which is my preferred method of transporting our cats to the vet, but for good measure also put her (while still in the pillowcase) into the cat carrier.

Long story short, she acted like her hair was on fire or as though we were plotting to slowly butcher her. Once I got to the vet’s office, she actually needed to be sedated (gassed) in her carrier so the doctor (who was still feeling anguish over Spartacus) could examine her.

While we are still waiting for the blood tests to come back tomorrow (to see if she has anything else going on in her old age), it turns out she has an autoimmune disorder, eosinophilic syndrome. She received a long-acting shot of steroids that could make her feel better than she has in a very long time indeed. I hope so, because her extreme anxiety wore me out, especially after yesterday.

Spart’s Feather – Photo: L. Weikel

Walking Hurt Today

It was excruciating taking a walk today. For all the joy being out in nature brings me, it was hard to appreciate anything in the realization over and over today that Spartacus and I would never walk together again.

Surprisingly, I did witness some magic, even though I was pretty sure my perspective was too sad to do so. A rainbow dog appeared in the sky and the cloud formation beside it reminded me of a broken heart. Not in a sad way, though. It felt more like an acknowledgment from Karl and Spartacus (and Sheila) that they feel my sadness and know how much I miss them.

Further along on my walk, I found this feather.

It’s a little bit of magic that I wasn’t expecting. In my need for sleep and desire to wake up and find this was all a bad dream, I’ll gratefully accept these gifts from Spirit.

(T-66)

He’s Actually Gone – Day 1044

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I Love You, Spartacus – Photo: L. Weikel

He’s Actually Gone

Trying to write this post is a nightmare. Believe me, I don’t want to. It stuns me that it’s necessary. Eulogizing my beloved Spartacus seems redundant. Any attempt – inadequate. I’m going to have to let the million posts I wrote that referenced him and his mother Sheila speak for themselves. I don’t want to believe he’s actually gone. But he is.

The photo that was at the top of last night’s post was taken at 2:00 p.m. yesterday. The rapidity with which his health situation crashed was stunning. The doctors have no clue as to his illness’s etiology.

All I know is that our veterinarian and the emergency veterinarian both were at a loss. His blood work showed his liver and kidneys were failing. He was septic – apparently very much so, according to his blood sugar. And the chances of bringing him back from the brink of reuniting with his mommy, Sheila, were extremely slim.

Hangin’ on the porch – Photo: L. Weikel

Small Comfort

As with all loss, especially the kind that sneaks up and smacks you in the head from behind, questions abound. Regrets, second-guessing, and ‘what-ifs’ swirl unmercifully in your head, and even more so in your heart. While intellectually you might know without a doubt that the one lost (and here I’m making no distinction between the objects of our love) knew they were loved and adored – it is small comfort in the face of the fact that suddenly they’re gone.

Squeaky toy, muddy paws; Photo: L.Weikel

And Yet, It’s Everything

I think that’s probably the most excruciating part about being a human. It’s both the awareness of love and the persistence of that awareness once the beloved is gone. Because it’s that persistence of awareness that stops us in our tracks when we remember they’re gone. And it’s the persistence of that awareness that’s reflected in the pain we humans are terrified of knowing. At least that’s been my experience.

Pain is the direct 1:1 reflection of the depth of the love. It can feel unfathomable.

I love with my whole heart, without restriction. And when I lose an object of my love (particularly unexpectedly) the pain ‘goes there.’ It is hard to see straight for a time. And it’s tempting to wish I’d never opened myself up to being hurt so deeply, to being left so vulnerable.

The Four S’s – Photo: L.Weikel

And Then I Remember

I remember the joy. I remember what’s truly important about life and living.

Knowing the pain, I love all the more. In fact, I yearn to bring more love into my life. I’m not a glutton for punishment. I just know. Love is what lives forever. And it’s the most powerful force in existence.

Sheila and Spartacus Reunited 9/20/21 – 5 days shy of one year exactly; Photo: L.Weikel

(T-67)

Rebirth – Day 979

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Bat Front Approaching – Photo: L.Weikel

Rebirth

It just so happens my Medicine Card* ‘pick’ for the day today was Bat/Armadillo. Simply stated, Bat is often associated with the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. The single key word given for Bat in the book that accompanies the Medicine Cards is ‘rebirth.’ But truth be told, no one ever gets to rebirth without first experiencing ‘death.’ And that’s simply not a truth our culture feels comfortable acknowledging or accepting.

The fact that Bat showed up for me today felt affirming, to be honest. I feel surrounded by messages and signs of impending death or the crumbling of systems, norms, traditions, and foundations at not only personal but also cultural, systemic, and global levels.

Yeah, I’ve written periodically about the ‘theme’ of this year (2021) being tearing down the old structures and foundations in order to usher in radical transformation. Mostly I’ve addressed this in terms of how this is reflected in the stars (technically, the planets). Specifically, I’ve suggested that Saturn ‘squaring’ Uranus three times this year is the ‘tell’ for this cataclysmic shifting taking place on our planet and in our lives.

I’m not saying the movement of these planets and the way they’re aspecting each other is causing this to happen here on Earth. But perhaps the adage ‘as above, so below’ plays a role here.

Patterns, Sequences, and Harmonies

I’m suggesting that the movement of these huge outer planets is reflecting an energetic interaction or pattern that’s playing out on many levels of magnitude, right down to the microscopic, here on Earth. “From the macrocosm to the microcosm,” as they say. My approach to all of this is that the Universe provides us with a vast array of roadmaps and suggested operating procedures to help us navigate through our lives and through the millennia.

So when those who study the movements taking place within our solar system suggest that the underpinnings of many of our institutions and beliefs are going to crumble or be destroyed and replaced with concepts or approaches that feel like radical transformations, like ‘lightning bolts out of the blue,’ we might want to stop for a second. Look around. Pay attention.

What’s happening all around us? Fundamental concepts are being shredded. Institutions we thought inviolable are being violated. And on a personal level, perhaps, beliefs and relationships we thought were true and forever are also struck by lightning and either shattered or energized in a whole new way.

In fact, we might even want to consider whether the ‘foundation’ of pooh-poohing systems of study such as astrology needs to be torn down and replaced with an open-minded willingness to consider there just might be something to these recurring patterns.

Bats, Death, and Rebirth

It’s time to publish this post and I feel like I’m only scratching the surface of my contemplations. Late this afternoon I was reminded that I’d picked Bat today when I saw this huge one looming on the horizon. This Bat brought torrential rains, flooding, and a clearing of the way for something new.

Perspective on the Bat Front – Photo: L.Weikel

*Affiliate link

(T-132)

Birthday – Day 641

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Blueberry-lemon birthday cake – Photo: L. Weikel

Birthday

Some of you may have caught on to the deeper meaning when I wished you a “Happy 13th of August” last night. In spite of the foundation upon which all of my posts are founded (my 1111 Devotion), I try not to be too maudlin about the life (and death) of my eldest son, Karl Daniel. But whether I mention it or not, August 13th will always be the anniversary of his birthday.

Every year is a little bit different. And it doesn’t progress in a linear fashion, believe me. If it did, I’d be breathing a sigh of relief, knowing that every single year would bring me just that little bit less sadness, just a slightly diminished tendency to wonder what his life would be like now, who he’d be, what he’d be doing in the world right now.

But life isn’t like that. Death isn’t like that. When it first hits you, especially as a parent enduring that freaking nightmare of losing a child (regardless of whether they’re 3 months, 3 years, or 30 years when they die) most of us feel we might very well lose our minds before ever coming to terms with the reality of losing our baby forever.

For most of us, though, the searing pain at first loss that we feel will never ease, never diminish (indeed, that we vow we’ll never let go of – for to lose that edge will somehow, we feel, lessen the importance of their life to both us and to the world) inexplicably does. And honestly, at least for me, it was involuntary. I did not want to lose that edge.

Life Goes On

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I wanted to wear that loss on my vest and claim it as a defining, debilitating, characteristic of my life. The exact opposite, as a matter of fact. I wanted the gaping hole in my heart that belongs to my eldest son to spur me on to helping others cope with their grief when faced with similar loss.

So as we’re told in lyrics and poems, life goes on. We rail against it, when the loss is fresh. We secretly damn the people who tell us ‘time heals all wounds’ – most of the ones who say that have never felt the sense of having a phantom limb haunting us that losing one of our children creates. They think losing a parent is the same thing.

It’s not.

They think losing a sibling is the same thing.

It’s not.

Forgiveness

But ultimately, we have to extend to the people around us the most exquisite (and sometimes hardest to come by) gift: forgiveness. Most are doing the best they can to comfort us at a time when we’re experiencing something that simply blows their minds. And at the same time, it’s incumbent upon us to extend that same olive branch of forgiveness to our very own selves.

Yes, eventually – even if we try really hard to keep it at the forefront and make our lives center around it – the nearly unbearable pain of losing our child will eventually withdraw into the background of our lives. It’s at once surprising, unsettling, sad, and a relief. And a little guilt-inducing as well.

If we really loved them, would we ever allow ourselves to lose that edge? It’s a question that has a hollow and unsatisfactory answer.

My Point

The point I started to make when I began this post was that you just never know when the grief is going to sneak up behind you and clobber you over the head.

Upon waking this morning I felt a genuine heaviness around my heart. I’d sensed Karl ‘around’ a couple days earlier, but didn’t particularly feel him today. When I did notice him a few days ago, it made me realize that his ‘visits,’ if you can even call them that, are much more infrequent nowadays. And while I can appreciate that this happens, and why, it nevertheless makes me sad.

So I decided to bake a cake. What the heck. For 30 years I’d made a point of baking (or procuring) two cakes within the span of one week, since his father’s birthday is only four days before my son’s.

Only this time I decided to make something totally different. A vanilla cake. (I’ve never made one of those before. Not even once!) And it would have blueberries and lemon going on to make it special and festive. I rationalized that this would be the type of cake I’d buy at my favorite bakery, Crossroads, and almost certainly did for not a few birthdays over the years.

So here it is. The fruit of my reminiscing about my son and celebrating what should have been his 39th birthday today.

Never assume that just because it’s been a bunch of years since the loss of a child that their memory and how much they are missed has diminished.

Looks sloppy, but tastes yummy – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-470)

Patience and Acceptance – Day 521

Posted on by Lisa Weikel 2 Comments
Sunset 15 April 2020 – Photo: L. Weikel

Patience and Acceptance

I’m feeling quiet this evening. Seeking patience and acceptance.

While I’m lucky enough to say that, as of this writing, I’ve only had one friend test positive for Covid-19 so far, I am witnessing a troubling number of older people close to friends and family passing away.

While I’m virtually certain these deaths are not related to the virus directly, I can’t imagine there’s not some undercurrent of a feeling that it’s ‘time to go’ influencing people at this time. It just feels like there are a lot of people choosing to let go. And it’s not as if they have a death wish. That’s not at all what I’m saying nor what I want to imply.

In fact, quite the contrary.

Understandable

At any given moment, our souls can see what’s going on in the world. Our souls know and are cognizant of far more than our ego-selves are conscious of processing and simply ‘knowing’ on a daily basis. Our souls are watching. And listening. And on a profound level, our souls ultimately decide whether we’ve accomplished enough of the tasks we set for ourselves in this lifetime to make it okay for us to go – or whether we need to remain and address a couple more things before our time here on Earth is complete.

Given everything we’re witnessing, it feels understandable. Really, really hard for those of us left to live the rest of our lives without them, but understandable from a higher perspective.

And all day today, I kept envisioning the Tree of Life and the words of the “Tradition” paragraph I included in yesterday’s post:

“The Tree of Life is the archetype of all spiritual knowledge. The trunk forms branches and the branches form leaves. Humans are like the leaves. We reach a certain ripeness, and the time comes to go into the Spirit World. Our bodies drop to the earth, like leaves of the tree.”

Ripeness. Fullest expression. Greatest color and vibrancy.

Sometimes the most beautiful leaves are the ones no longer clinging to the tree, but have let go and dropped to the Earth.

Patience and acceptance. Sometimes easier said than done. Love to those who are trying to find and live both.

(T-590)

Something’s Died – Day 465

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Turkey Vulture – Photo: L. Weikel

Something’s Died

Just reading that title, you know it’s true.

And even though you know, it still makes you wonder: “What is she talking about?”

It could be anything.

It’s Everywhere

And the truth that it could be anything is in the fact that everywhere we look nowadays, things are dying. Norms, customs, friendships, alliances, ideals, traditions, standards.

From big things like our country’s system of checks and balances to little things like my refrigerator. Lofty ideals like the rule of law and no one being above that law to a squirrel that plays chicken with an oncoming car and loses.

We know death is a part of life. Without it, life here on Earth would be unsustainable, or perhaps more unsustainable than it already is. But it just feels as though we’re all witnessing the death of a lot of things this year (and it’s only February). Day after day, things we took for granted or simply never even felt needed to be treasured because they were such a sure thing are gone.

A Committee of Vultures – Photo: L. Weikel

Sitting Vigil

All these things flitted through my mind yesterday as I left my house. Nothing like being confronted by a massive turkey vulture sitting on your neighbor’s chimney as you walk outside your door.

And we all know turkey vultures are carrion eaters – indeed, they do us and other creatures a great service by eating stuff that dies. Otherwise, it would rot and fester and potentially become a breeding ground of unhealthiness. Vultures are also symbols of rebirth, for they are instrumental in completing the final step of death’s process, without which rebirth cannot take place.

So when I walked out my door to get in my car, not only was I wondering, “What died?” I was also rejoicing. Because in addition to the vultures swooping in from above, I was also being bombarded with the deep-throated groots of a bunch of fish crows. (Would that be a murder, I wonder?)

I know their voices – and I’m hoping they’ll build a nest across the street like they did last year.

So I’m confronted with seeing evidence of both sides of the coin. Death and dying along with the potential for something new to emerge. Perhaps a return of old friends, like the fish crows. Perhaps something so new we don’t even know it yet.

Neighbor’s Vulture – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-646)

A Lot of Nothing – Day 304

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A Lot of Nothing

I’m sitting here on my couch this evening wracking my brain for something – anything – to write about.

I shouldn’t really say ‘anything,’ since if I weren’t exercising a modicum of discernment, I could write about all sorts of things that are parading through my brain. And that’s where the title of this post comes in: A Lot of Nothing.

There are, indeed, many subjects I could riff on this evening. The obvious, extremely low-hanging fruit, would be 9/11. I don’t want to write about 9/11, though.

If I did start writing about 9/11, I’m sure I’d go down the rabbit hole and rant at the way the first responders to that horrible situation have been treated by Mitch McConnell and the Republicans. And I don’t want to do that.

I don’t want to write about the fires continuing to burn in the Amazon.

I’m decidedly sad about the children being forced to live in cages in Arizona – beyond sad. Sad is such a pathetic emotion. I’m outraged. I’m disgusted. I’m furious, and I don’t want to say it, but I’m bordering on feeling heartsick over what these people are enduring.

But I don’t want to write about them. Or this issue. It’s just all so relentlessly awful.

Weather Anyone?

Yes, indeed. I could write about the weather. But no; I won’t.

You’re welcome.

An Awful Thing Tonight

I could write about something awful that happened during our walk tonight.

The sun was long set and Mama Killa (pronounced as in Spanish: the ‘ll’ being like a soft ‘y’ as in ‘yah’) was blasting her reflected light down upon us, even casting distinct shadows, as if we were illuminated by a spotlight.

Two vehicles – big ones – at least in the range of Suburbans, but possibly even Enclaves or Armadas (you do have to roll your eyes at the names of those beasts, don’t you?) – were barreling toward us from the direction of the park (High Rocks), which technically closed at sunset. We made sure Sheila and Spartacus (as well as our own carcasses) were well off the side of the road, and Karl had his flashlight with green flashing warning light in full display, just to be safe.

As the first vehicle approached, its headlight flooded the pavement in front of us and I suddenly saw a snake absolutely booking it across the road. It was slithering in characteristic ‘s’ fashion astonishingly quickly – but it was headed in the wrong direction. It was headed away from us, toward the grass on the opposite side, almost certainly because it didn’t want to share space with us and the pups. But that was the ‘long way’ across the road.

Just as quickly, I could see that the Armada was going to mow it down. I knew it. I could tell simply by the speed and momentum of both snake and vehicle that the serpent would get clipped by the Armada’s far tire – the one closest to the edge of the road where the snake was headed. I yelled out, but I’m certain that not only didn’t the driver hear me, but even if they had, they wouldn’t have had any idea why I was crying out.

Giving Us a Wider Berth

I’ve been telling myself all night that the driver didn’t see the snake. That I didn’t really see the truck move over to the right even more – just to make sure they hit the creature that was brilliantly exposed by the headlights splayed across the pavement and moving as quickly as possible to get out of the way.

Even Karl had the same thought, but couched it this way: “I’m sure they moved over just then to give us a wider berth.”

Yeah. Sure. We can tell ourselves that. (And even if that is the case, I feel bad that we frightened the creature and caused it to move into harm’s way.)

So…that’s what I was thinking about tonight. Life. Death. Random loss. Cruel indifference. A lot of nothing.

Geez, it’s nights like these that you all probably wish I had some ‘canned’ pre-written posts about kittens. Or clouds.

Garter snake – Photographer unknown

P.S. It was a garter snake – a decent size, about 12” – and I moved it into the grass at the side of the road, hoping its head injury wasn’t life threatening. I’m pretty sure I was fooling myself, but I wanted to give it a chance to survive if it could.

(T-807)

Calling Card – Day 195

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Calling Card – Photo: L. Weikel

Calling Card

When I went out on our porch this morning to give it a quick sweep, I looked over the edge and found a calling card. Not, perhaps, the type you might be thinking I’d find, though.

It was not the digestive ‘leavings’ of a creature, thank goodness. Nor was it the entrails of an unfortunate victim of the various four legged and winged predators we have skulking around in our fields, forests, and skies.

Nope. It was a feather. A hawk feather, to be precise. And I could not be more delighted.

As I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned before, when Hawk shows up in my life I always sit up and pay attention. Or I at least feel touched by a sense of specialness – sort of like I’m being given a gift from the Nature Spirits.

When I saw that feather laying on the ground this morning, nestled in the grass beside the huge stump of our now deceased English Walnut, a huge smile flashed across my face and my heart quickened. I propped my broom against one of the lattice-worked stools and nearly skipped down the steps, making my way around the back corner of the house to retrieve it.

What a prize!

Pursuing Tasty Snacks? Or…

Of course, on a purely mundane level, discovering a hawk feather quite close to one of my bird feeders does not bode well for my fine-feathered, mostly finch, friends who frequent those very feeders. That’s especially true when I realize that, at that very moment, there are no songbirds anywhere near the feeders. It’s as if they’ve all frozen in motion somewhere, playing avian statues.

And yet, aside from the single hawk feather, there’s no sign of a struggle; not anything close to an indication that a raptor may have snagged a snack and met a feisty refusenik who may even have succeeded in dislodging a feather of its predator.

So why remain on the level of the superficial, the physical, the obvious?

Bringing a Message

I’d much rather contemplate the possibility that Hawk is coming to me specifically to rekindle the flames of my passion for writing. That it may be whispering, “It’s time now, Lisa. Time to stop, take yourself to the creek, and go within. Time to remember why you write. And time to remember our quest many moons ago when we worked together to birth Owl Medicine.”

Yeah, maybe that’s what I want the Hawk feather to mean.

And truth be told it could mean that. It could also simply be calling me and bringing me the message to, “Pay attention.”

A lot has happened in the past few days – suddenly – to people who matter a great deal to me. People I love. And I want them to know how deeply I care, and how much I want them to recover and to get better quickly and easily.

So perhaps Hawk left its calling card to remind me, too, of the message that things (LIFE) can change drastically in the blink of an eye. We all know it; yet sometimes we need the reminder.

Maybe I will gain a little more understanding as the days unfold. Or maybe I just need to let myself be – the messenger.

(T-916)