I have made a commitment to three things: finding time for Blue Space (beach, sky), Green Space (earth, woods), and the responses I have to poets & writers. I seek to discover the art of being.
The first was December 15th. I was on my way to Crystal Bowl Meditation, had just turned on to A & W Bulb Road when an eagle, her white head brilliant in the sun, flew over the road ahead of me.
The second one was last Friday. I was driving up Summerlin, and an eagle with prey in his talons flew over the road ahead of me and into Lakes Park.
Today it was on Tamiami Trail as I was leaving my massage therapist. The eagle was just drifting around with the breezes above, not in any hurry to go anywhere, her white head and tail announcing her spirit.
In Native American Medicine, eagles represent Spirit. Their feathers are the most sacred.
Given this highly unusual chain of events in less than a month, I’m proclaiming Eagle Medicine as mine for 2025. I read about Eagle, and this part really spoke to me, given the year I’ve had:
Eagle represents a state of grace achieved through hard work, understanding, and a completion of the tests of initiation which result in the taking of personal power.
Eagle brings illumination. Look higher and love the shadow as well as the light. See the beauty in both, and you will take flight with Eagle.
My friend Pam gave me a book of Mary Oliver poetry called Devotions, and now that I’m done with Regina’s book, I’ve started reading one of Mary’s every morning.
The poem today made an impact:
This Morning
This morning the redbirds’ eggs have hatched and already the chicks are chirping for food. They don’t know where it’s coming from, they just keep shouting, “More! More!” As to anything else, they haven’t had a single thought. Their eyes haven’t yet opened, they know nothing about the sky that’s waiting. Or the thousands, the millions of trees. They don’t even know they have wings.
And just like that, like a simple neighborhood event, a miracle is taking place.
As I wrote in my journal, I kept going back to the line:
They don’t even know they have wings.
I feel there is a personal meaning for me in that line. Where are the wings I don’t know I have?
Admittedly, I was nervous about January coming. I felt that it meant getting into the fray again.
But Thursday was a peaceful day. There were things to figure out, and I did. I stayed calm, enjoyed everything I did, used my resources, asked questions, asked for help. Yes, all the things I reminded my student to do over the years.
I woke today feeling great. Ready. Strong. My eyes were open. I can allow miracles.
And on the way to an appointment, an eagle flew over Summerlin Road right in front of me, and on into Lakes Park, prey hanging from his talons. It is the second eagle I’ve seen in a month. It reminds me that Spirit is with me always. This morning. This afternoon. While I take out the garbage. While I cook dinner. While I sleep.
A new year is upon us. We all have wings. May they lift us high over the next 12 months.
Yesterday I wrote about my word of the year for 2024. Today I bring you my new one.
It came to me when reading a prayer poem with my Lectio Divina group. The text is called "When I'm grieving a goodbye" by Arianna Braithwaite Lehn. Here is the part that brought me the word:
When I'm asked to
open my hands and
release what I've held --
held tightly --
place your peace
between the fingers.
I couldn't stop thinking and writing about the word release.
What I have come to love about it is that it can be activated in any moment needed. I found myself already using it once I committed to it. It is now written on a magnet displayed on my refrigerator for me to see when I come in the room.
Today in my journal I made a list of release statements. There will certainly be more. But I'm off to a good start.
Here's to 2025 where I will...
Release fear of the future.
Release money concerns.
Release anxiety caused by inaction.
Release things that aren't coming back.
Release the need to know the future.
Release frustrations when they arise.
Release everything I can't control.
Release anger about stuff left behind I have to deal with.
Release wondering.
Release any frozen feeling -- release into the melting spirit of love, faith, and trust.
Release the need to know -- I don't know!
Release all the stuff here that does not serve me.
I leave you with "Here Comes the Sun," because I know "It's all right!"
It is late afternoon on New Year's Eve, and I meant to get this out sooner. It is mostly my journal entry from this morning. I had a wonderful day seeing A Complete Unknown and having lunch with a friend. Then I visited with my neighbor. Life is busy.
I have not shed many tears since Thanksgiving, although I did this morning when I realized I won't have Jim here at midnight to wish Happy New Year and a kiss. But, that's okay. I had a little cry and now I'm fine.
For many months of 2024 I prayed for this year to end more times than I can count. And now we are here, the waning hours. Finally.
What a year it has been.
Yesterday, I listened to my 2024 playlist, the one I started and continued to add on to throughout the year. I started with three songs, and continued to add (and sometimes subtract) as the year went on. The songs tell the story of my year; every up and down is represented.
It helped me know I definitely need a new playlist for 2025. I already know it will start with "Here Comes the Sun." I need a new collection to motivate, inspire, and calm me.
This year my word was EMERGE. For a long time I did not know how it was manifesting. But now I can see I had to emerge out of a life that was unsustainable. I couldn't teach forever. Jim couldn't keep getting ill without it catching up to him.
It was not the way I had imagined the word "emerge" when I chose it. I thought I'd have more agency, more choice. Instead, it felt thrust upon me. Emerge, dammit!
I can't argue with the God that chose this for me. I am grateful for everything good that has come my way because of the repeated challenges.
A shift is happening now with the new year. My wound is close to healed. The holiday respite is over, and January will demand attention on things I've easily let slide. I have been wondering if I am ready.
The answer is yes.
I just pray 2025 lands gently. I have mighty helpers on my side, no matter what. That will never change.
*
The third song on my playlist was Jimmy Buffett's "Bubbles Up." I wrote about it earlier this year, but it deserves more attention. Apple Music says it is the song I listened to the most this year, and I know it is true. It was my constant go-to because of the message and Jimmy's voice. Neither can be beat.
Yesterday was a double whammy for those of us who were adults in the 1970s. Two American institutions have left the planet. Although they circled in different spheres, somehow they have been ever present in my life for fifty years.
Jimmy Carter was the first president I ever voted for in the Bicentennial year of 1976. His legacy is well-known, so no need to go into it here. Suffice to say I always admired the heck out of him and his wife.
Linda Lavin became popular in a show called Alice based on a movie called Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, one of the first movies that saw women as whole human beings. I remember seeing it at the theater and it was different than anything else I’d ever seen. She had a never-ending career, even as she aged. It says a lot about her as an actor and a person.
When I heard Jimmy had died, well, no surprise. He was 100-years-old and had been in hospice care for over two years.
When I heard Linda died, I wasn’t surprised because I knew she had to be up there in years. (She was 87.)
But my first thought was that I won’t get to see her in season 2 of the Netflix show No Good Deed. The show itself is a mini-masterpiece, and Linda had a small part as a nosy neighbor. Even though the part isn’t regular, she gave the character strong presence and purpose when she did show up. She held the secrets of the neighborhood. The fact that I thought of this immediately gives testament to two things: the utter brilliance of the show, and the fact that Linda Lavin was the perfect choice to play Phyllis Adelman.
RIP to two American legends. We are grateful for your contributions to our lives.
When I received the touchstone with some of Jim’s ashes in it, I was also given a vial of leftover ashes in case I wanted more things made. Instead, I wanted to to figure out a place to sprinkle those ashes. I decided on Bunche Beach.
It is tradition for me to walk Bunche on Christmas. I’ve done it for years. Last year, I felt strongly it was our last Christmas together, and I asked Jim to join me, even though he was too ill to walk. At the time he was just starting to show signs of what was to come.
This year has been one of turmoil and health issues, and I really am not sure if I’ve been there since last Christmas. There were a lot of changes. I was greeted by this message:
I knew where I wanted to send the ashes, and so made a short walk down the beach. There were more people there than usual—some years I have been the only one there. I wanted to have private space for what I was going to do, and thankfully that worked out.
My idea was to visit a tree I’ve been visiting for over a decade. It has been a place I went to reinforce visions I’ve had for what I want to do and be. It was not a living tree, but one that had a hole where I would drop shells I had spoken my wishes into.
No surprise that after this hurricane season, the tree was just a leftover stump. But there, in that container, were the shells I left over the years. I sprinkled some ashes into it.
I then turned to the water. If Jim wanted to be anywhere, it would be on the water. I sprinkled the rest of the ashes into a waterway that will carry them into San Carlos Bay and eventually into the Gulf of Mexico.
This is the overview of where I left the ashes.
On the way back, rays came down from the heavens, completing the ritual.
