At the onset of this week's Winds of Change time, I was gathering up my letter writing materials at Peaks Cafe, where I had enjoyed the company of the two owners, Lisa and Ellen, as they worked on a picture puzzle of Slavic decorated Easter eggs while I wrote to my dear friend Loanne.
I packed my shoulder bag, donned my turquoise patterned fleece vest, button-up, grey wool sweater, wool hat, and mis-matched gloves, and headed out the Cafe door. I meandered up the hill towards home, walking the winding "back way" road, taking you all with me. Just this morning, I had seen two male cardinals, or perhaps the same cardinal, from both living room and kitchen windows, harbingers of a day of Self love. I crested the hill, and as I followed the northwest turn in the road, I heard chickadees calling, smelled the scent of mud as I felt the squish of soft earth under my boots, saw bags of garden soil in neighboring yards, and spotted newly turned flower beds. In the distance, between seaside roof tops to the south, was the glistening sea, beckoning me to her.
When I arrived at my doorstep, I entered my kitchen, pausing long enough to put down my shoulder bag and pocket a small pair of binoculars, returning to the out-of-doors and the short, ribboning roadway to the ocean side. Following the lead of some other calling, I clambered across rocky beach to a sheltered stand of ledges, finding a perfect shelf to sit on, facing the receding tide.
The play of sun in and out of clouds patterned the sea with long slices of white glitter and muted slate grey in whatever way sun and cloud tagged the sea. I closed my eyes, feeling the sun's warmth caressing my face, releasing any tension into a slow and easy smile. It has been weeks since I've formally meditated, as moment-to-moment has become a meditation on Aliveness, so the stance my body was taking was like a homecoming, a familiar invitation to stillness, silence, and peace.
As I was let go, there was the sensation of the middle space of my body, from shoulders to hips, expanding into grey ocean like ripples, the very ones before me, as my head and my legs remained solid. I returned, laughing with a gull I heard overhead, wondering if he saw me, this head floating above water, with legs bent in a sitting position. I peeked open my eyes, seeing the sea, and closed them again, to the very same sensation of head above water, and feet planted firmly on rock solid earth. Was I dissolving into the Beingness that Tony Parsons describes? And is it my head - my mind - and my legs - my movement through this world - that are resisting this transformation? I laughed again, opening my eyes to the moment before me.
Soaking in warming rays, I took off my hat and gloves, then removed the binoculars from my sweater pocket and lifted them to my eyes. Out on the sea was a flock of maybe 30 ducks, most of them looking to be younglings to my untrained eyes. They swam westward together, intermingling, then one by one, disappeared under the waves, only to emerge again, repositioning themselves, instinctively improvising this dance over and over again. Putting the binoculars down, I gazed at the large rocks by the water's edge, some splayed with seaweed, others wet with sea spray, and one particular formation glistening like seals huddled together, shapeshifting from rocks to seals and back to rocks again.
I took up the binoculars, looking to where I thought the ducks would be, and they had disappeared. As I scanned back over the waters towards the east, they had backtracked and were turning back around, heading in the direction I had first seen them swimming. What were they doing? I thought. "Simply being," came the answer, "riding the Winds of Change" without a need to how or why. And so have we, I thought, during this shared hour and a half.
Please feel free to share your experience of the Winds of Change time or your thoughts on my experience in the comment section of this blog. Namaste.