About five years ago, I fell deeply and madly in love. She had the blackest, biggest eyes you could imagine, highlighted with the steely blue-black head feathers and sideburns. She was and is such a beauty. Elegant and graceful, Clara was everything I wanted to be.

I first came to know her through an article in the newspaper that noted that City Hall had been declared home base by two peregrine falcons. Promptly dubbed Clara and José by the community, I became one of the Fourth Street Garage gang. We traded stories and information about the two, always with our binoculars aimed at the tower or toward the skies.

Clara’s very first eggs, three in number, were watched by us addicts on the Falcon Cam until they hatched. Then, if we weren’t on the Cam, we were at the Garage. Watching Clara and José as they took those wee, fluffy ones to full juvenile status was an experience of awe as well as an affair of the heart.

Although they call the peregrine falcon a bird of prey, I have come to see them as simply intensely individualized Spirit in action. I so wanted that “intensely me” approach to my life. Thus, Clara became my mentor in the second year while on Garage assignment. I call it ‘assignment’ because it became a divine appointment for me.

I watched Clara, for example, do fly-abouts. She would leave the tower ledge, fly high, find a thermal and ride. She floated, she soared, she flapped, she used her feathers to manipulate loft … oh, God, she was so very, uncompromisingly beautiful. I sensed that sometimes she did that just for herself, to experience her joy and her freedom. At other times, she seemed to be giving a lesson to the kids, staying close to the tower, riding a thermal, floating in circles above them, climbing, then, moving her feathers ever so slightly to turn.

Clara has lost three mates…the most beloved, José, seemingly killed by human installations. However, Clara has her mission and she carries onward with mate number four.

I think it is Clara’s aloneness as well as her interdependence that captures my attention. It is also her sheer elegance and freedom in the air. It is through observing her that I have been witness to the very things I wanted to learn…grace in my expression of Spirit, freedom to soar, and being fully connected to all that is around me.

My lessons continue with Clara. This year…new lessons and, with eggs about to hatch, new kids on the ledge!!

I went to a convention for five days in a land of cold where there were icy blue skies and snow-covered mountain peaks. It was invigorating—cold sunshine and visible breath. I basked in that chill because it was Winter at her most attractive.

Coming home was, as always, a return to my touchstone. Disembarking from the plane, the soft warmth embraced me and I was full of the usual anticipation to greet my family of humans and my family of cats. I knew the humans would hug me but was uncertain if the cats would hiss or purr!

The change in climate between the locations was less about the change in temperature, however, than the change process itself. When I left San José, we were still sitting in the bare branch part of a California winter; when I returned, there were little leaf-lets on the trees, there were also flowers on other trees, the poppies were opening and, everywhere I looked, there was birthing going on. The landscape was taking on that lushness that seems to be part of Spring.

On my morning strolls, I marveled at the newness, the freshness, and the abundance. As my eyes appreciated, my thoughts took the turn that they take every Spring. Why do I keep forgetting, I asked myself, what Nature is showing me so dramatically. That is, when I am feeling that Divine discontent, I need that same incubation period, that time of desolation or, perhaps, that seeming immobility prior to the re-birth that I see in Nature?

During that incubation time, I have discovered that I must continue my spiritual practices mindfully and regularly. The fact that absolutely nothing seems to be happening is simply an appearance. Beneath the observable, there is the on-going work of building my spiritual muscle, of becoming more conscious, of recognizing and celebrating Grace in my life.

At the right and perfect time, I leave the plateau of stasis just like Winter transforms into Spring. I am delighted that I had that few days away; now, I can embrace the winter that is occurring within.

To say that I am occasionally ‘unconscious’ is an admission of embarrassment. Suffice it to say that, without exploring the above feeling, I allow myself to soar while walking the dog. I do need to be in my body but love the free-form floating that releases me to a timeless void.

The last few weeks have not afforded me the luxury of drifting. Rather, I became increasingly incensed, moving toward a state of high dudgeon, about one church property in the neighborhood where the dog and I walk. Irritation mounted as I looked at the garbage, stepped around vomit, swivel-hipped by shopping carts and backpacks. The landscape was littered around a church that allowed the homeless to make a home on their grounds.

I didn’t permit the inhabitants’ little kindnesses to make a dent in my armor. No, I was too busy building my ‘cleanliness’ case. The dog didn’t mind; she liked the attention from some of the men and women, although she was a bit high-minded about letting the exuberant little Chihuahua say hello. Truly, the issue was mine.

There came a day when my animosity sat at the Orange Alert Level and I was debating among possible actions. Perhaps I could change my walk pattern and routes. And, I could always write a letter to the church. Or, I could police the area myself, most likely grumbling the entire time. While I was mulling and steaming, I received a Harry Potter howler. Yep! I did.

The message was very, very clear….my home was in the same state of chaos as this homeless encampment! At my place, what would one find? … Clean dishes stacked on the counter in lieu of being in the cupboards, papers strewn all over my office, cat fur decorating the living room carpet, and kitty litter all over the bathrooms. In that moment, I did the Cheshire Cat thing, i.e., I smiled and disappeared.

That evening I tackled the kitchen, putting clean dishes away, refilling the dishwasher, and scrubbing the counters. While I worked, I reflected on the mirroring of my interior at the level of the exterior. In my home life, there was chaos and disorder. I finally recognized it when I saw it repeatedly in the world about me.

Anyway, I’ll have you know that I was going to take a photo of that encampment as well as one of my home. Got the one of my office area pre-cleanup. When we ambled by the encampment, got no picture. Why? Well, it was neat and orderly!

Changing a belief and taking action works every time!!

 

I have noticed a lot of litter on my path recently. Amidst those gold, those red, and those rust tinged leaves lie the manmade. In fact, many times I find myself laughing rather than walking with the furrowed brow of irritation. The other day, for instance, I arrived home to see an automobile bumper gracing the hillside. It sat there as politely as it could among the trees but it still looked as uncomfortable as any of the mattresses, sofas and chairs that I encounter on the streets.

I’m not sure what brings us humans to convince ourselves that there must be someone who is just searching to locate a charcoal colored front bumper of a Buick or to be delighted by the discovery of an empty Marlboro box. What is it in us that persuades us it is okay to jettison the unwanted, the unused, the unnecessary into the public domain? All of these THINGS?

Well, I don’t actually know the answer to that question but it did lead me to a subject that I have been pondering since forever. Why is it, I ask, that someone could take the time and effort to haul an unused mattress out to the street or organize a yard sale, but has no time, energy or desire to toss out a belief in lack or limitation?

We will go through our closets and cupboards and remove all of the items that are no longer of use but can find absolutely no time to do the same sort of process about our spending habits, for example. I’ll pull out a dress from the closet that I adored…when it fit and when it was in style…and release it, sometimes reluctantly, to a new home. Will I do the same thing regarding a once useful behavior to boost my self-confidence? If it isn’t working for me any longer or I have discovered new skills that allow me to be self-confident, why can I not release the out-dated old behavior?

There are delightful quirks and idiosyncrasies that make up the individuals that we are. But, there are also beliefs that hinder us in being the magnificence that we are. I’m wondering if we can considering some of these thoughts as akin to an old refrigerator. Doesn’t work. Hasn’t worked for years. Get it out of the house. Now. Wow! I feel good.

Truly, my path is littered, glittered, and patterned with the most interesting people, events, and ‘things.’ A mindfulness walk a few days ago began with great vigor and ended in an ambling wistfulness.

Why did the dog and I go from purposeful to shambling? I mean, we were both full of energy and the brisk air accentuated our eagerness to engage with the world. Yet, barely into our daily connection, I saw a mother pushing a stroller with her smartphone up front and center. Then we saw a fellow walking two dogs with leashes in one hand and an iPad in the other. Next, we saw a college student plugged into his music with eyes totally oblivious to anything around him. Then…oh dear, another mother, another baby, another phone!

Do I resent such loving or such addicted focus on mails, music, or Facebook. No, not at all. Instead, I was unutterably sad for what they were missing with the telescoping of their attention.

They missed the student who became a little tyke stomping through the fall leaves wherever he saw them. Too bad, also, that they didn’t see the pumpkin sitting on a stair ledge with one of the biggest, goofiest smiles imaginable. Had they had the foresight to raise their eyes, they would have seen a sky so blue and so pure that it went from being real to being this perfect stage set piece.

They also missed the workman whose leafblower fell and did a little dance before he could corral it. Neither did they see the 3-yr-old shoving a bagel into her Dad’s mouth, all the while singing, “Eat, Daddy, eat!”

Yeah, it was just one of my ‘ordinary’ days. Guess I am just a bit wistful though that my fellow walkers weren’t present to enjoy these moments.

When I resolved that Across My Path was a clever nuanced subtitle for my blog, I never considered what the permutations of that title might be. In my estimation, the people and the situations encountered in daily living gave a richness to my life that was eminently share-able! Consequently, it was inconceivable to me that my path could even remotely embrace being In the Ditch. But, that is exactly what showed up one hot, hot September Sunday.

Pleased that my talk had gone well on that Sunday, I happily sped through moderate traffic while the mercury was embracing 109°. Suddenly, a car in front of me slammed on its brakes, I swerved, was rear-ended and traveled. Oh, yes, I traveled…through the ditch—wide ditch, big ditch, bumpy ditch, drought prickly ditch!! Coasting to a stop a ¼ mile later, I got out of my auto, fully present yet totally outside of myself. Oh, oh, oh my!

Auto accidental happenings didn’t end there. Would that they had yet the universe still had a point to make. I left my parked rental car at Center for Spiritual Living the following Sunday while I joined family to “car shop”. My rental was the only car in the lot when we returned and that rental had been bumped big time. Really? Re-e-e-ally? Seven days, two accidents. At that moment, there was no room in my psyche for anything other than dumbstruck bewilderment.

But, this tale is not an observation on auto accidents nor even the eddy of emotional catastrophe that consumes one as all of the necessary steps are taken to resolve the matter. Rather, it is a paean to the gifts of grace that emerge from the most untoward of events.

Something about the intensity of an experience cracks open a level of awareness that is both jolting and crystalline. The irritation over an inadequate home repair, the simmering anger about an argument, or a sadness stemming from not being promoted at work disappear in the face of a new view on the workings of the Universe.

While there are many, many gifts of grace—each one absolutely perfect for the one experiencing them—life proceeds differently afterwards. For example, there was no doubt in my mind or my heart that I was absolutely and utterly protected when I went on this Mad Hatter’s Ride. There were other gifts of grace bestowed in the ensuing week. Only great confidence and love permits me to say—Wow! Am I ever grateful for that experience!!

In high school, I was both a devoted athlete and a devout drama student. If I wasn’t practicing with the basketball or volleyball teams, I was lurking in the office of my English teacher (drama director and a very theatrical opera singer)!!

Basketball taught me teamwork and allowed me to use my all-around physical skill. I could play any position and took enormous pleasure in using every well-honed muscle. Mind and body became a fluid thing that engaged every part of my being. It wasn’t until much later in life that I began to sense the value of my learning in those years of playing basketball.

Before I got to those understandings, I had to go through a period where I wondered why I had not opted for track and field. In my estimation, I would have benefited more from a coach for hurdles, long jump and marathons, particularly marathon detours. Those would offer “life skill” experience for people like me.

When I refer to obstacles, I am not pointing to the demented planning of the transportation department whose expertise seems to be in obstacles, detours, and trenches. No, no, I’m speaking of the obstacles that surface when all I wanted to do was to speak to a re-finance consultant, for example. Or, perhaps, the detour that magically appears on the way toward adoption or car purchase or graduate school. Then, there is the trench of fear, indecision, and fog that seems real but is just a mirage. And, what about the hurdles that pop up in my path for which I felt I had no dexterity. These are the life skills that I seem ill-prepared to exercise.

At some stage, I came to understand that sports or school or astronomy all teach life skills and I am pretty sure I am not talking about life skills here. Hmmmmm! I think we might, just, perhaps…be grateful! Grateful that we saw the trench. Grateful that the detour gave me an opportunity to be in awe and wonder. Grateful that the closed ramp saved me from the ditch.

In spite of all of these Truths that I am learning, I still would like to know what jokester, doofus, or Machiavelli does the road repair planning.

An experience that I have come to anticipate appears with modest regularity on my path. It involves a little dog. When I walk by the home where she lives, I can absolutely count on her rising to her feet from “her” porch ledge and barking at me. Now, she never looks at me nor leaves the ledge. She just barks until I leave the boundary of her home. Once, after I rounded the corner out of her territory, I decided to sneak back into it to see what would happen. I had tiptoed just three steps into her home field when she rose to her full 18″ height and barked! Well, I got the message!

I always looked forward to seeing this little one in her full-on protective mode because she was so intent on doing what she saw as her job. Eventually, I realized that she gave no evidence of having any sight, just the ability to hear. Perhaps it was ironic or serendipitous, but her blind behavior when there  was no apparent danger anywhere close triggered a question in search of explanation. I realized that her barking was reminiscent of habits and beliefs that we hold, i.e., we can no longer remember why we do something, or say something, or believe something, we just carry on with it.

On one level, it is somewhat akin to always putting my right leg in my jeans first or putting the glove on my right hand first. I am clueless as to how the behavior became a habit. At another level, the habit of having dessert at the end of the meal is one I continue to honor. Amazingly, I can trace its origin and I doubt that I will alter the process and have my dessert in the middle of my meal. I’ll probably acknowledge it as a well-ingrained habit; clearly one that is not messing up my life.

There is that deeper level, however, where the habitual behavior hardens into a belief. When a belief limits the possibilities and the opportunities of your life, I think we have a bad habit. Wouldn’t you agree? For example, throwing a tantrum at three to get your needs met is understandable; doing the same at 53, is not only a bad habit but a belief in need of radical change.

If we become what we repeatedly do and what we repeatedly affirm, I’d have to say that little barking girl reminded me that I need to stay conscious and that to stay in the conversation of life I must always affirm the possible impossibles!!

By the way, the little girl on her ledge? I didn’t see her there a few days ago and I didn’t see her this morning. Maybe I’ll put her bark in my heart with a dog treat to go with it!!

Lately, my path has been strewn with sofas and chairs. Occasionally, I see a few mattresses lolling about but normally, it’s sofas. Perplexed and more than a bit curious, I wondered if furniture was “trending in” as landscape architecture! I figure that sofas are home furnishings but I’m not one to question the latest in cultural shifts. Hmmmm, this new exterior design feature does lend itself to conversation.

A few weeks ago, I was driving down Reed Street. Squeaking through on an amber light, I noticed a wing back chair dressed in rust naugahyde, adorned with precisely placed brass tacks. It sat, rather elegantly, on the sidewalk ramp leading to the street itself. It was waiting patiently, I would guess, for the traffic to stop so that it could leave the elementary school behind and head home.

About 10 blocks later, I spied a white rolled arm armchair listing a bit despondently toward both a tree and a dumpster. A bit disheveled, it gave evidence of not being quite ready to give up its usefulness. (I think it was trying to right itself!)

Today, I saw another armchair sitting anxiously under a palm tree. It appeared to be in rather decent shape, just waiting for the taker. I swore that I heard it saying “take me, take me.”

I do interact with the sad remnants of matter well on their way toward disintegration with quite some curiosity. It does not matter if I am walking or driving for I will see each and every sofa, chair or mattress. Cushions might be missing, backs stained with the grease of a multitude of heads, upholstery ripped and torn, spines broken. Surely, these brocade or duck or chintz sofas and chairs were so appreciated at some time in their lives.

I wonder if anyone ever blessed them for the comfort that they brought to human life. I wonder what stories they might tell. I wonder if they embraced a dog or cat or two. I wonder if they hosted an argument or a proposal. I just so wonder….

Well, I guess that the best that I can do is thank them for serving. Most of all, I want them to know that they were “seen” by me.