Watching Things Get Built

I've heard it said that human beings don't need religion, that we do just fine left to our own devices, that we will instinctively make ethical decisions without the guidance of this or that spiritual teaching.  I don't believe it, at least, not from where I stand.  I think I'd hardly be able to face the day without any spiritual guidance.  Maybe I'm just that sick, or maybe we all crave a spiritual nectar of some sort.  We might not all reach for the same brew, and some of us might abstain due to the nature of faith having much less to do with intellect than it does to trust.  I think we all need something, though, even if we won't admit it to ourselves. 

This morning, I've forgotten where my feet are.  Bills pile up and payment for work done is promised by others again and again, and the savings account drops as we try to support our business, hoping every day to get paid what we're due so we can replenish and thus keep that net of security underneath our dangling feet.  Today, I feel like I'm swinging from a tree branch, and my feet can't find the limb below.  I'm in the open air, with just a few leaves overhead as a canopy and too much sun burning my pale Irish skin.  I take a deep breath in an attempt to find some calm but take in the bitter ashes of fear. 

In the early morning hours, I noticed that the hummingbird feeder, which we placed in the garden to attract those beautiful flying jewels of birds, is attracting a colony of fat red ants.  Very happily, they are winding their way up a path of bougainvillea leaves and entering the small metal flowers, imbibing of the sugar water that to them has become an easily found blessing. 

Sometimes we have gifts meant for some but later find they're better given to others.  Sometimes, when we're staring at the tiny bud, we can't envision the gorgeous flower to come.  Sometimes we place nectar for birds by our doorstep only to discover that ants are the one appreciating the sugar water we've boiled and poured into the feeder. The universe has a plan unfolding, but oftentimes we're unable to see it and find peace, so caught up are we in the way that "things are supposed to be". 

Last weekend I attended a class, at the end of which was a guided meditation.  Guided through the woods to a cabin, I met with the Crone of the forest, and she whispered to me that I have need to be a healer. She also provided me with a clear and very definite message: listen.  I'm not sure if I've been listening today.

My husband and a friend are next door working on the kids' clubhouse, which over the years has become dilapidated and, lately, quite unsafe.  It's old, having enjoyed the laughter and raucous play of many children.  It's worn, but still wanting more laughter and play, a little more life.  I stand in the bathroom after my shower, listening to the sound of boards being ripped from boards, saws cutting, the clatter of wood bouncing on grass. If I didn't know better, I'd think that I was listening to the sound of destruction.  If I listen more closely, however, I might hear the sound of creation, nails being pounded into wood, the clack of boards being laid against boards, safety in the making.  A few grains of ash fall from my eye, and I shake my head.  Peering out the tiny bathroom window I can see the whole scene a little bit better from my vantage point now but it's really in the listening that I know what's going on.  
 
Listen.

I read from all sorts of spiritual sources, believing that different paths bear the fruits of different trees.  They all lead to the ultimate source, but sometimes the scenery changes.  This morning I sipped coffee and read about how, in order to receive the spiritual guidance we need, we must be able to really hear what is being said.  We must be able to listen and understand what we're hearing.  Really listen. In spite of the preconceived ideas we possess with regard to how things should be moving forward, we have to stop and listen.  In spite of bills that are due and promises which seem to be failing, we have to stop and find some trust. 

The class on Saturday also reminded me of the great lie which has been foisted on us by men filled with fear.  Some would lead us to believe that nature alone has nothing to teach us, that she's a cruel and senseless mistress whose creatures we should lord over and attempt to control. Foolishness! I perceive us to be stewards rather than lorders, brothers and sisters of creation rather than superior beings whose main purpose is to mold and shape and change what doesn't immediately suit our fancies.  This last bit doesn't seem to be working out so well, does it? I believe that, if we're watching and listening, nature has a whole lot to teach us.  Nature isn't separate from spirituality, but an integral part of it.  At least, that's what I heard this morning as I watched ants finding sweet food where they could, noisy birds over head advising me that sometimes softer speech is better received than wild cawing, the swaying of the mango tree reminding me that gentle bending and swaying  can sometimes prevent a snapping of my limbs (both physical and emotional).  Exclusive patriarchy has tried to take away the beauty of the Goddess and of nature, and left us starved for something we're unable to find because the food we need has been made to look like poison.  We've been thrown fertilizer instead, and even though it's half toxic we're so hungry we gobble it up, gaining what nourishment we can but still reeling, slightly sick from the unhealthy combination of truth and harmful misleading.  There is a great deal of truth in the teachings of different faiths, but sometimes it's difficult to disentangle the gems from the webs of words. Here too we sometimes need to locate the beauty from within the ugliness. Sometimes, too,  we need to just walk away.  Listen.   

Listen.  Listen to it all, and decide what makes sense to the ears within your soul, what sounds vibrate within not just your mind but also in your heart.

Don't discount the beauty of the moment just because, at first glance, things look ugly.  There will be time to slap on a little paint later, after the dismantling and reconstruction has lead to something far more secure than what previously existed.