The End of the Small World

The end of the small world. I had a dream the other night. It was just a snippet of a dream. A scene. Some words. And a lasting impression.

The scene was a meeting room. Several people in business attire seated around a table. One was standing over some documents that were lying on the table pointing out various aspects of whatever it was. It appeared they were going over or developing a plan. The words associated with this dream were “the end of the small world”.

This wasn’t a disturbing dream. It was all very matter of fact. I awoke feeling that I should remember this and do... something? Contemplate it? Share it? Or simply remember?

The end of the small world. That could mean a lot of things. In our doom and gloom society with all the valid concerns we have over the changing climate, the rise of extremism, the ever growing population, those words could be describing an inevitable disaster - the end result of the stress on all our systems both natural and societal. The dream might be a warning from my under consciousness that the world is coming to an end. That is one thing those words could mean.

They could also mean quite literally “the end of the small world”. The small world is where we live when we believe that what we see and sense with our physical bodies is all that exists. The small world is where we live when we lose our faith in something bigger, something grander, something infinitely more divine than we could ever imagine or conceive.

A dream about the end of the small world may acknowledge that there is a dawning awareness, a beginning of a new consciousness, a recognition of a new infinitely larger world in which we know that we are more than just human beings.

A new larger world where we know ourselves as spirit as well as physical beings. A world where we recognize ourselves as part of God, but also as beings who have chosen to experience life in material form. A world where we can experience all the joys and beauty of being alive while still remembering what we really are.

Gentle Teachers

This morning as I meditated on my breath an image came into my mind. It was an animal’s muzzle or snout positioned just to the left of and slightly in front of my face. I could see the dark gray/brown fur, the pattern of whiskers and whisker "dots" along the side of the nose, the dark skin of the lips, and the gentle curving and curling of nostrils with the movement of its breath. I felt the breath of that animal being shared with me as I inhaled and exhaled. It was warm and open(?). I relaxed into it and the image faded but not the memory of it. Like a dream that doesn’t quite go away when you wake up.

My breath was very slow and shallow at that time. I was hardly breathing at all. I was in that space where it feels as though the air simply comes and goes on its own. Or, rather, in that space where there is no need for the air to come and go. You simply exist in it, your body taking whatever it needs directly from the air wherever and whenever it needs to.

Sharing breath with animals is not new to me. Nor would it be to any animal lover. It is simply something that we do – a way we have of communicating with our four leggeds without consciously knowing what it is we communicate. For me, and perhaps for others as well, it began by mirroring what I saw the animals do with each other. An exchange of breath. A sharing of life's essence. A silent story that says this is who I am.

Maybe this image, at this time, is meant to be an affirmation of what I wrote here yesterday. The Presence of Animals. Animals as bodhisattvas. Silent gentle teachers helping us learn to connect with that which is within and around and through every aspect of our being.

The Presence of Animals

When I sat down to work today the squirrel appeared again. When he stopped by my feet, I softly said "good morning". This was too much familiarity so he ran away. Several minutes later he came back. This time I kept quiet while he looked me over before he went on his way. Tomorrow, perhaps, I will bring a peanut. I think I am being trained.

A friend and I have been exploring a theme of sorts. It began with one of those widely forwarded emails that we all get. This one had to do with the death of a beloved family pet and a 6 year old child’s insight into why dogs don’t live as long as we do. He said, "People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life - like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right? Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long."

Is it possible that animals are here to help us evolve – to reach the state of presence that they are always in? In some simple but profound way are animals more connected, more aware of the oneness of consciousness than we are?

Clearly when a flock of birds suddenly flies up and begins creating crazy, daring whirling patterns in the sky or when a herd of horses gallops recklessly through a pasture without accidents they are connected to their flock or herd in a way that we don’t understand. They are touching something, some fabric that helps them move as one.

Having witnessed the passing of many of my four-legged friends I have begun to believe that animals also move into the afterlife more easily than we do. When they leave their bodies behind do they sense that they are simply merging with the fabric they have always known they were a part of? Does this ease their transition? Or does it make it not a transition at all – simply an act of discarding a tool (their body) that they are no longer going to use?

Does the example of the animals show us that there is much more to life than what our minds understand? Are these beings here in their animal bodies, their animal forms to help us evolve, to guide us on our way?

Writing for Posterity?

It begins. I will dedicate ten minutes every day to writing. It doesn’t matter what I write. It doesn’t matter how I write it. This is, in a sense, an online journal. A place to put whatever is on my mind. A place to record dreams. A place to put my feelings. A place to put the questions that may not have answers.

There is a squirrel sitting at my feet. He is looking up at me as though to ask a question. I suspect the question is about peanuts. But the appearance of a four-legged just now as I begin this, a wild creature only 2 feet from my space who is totally comfortable with my presence here, is a sign of sorts. A sign that I belong here. That this is my place. That I am doing what is natural for me.

I don’t know why it is hard for me to begin writing, to dedicate myself to it. I know that when I get in the “writers zone” it is something that I really enjoy doing. Sometimes my fingers can’t type fast enough to capture all my thoughts. And many times during my non-writing hours I think of things I might like to “put down” somewhere for further contemplation or just for posterity. What a funny thing to say – posterity. What IS posterity? Who is it? Why would we do anything for it? But it has such an important sound to it.

Maybe I am thinking that what I write is for future me. Is that posterity? Or for my children – because of course there is nothing they want more than to read their mother’s ramblings. Or is there, perhaps, some inner knowledge that tells us that by recording something, by focusing on it, by giving it a form in addition to thought we somehow make it more manifest? That we somehow make more of a contribution of this “thing” to the greater experience of the unmanifested. If we are here doing what we are doing to gather, to experience, to create, to manifest so that all that is can experience all that is perhaps that is what we really mean when we choose to do or say or write something for posterity.

Winter Returns

There is snow outside my window again. The spruce branches are frosted with white. There is a soft white cushion on the stone bench in my garden. Every tree, every bush, every remaining flower stalk seems dressed for a special day. It is a special day.


After weeks of snow and cold a brief January thaw seemed like a welcome respite from a winter that arrived to early and appeared likely to stay to long. But this thaw brought with it a deep fog that tied up highways and killed those who believed they could see through it. It brought tornadoes that destroyed homes and rains that flooded others.

Winter rules in January in Wisconsin. I, for one, am glad to see it return. It is the season for snow and ice sparkling on the trees. For deep cold and deeper reflections. For long nights with time to read and time to contemplate what it is you have just read. For the clarity that comes from walking in a natural world colored in shades of white and gray and evergreen.

Sometimes in the late afternoon when the sun is already beginning to set, I resent the shortness of winter's days. I fight against the darkness and refuse to let my mind and body move with the rhythm of the season.


But right now, in this precious morning hour, I intend to light a candle and absorb the power of this very special time of beginnings.


The seeds that fell to the ground in fall and were planted by nature's (not man's) hand are covered in warm snow, moisture, and darkness. Deep inside each seed the living entity that will emerge in the spring is beginning to germinate, to become what it is meant to be.


So it is with us. Darkness is not our enemy. Rather it is the place where we can go to grow, to find ourselves, and to prepare for emerging into the light.

Namaste

Spiral of Life

The Circle of Life. How often do use that concept to describe the beautiful in life as well as to alleviate the pain of life's sorrows? It seems even the ancient Greeks reflected on the Circle of Life. A friend recently sent me this beautiful quote from a Greek philosopher who lived around the 6th century BCE:

"Out of life comes death, and out of death, life,
Out of the young, the old, and out of the old, the young
Out of waking, sleep and out of sleep, waking
The stream of creation and dissolution never stops."
Heraclitus

But I believe life is not a circle. I believe life is a spiral. I believe we move through iterations of life with a plan, with a purpose. As we spiral we move towards something rather than just circling through endless repetitions.

Each turn on our eternal but not endless spiraling pathway moves us closer to the center, closer to universal consciousness, closer to truth, closer to God, closer to love.

And so this month we begin another trip around the sun, following another turn in the spiral of our lives, moving ever closer to where we began.

A Beginning

Christmas Greetings and a Wish for the New Year

Today, this morning, in a few minutes of silent golden time I will give myself time to forget what always has been and focus instead on what always is. I hope that you will give yourself that gift as well. Tonight the moon is almost full moon and, again, I will walk in nature and let it fill me with the special beauty and power of this season. And I will wish for you all the joy that love can bring you, all the wisdom that comes in the quiet silent times, and all the beauty that life is. May the peace that dwells in your heart come out to envelope your whole self and those you love as we begin yet another trip around the sun.

It is a beautiful season. Cherish it.

May you have a very Merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year.