Our first wedding anniversary is in two weeks. Time flies after fifty and so it seems as if our wedding took place about three weeks ago. There are gifts that we have not yet integrated into our Taos house because we were hoping we would have a place in Arizona to put them by this time, a new home for our new start on life, or something like that. However, this summer since coming back from Arizona in mid-July has been especially rich with simpatico people and activities here in New Mexico.
Certainly, every year has a style and flavor of its own. I am beginning to see life as a novel that unfolds chapter by chapter. Each chapter not only brings the story closer to its conclusion but also, subtly changes the meaning of all the previous chapters. It is not so much a linear journey like a story but a work of art, for example a sculpture that begins as raw stone or a lump of clay and then details are added not one chapter at a time but overall so that the form inches toward completion with each session of the creative process. A year, for example, is like a session in the studio. I am mixing my metaphors here, but that is how it seems to happen. The story unfolds not on a timeline word by word but in 3D much like a sculpture created in both time and space. The story reveals its essence not at the beginning but the moment we understand its completion.
Another example of seeing the progression of life through time is a kaleidoscope. While the pieces of a life remain the same, the kaleidoscope of time turns season to season, year by year and the pattern changes with each turn although the elements remain the same.
|Fall Chamisa: ours is the only chamisa in Chamisa Mesa|
Here we are having our morning coffee on the patio again. It is still and bright with the sharp colors of early fall. Although fall isn’t official yet, we have passed that particular day each year that marks the border crossing from summer to fall. It’s as if the earth sighs and slows down, the colors become richer, the surrounding scenery settles to a slower pace and a characteristic stillness settles in. Only the sound of the wings of hummingbird moths and grasshopper jumps indicate that life is still in movement this morning.
Oh yes, there is one other thing. Yesterday we heard meows coming from our neighbor’s yard. As we are a veritable feline highway, I didn’t think much about this. Sometimes they visit in the morning and then move on. However, this time was different and this cat is different. I said “kitty?” in response to the unfamiliar meow and he came bounding through the latia fence. He is a youngster, perhaps four months old and he wants to stay with us. He is almost pure white with the faintest of tabby markings on his head and tail, very friendly and obviously well cared for. He is smart too. I’m thinking he may be abandoned or perhaps he doesn’t like his family for some reason, such as another animal that doesn’t welcome his presence in the family. Whatever his story is, he is now our problem.
In the past, I would have welcomed him into the family but we travel. Another expense is not feasible and life is complicated enough. PQ is adamant about staying pet free so I’m thinking about how to deal with this new dilemma. Cats are among my favorite people but having one in the family certainly complicates life. My metaphysical self is wondering if this white kitten is a sign or message of some kind. Probably not, probably just a kitty looking for a home, but its worrisome. His ears and face are shaped like those in Egyptian cat sculptures. This reminds me that I have always avoided Egyptian references. Egypt and its magic are dull in my heart like something that is drugged and heavy. Trauma often hides from memory or is deprived of importance, and sacred wounds hide behind this kind of devaluing. “Oh, that wasn’t very important, I barely remember it.”
I am discovering that Medicine is all around us. It is power limited only by what we make of it. In other words, our power of reception and integration determines the power of our experiences. Ancient alchemists knew this within the metaphoric ceremony of turning lead into gold, base metal into an earthly representation of the sun, source of life force, constantly cycling through darkness into everything that is.
Retrieving the soul, mining for this gold is a lifelong endeavor. The Sun is god because god is the sun. Do you get it? We are all children of light with dirty feet. But, that’s OK. Find your Medicine Stories, find your medicine and find your Central Sun.