witness/be witnessed.

At the sound of a low-flying plane I look up suddenly into the white and grey. Instead of the familiar dead shape of a plane traversing sky, I see the bright white wings of an egret flying low overhead. The sound of the plane continues as the egret flaps its delicate wings, legs splayed in the oncoming wind. The juxtaposition between what I hear and what I see is almost comical, tinged with grief.  The egret works hard to traverse the sky; the humans above it’s head are likely working hard to forget they are thousands of feet from stability, traversing one movie to the next instead of one ridge to another.  We don't often see the bird that's incessantly calling to us until it's already fleeing our presence.  I wonder: what do we humans lose, spending most of our nights indoors?  How much do we miss out on without the night sky as a compass to live by, the smell of earth a constancy of daily tasks?  I know there’s bigger questions out there that need answering (they are probably coursing through your head right now), but really, doesn’t it always come back to engaging the heart enough to be in love with this little life we have? 

Once, recently, I found myself at the coast with a small group of humans, spontaneously singing, dancing, and throwing flowers into the waves and the setting sun.  I was just beginning to feel a bit silly and shy, when an otter bobbed their head up from just beyond the break.  They strained their neck high out the water, staring at the lot of us.  If an otter could drop a jaw, I imagine they would have done so.  The long necked creature bobbed along, floating in front of each of us, and somehow, the witness of that sea otter sealed my conviction: yes, humans know how to bow.  We know how to play, how to give thanks.  Watch me.  I spun around and swam in the sand with an otter’s delight.

A formula for falling in love with our life, moment after moment:  Witness.  Be witnessed. Not by other humans, but the leaning trees, the nodding flower heads, the passing stream with a place to go.  Earth body, human body.  Same body, ancient perspective.

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My love letter to California

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tracking the story of human choice