I can't think of Japan and not think of the woman centered in the photograph above. {Japan is one of her favourite places on the planet.} This shot of Christine and fellow traveller Donna posing with local Jordanians, taken by me last year on a photographic safari through the country of Jordan led by Tara Bradford.
I'm wondering how Japan will fare after all that rushing water has stilled; after the initial shock of being devastated takes hold of them, testing their resilience. I can barely concentrate on anything else; stuck on news headlines and up-to-the-minute reports. It seems as of late that the colour has been desaturated from our world. Though it is on the other side of the globe it still resonates deeply with us doesn't it? We are one, and tragedy often points that out for us if we've tended to forget.
There is a current trend in my life. I'm connecting to people in the real world. Oh I love this medium don't get me wrong. It is a very wonderful and precious thing to me, this online life. It is such a meaningful thing to seek out like-minded individuals who lift us up-give us something to aspire to. But in life, often times we are disconnected from our living and breathing fellow human beings. Recently it has been a key point in my awareness to embrace moments of conversation, of dreams shared, meals over red wine & spiced tea, eye-to-eye soulful connectedness to my children {listening-really listening}, and of course the sound of my own breathing. Yes lately I'm embracing the simple act of breathing, and reflected in that notion is a timely meditation course I will be attending. A serendipitous meeting with the facilitator has resulted in this for which I'm grateful.
I've also surrounded myself lately with my beloved earthy things; fresh flowers, bread baking, housework. Phone calls to fellow bloggers-yes! Fellow bloggers! For once I wanted to tell them my thoughts instead of leaving them as comments.
Ideas are sprouting up from the deep sea of my mind that have me really wanting to get my hands in the dirt a-planting {spring, finally}, my brushes a-arting, and my markers a-illustrating. I fell in love; deeply, longingly and inspiringly in love with the Monarch butterfly last year {courtesy of a good friend, thank you Dianne} and can think of nothing else but harvesting those eggs again and raising more Monarchs this year. The very idea of it has me bursting with glee like a child about to go in a candy store. Now I'm sure if you ask my neighbours, they'd much rather see me out with a spade in my hand come springtime. They've endured the ill terrain that is considered my backyard for nearly two years since we've moved in. So won't they be pleasantly surprised to see the breaking of the dirt with a shovel? Never have I lived so long without flower beds or trees. Moving here, working countless hours and raising young girls has put some of my passions on the backburner. {I'm so used to gardening ordinarily that a huge void is lurking in my life that needs to be filled.} A gardener needs dirt on her hands. Plain and simple. I miss the smell of the soil too.
All these simple acts of the everyday add up to lots of little handfuls of awareness. Like taking water into cupped hands from a running faucet, ready to drink. These awarenesses are building blocks of my good life. I keep the Japanese in my awareness too; for I truly feel that it is healing to do so.
My children watched Bridge to Terabithia for the one millionth time this weekend. In the story, the little girl writes a timely poem that she reads to her class. I won't spoil it for you if you haven't seen this gem of a movie. But I want to share with you her words because the author of this book Katherine Paterson really nailed it. I thought of how fragile our human existence is, and how we all need to preoccupy ourselves with the little handfuls of gratitude and awareness while we have them...
"I’m moving gently forward over the wild and beautiful unexplored world below me. I am floating in silence and breaking it up with the sound of my breath.
Above me there is nothing but shimmery light; the place where I come from and will go back to when I am done here.
I am diving. I am a SCUBA diver. I’m going deeper past the wrinkled rocks and dark seaweed toward a deep blueness where a school of silver fish wait. As I swim through the water, bubbles burst from me, wobbling as little jellyfish as they rise.
I check my air. I don’t have as much time as I need to see everything, but that is what makes it so special.”
– Bridge to Terabithia
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