Happy New Year

Wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving.                                                                                                                           Khalil Gibran

I read the words again, on the small brown card balanced on my knee; yesterday’s gift from a friend. I hear in it a call to live lightly, with gratitude and seize the moment to love. I consider the card a celestial message, rather than the random prize it was intended to be. 

I woke up this morning in a tent snuggled with Peter.  The beauty of Madera canyon surrounds us, on this cusp of a new year.   We came here two years ago for New Year's Eve, camped, made resolutions around the campfire, reflected on the past, expressed hope for the future and felt more peaceful with each other than we had for quite a while. 

Last year on December 29th we packed the car, ready to repeat the previous year’s journey, but got sidetracked by illness. Establishing a tradition apparently takes time, patience and some level of predictability.  Is that why I have felt sidetracked more often than not this year? 

We are back now, braving 25 degrees at night, and soaking the sunny warmth of mid-fifties later, to explore not just the canyon, but also our relationship to each other, ourselves and the world. 

Last night as we cuddled against the cold, we listened to Jon Cabot-Zinn's meditation instruction.  We practice meditation together, and I do solo sessions, but we both want to delve deeper into the meaning of awareness through mindful practice. 

Wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving....

We woke before sunrise, stayed under the warm down blanket, and I read aloud from Julia Cameron's book The Writing Diet.  The chapter about a daily writing practice to encourage creativity, resonated with both of us. Yes let's write, let's make healthy choices.....let's get back on track with.....oh, so many things to examine, evaluate, explore. 

I sit alone with the mid-morning sun on my back.   The waning campfire, which  warmed us, fed us breakfast and encouraged us to get out and enjoy this moment, is no longer needed for comfort.

Mexican Blue Jays, chickadees and titmice flit around me. I love being surrounded by birds, but have never had much interest in learning to identify them or their songs.  When I feel lonely I often seek a place where their presence comforts me; a park, a shore, a forest. 

Years ago at a Buddhist weekend retreat, a man approached me at a meal break.  "I am sure you were a bird in a past life.  I've been watching how you sit on your cushion. Look at you now, perched on the picnic bench." I nodded, whispered Namaste, and smiled. 

My family still teases me about my need to escape them by shimmying up the rope of our tire swing and sitting on an oak branch much of my childhood.   I nod at them, and smile. 

The park ranger drives by and checks the document that proves we are legal residents here. Our dues are paid. 

The jays attempt to steal granola from the picnic table, stymied by the Ziploc bag and my laughter. A bee insists on exploring my neck, so I shoo it toward nearby berries.  The wood smoke moves skyward, carried by a determined breeze.  Dry yellow, knee-high grasses bow slightly toward the altar of glowing coals.

Peter is off doing his favorite thing here; walking a trail. He will return eager to tell  me stories of woodpeckers, trees, clouds. 

I will be happy to see him and  to share my morning of stillness. 

I love it that we each listen to our heart and move accordingly on our individual paths. 

Wake at dawn with a winged heart......