heart-shaped

 

I set the end-of-some-exams-and-finally-a-tiny-bit-more-space-in-my-day- intention to explore a little more, open up to some space for noticing, and to all-around enjoy things.  (And also to give this space a little life support.  And also to read a novel, finally.)
This heart-shaped deer print on a plain old residential street was my first official treat in said exploration.
How did it get there?  How would deer have been wandering up the sidewalk deep in the bowels of st. b?   And aren’t we lucky for the magic of the questions?

 

leap/faith

 

My new habit is to use my hyper-focused mind to memorize poetry.

I’m starting with Bukowski and Mary Oliver, obviously.   Mary Oliver because it’s Fall and she’s beautiful and believes in this wretched and glorious world again and again.  And Bukowski because he’s a sonofabitch and I could use some sonofabitch bossing.

In other news, possibly not coincidentally, I remembered to try trust that the universe is unfolding as it should, even when I’m scared of the unfolding.  And even if i’m only scared because i’m listening to the animal of my heart and this is foreign.  Stupid giant brains, we have.

It’s pretty great news.

As practice, this giant man-deer appeared (a true apparition) on my walk (on the golf course!) today.
The world is in flux:  the river starting to freeze up at the edges, last few leaves unfallen, geese flying around with everything akimbo, not sure if it’s time to go yet or not.

This guy was steady.  So steady that i barely believed he was real.  And when I did believe in him, i got a little unsettled.  Why would he just stand there and stare his antlers off?  Was he going to attack me?  It’s not rutting season, right?
But Portman is an animal, even though she’s portman, and just sat down and looked, so i followed her lead.
This was an act of faith, and when I surrendered into it, i realized there hadn’t been one in awhile.  And i realized that the faith was a softening and a being held and has an expansive quality that only exists in faith and I was thankful to be at home again.

What’s the point of anything unless you can surrender into faith and trust this glorious, wretched world, again and again.  And be offered signs in the form of the most majestic deer you’ve ever seen not hurting you (why would he??), but to have him just be a beautiful yes!  you’re on the right track!  keep it up!

After we stared at each other for awhile, he left peacefully and deer-like; a giant, fast, breathtaking leap into the trees.  The steady gaze is still with me, though.

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-
over and over announcing your place
In the family of things.

really livin.

In the spirit of embracing the whole of life.

The nice ones.

Your dog (or anyone’s dog) running, flying blissfully through the fresh snow that goes up to her shoulders and  you just can’t stand not to smile at her running her wild little heart out with her short orange legs and how she loves those legs you bet, because they let her really live.

Three deer the other day and they weren’t even just the image of grace, but they were grace itself and they live quietly on the edge of everything and you could almost miss them if you looked too hard because they hang out in the mystic, but you’ve learned not to force it.  You even just saw the melted snow where they slept last night and it takes your breath away-how nature records everything, all of our impermanence, and the shape of their bodies is so tender and curled and innocent.

The sun is finally shining and you take off your hat and it warms your hair and you want to get bigger so you can soak it all in and you want to tell all the people you know; put your head in the sun! and you feel like you’re made of light too practically.

And you’re awake.

The sorrowful ones.

The deer you saw yesterday in all of her glory amidst the trees, looking like an apparition, has died and you are heart-broken.  This reminds you of all the other deaths that have ever happened- actual deaths and then every other loss that has wrapped itself like a hand around your heart- and all of the other griefs that all of the people on this impermanent earth are feeling right now, and you try to shrink a little bit because you feel it on every surface of your soul and it’s heavy and you thank goodness that grief was invented to come in waves and not at one fell swoop and you try not shrink.

And after all you barely knew her.  You only know she was beautiful and pure and her eyes looked like innocence, curious and hopeful and a little uncertain, and it reminds of the beauty and purity of everyone else and you wish this throbbing symbol of life was still here, walking around gracefully through crunchy snow, instead of being hit by a car and dragged off the road.  Or worse, she wasn’t dragged, but stumbled off just a few feet into the snow to lay down in an awkward position, alone in the cold to pass.  The aloneness and the cold and the silence are terrible and the weight of them nearly crush you, and you hope she died before the weight of them nearly crushed her.  It’s the most unceremonious thing you’ve ever witnessed, and you wish that you had the guts to have closed her eyes this morning, but dead bodies are terrifying to you and you try to accept this because you’re a human and a wimp, so you’ll go back in a few minutes to light a candle.

And?  You’re awake.

deer one

This didn’t exactly turn out the way i had intended, but it was raining and this baby-deer was fast and skittish and ran like the wind.    And so he turned the picture into a painting instead.
This is how deer survive, I guess?  They freeze in headlights, they have that highly visible white tail thing that seems to make them obvious to predators, but they run like a painting.  That’s good evolution.