In reading over my post from last weekend, I noticed that I mentioned the conversation I was blessed to hear between two doves who reside in my backyard. This morning, one of those doves was silenced.
Before church this morning I was uncomfortable from the humidity and heat from the shower, while getting ready to leave. So, I took two minutes, and went out to my deck chair and watched the rain fall and listened to the sounds of morning. I was delighted to see the two doves over in the big tree, just where I saw them last weekend. They went about their morning chores, and I watched in quiet comfort.
Fast forward to a few hours later.
After we arrived home from church, I decided to do some chores in the living room. Having our space clean, helps me to relax and enjoy the rest of the day. Well, I looked up from my work to see one of the doves poking around in my flower bed. I stopped and commented to Graham, "look! look! The dove is enjoying the flowers!" I must add that I find childlike delight in the birds and animals finding comfort in the flowers that I helped sow. I stood there, my eyes fixed upon this bird that brings such lovely song to our space when, out from the bushes leapt this old scroungy cat that lives in the area. He took the dove in his mouth, wings flapping and then still, and ran off into another set of bushes. I screeched in horror, "oh no! oh no! no! no! no!" Graham had his back to the door/window and did not see what had just occurred. However, he did not need to ask. He knew that the bird was dead and gone. Emily ran into the room, responding to my cries and inquired about the matter at hand. I explained to her what had just transpired, and found myself crying. She joined in and we mourned the death of this little bird.
Then, Emily's sadness turned into rage towards this cat. I had to calm her and explain that the cat was just being a cat. He was acting in the way nature made him to be. Of course, I felt a similar rage and unfairness in the demise of this small creature. I had to keep reminding myself of the nature of cats, but it did little to appease my feelings of anger. There are a couple of scruffy cats that live in our neighborhood and frequently visit our patio. They taunt our own cats and dog, sending them into fits of hysteria. So, I already had negative feelings towards this particular feline.
After a few more moments, I calmed myself and returned to my work - though still unable to dismiss the moment of violence and death I had just witnessed, however small it might be in the larger context of our world. I looked at Graham and shook my head and said, "it's just so sad." He then said, "what makes it more sad is that it happened as you were truly appreciating the beauty of the moment."
Of course this event has a number of metephorical implications, with the dove being the sympol of peace. But even beyond that, this small event has given me a reason to pause and consider. Consider nature. Consider beauty. Consider God. I am not sure what the answer here is, as I continue to meditate on it. I truly grieve the loss of this bird, it's voice, and the conversations unheard. What's more, I am sure the bird's mate will grieve in it's own God given way, singing a new song. A sadder song? lonely song? a beautiful torch song? Or maybe a song of rebirth and strength? I await the news and the music.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Monday, September 04, 2006
a room of one's own?
I remember getting a good chuckle out of Virgina Woolf's call to women to get a room of one's own so they could have that space to think, and write, and be. This is because for many women, myself included, having your own room to escape to is a fantasy, a pipedeam, a luxury that we are not afforded because of financial constraints which lead to space constraints. I always saw her call to solitude to be naive of class constraints and realities. While I may not have my own room, I do have the next best thing. Weekend mornings and my backyard.
In my 20's, I used to welcome the weekends, so I could stay out and up all hours, sleeping off the night's activities until 3pm. However, with my new working schedule and the demands on my body to be awake at 6am most days, I find myself in bed earlier and waking on the weekend at hours I never before thought human.
There is something special and holy about having a room of one's own, or in my case the hour after I wake up before my husband and daughter stir to get ready for the day. Rainy days I am able to sit by the sliding glass doors on the sofa and bathe in the warm, misty glow of a muted sunlight. I crack the door to appreciate the music of rain through the leaves. On a sunny day, I take a good book and a mug of latte from a can out to the patio. This last Saturday, I did just that.
Oh joy! The wonder! It is remarkable the things you notice when you take just a little time to sit and be. I watched a chipmunk, who lives behind my flowerbed, scurry from his den, past my feet, and up the wall of a neighboring apartment. Like clockwork, he would return within five minutes; his cheeks bulging like a sack of potatoes, filled with seeds to be foraged away for the winter. I saw and heard two doves consider each other, conversing in musical coo's and whoo's. And I contemplated the actions of a good number of squirrels doing their work, preparing for the impending seasons. Most of these things go on under our noses without taking a moment to stop and be witness.
After a year on the fourth floor of an old Chicago walk up apartment, I feel blissed out each time I think about the grass and space outside of my backdoor. Being close to this is exhilirating and reaffirming. We only live in a small suburban apartment complex, which is a far cry from the rural space which my soul so deeply craves. But it is something, and it is enough. I don't think I realized that it was enough until I was able to watch the dance and hear a few notes of the song of the season cycle in my backyard. But I really needed to carve out that time, open my heart and soul to be able to hear it. I need that room.
Amazingly, Virginia was right, having a room of one's own is crucial. However, I now realize that having that room isn't necessarily about the physical confines of a room but allowing yourself the space and time to have room. This room helps us to grow in ourselves, our delights, our souls, our creativity and, ultimately, towards God. I think Mrs. Woolf was on to something.
In my 20's, I used to welcome the weekends, so I could stay out and up all hours, sleeping off the night's activities until 3pm. However, with my new working schedule and the demands on my body to be awake at 6am most days, I find myself in bed earlier and waking on the weekend at hours I never before thought human.
There is something special and holy about having a room of one's own, or in my case the hour after I wake up before my husband and daughter stir to get ready for the day. Rainy days I am able to sit by the sliding glass doors on the sofa and bathe in the warm, misty glow of a muted sunlight. I crack the door to appreciate the music of rain through the leaves. On a sunny day, I take a good book and a mug of latte from a can out to the patio. This last Saturday, I did just that.
Oh joy! The wonder! It is remarkable the things you notice when you take just a little time to sit and be. I watched a chipmunk, who lives behind my flowerbed, scurry from his den, past my feet, and up the wall of a neighboring apartment. Like clockwork, he would return within five minutes; his cheeks bulging like a sack of potatoes, filled with seeds to be foraged away for the winter. I saw and heard two doves consider each other, conversing in musical coo's and whoo's. And I contemplated the actions of a good number of squirrels doing their work, preparing for the impending seasons. Most of these things go on under our noses without taking a moment to stop and be witness.
After a year on the fourth floor of an old Chicago walk up apartment, I feel blissed out each time I think about the grass and space outside of my backdoor. Being close to this is exhilirating and reaffirming. We only live in a small suburban apartment complex, which is a far cry from the rural space which my soul so deeply craves. But it is something, and it is enough. I don't think I realized that it was enough until I was able to watch the dance and hear a few notes of the song of the season cycle in my backyard. But I really needed to carve out that time, open my heart and soul to be able to hear it. I need that room.
Amazingly, Virginia was right, having a room of one's own is crucial. However, I now realize that having that room isn't necessarily about the physical confines of a room but allowing yourself the space and time to have room. This room helps us to grow in ourselves, our delights, our souls, our creativity and, ultimately, towards God. I think Mrs. Woolf was on to something.
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