Welcome To the Cedar Grove

What is my goddess making?
Saule is plaiting a sieve, a basket
in which to sift the spring rain.
Look! Her little daughter is dressed

in a garment of dew. Her fair hair
is hidden beneath a white veil
and over the viel is a wreath
her mother wove of fresh leaves.

--Lithuanian folksong

Spring rains may demand an umbrella, but we should celebrate their coming as a signal of the goddess' love and concern for us.

There are so many places today facing drought because of the lack of rains, and yet, we still see them as an inconvenience when they come. It's one of those times when I despair of humans as a race of people. Never satisfied... never understanding the connection between the water we take for granted and the life that follows it.

It feels to me like just another rejection of our connection with the Land and with the world around us; another rejection of the connection with the Universe. It's a sorry state of affairs. It always elicits a wry chuckle from me also, when my colleagues complain of the rare rains that come in Cairo - rains that are sorely needed in the desert for there to be any life at all. I can't help but be reminded of Arrakis in such times.

And yet... this week particularly, I find myself doing the same. Wanting it not to rain, not to be cold so that Mir and I can spend time outside. Have dinner outside; have a fire outside; read outside in the hammock... all these things, because I had wanted outside time. Had tried to fix a schedule that would allow us as much time in the yard as possible. Of course there have now been other things that have gotten in our way - things that are unavoidable and must be done. So I will do what we must always do, and adapt the plans so that they can still 'fit' with the available time. I could meditate on my flexibility, or my frustrations that force that flexibility - but that would be a very negative thing to do and I don't wish to be negative.

In other news, sweet Jennifer has finally passed, slipping away peacefully, it seems, for we found her curled up between us as if she had just curled herself up and gone to sleep - never to wake. She is now across that rainbow bridge, frolicking with her sister, and the other members of her family whom she outlived.

When I look up to the royal sky
I see her, a tranquil queen
behind a scren of clouds. The sun!
For thousands of ages may she shine.
For thousands of ages may we serve her.
May we serve her with reverence.
May we serve her with love.

--Nihongi, Japanese sciptures

We cannot predict just when a storm will come or when it will end. We only know that, as in nature, our own lives change ceaselessly; big changes and small, violent changes and gradual ones, but changes nonetheless.

There is a song by a really old hippy folk rock band (if you dare call them that), Jethro Tull, on an album called Stormwatch. Somehow I am reminded of this song (Dun Ringill) as I read this text for the meditation, yet another that reminds up that while the weather is showing us that spring is just around the corner, there is still a little bite in winter yet. This is the stormwatch. This is the 'hoping for the best but preparing for the worst' mentality that sadly many of us live (and feel we have to live) by. It's a very sad state of affairs. It's even more sad when it proves to be a true state of life. Sure you can live optimistically, embracing every experience, ready to take the rough with the smooth without complaint, but honestly there comes a point when you get 'blindsided' by the incoming storm so often that exhaustion takes over and you just end up buffetted and out of control.

Where then is the 'soft prayer, whispered'? Is this the word 'breathe' - sincerely meant - on the lips of a friend, or is this the 'small mercies' that we thank the heavens for, that help us to keep going 'just one more day' or to just take 'one more step.'?

I've experienced a few of these 'sudden blindsiding storms' just recently, but also the balance of the small mercies, and the 'friends' words. Like the child that, knowing I was feeling ill last Thursday, had made me an 'I hope you feel better' card and gave it to me on the courtyard before the National Anthem was sung. And the best... last night, seeing our little Zenny using his leg again after hurting it - the vet said it was broken... and hoping against hope as we did that it was just a bad sprain. He was walking on it - he was using it - he even tried walking in his wheel. It was a ray of sunshine after a lot of worry. And work? We won't even go there right now... save to say the 'ego domino effect' is hard at work.

The weather's on the change...
Lines join in faint discord
and the stormvwatch brews a concert of kings
As the white sea snaps
At the heels of a soft prayer...
Whispered.

Dun Ringill - Jethro Tull

From The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want by Being Present to the Life You Have.

When was the last time you listened to the
stories of others?
--Question put to the sick by a Native American Medicine Man

It seems the ancient Medicine Men understood that listening to another's story somehow gives us the strength of example to carry on, as well as showing us aspects of ourselves we can't easily see

Saturday 10th
Today, as many days, I spent some time watching the rats playing and taking care of one another through Skype. Mir and I were watching something on TV, but there were many times when she would move the camera to show the girls taking care of Lindsay, one of the other rats who is very sick and sadly probably not long for the world.

At some point whilst watching, and since then, in thinking about it, I started thinking about all the times the rats 'make happy sounds' at each other, to comfort each other or in times of stress, and I can't help but wonder just what it is that they're also saying to each other. What stories are they telling?

We've often joked, Mir and I, about the 'rattie conversations' that must take place in the rats room when we humans are not listening – and we're pretty sure that some do, because the rats seem to learn things from each other, sometimes without demonstration. I have no doubt they communicate. Yes, we anthropomorphise them, and 'pretend' what they might be saying, but in truth, I feel certain they must be telling each other stories of what is – what has been.

I read about recent studies where scientists have proven that rats are compassionate creatures. This is not news to me, or I'm sure to any rat lover, or rat parent. You only have to spend a short amount of time with any community of rats to see, demonstrated very clearly, that they care for one another. We've had some fantastic families where individuals have gone above and beyond the call of duty in looking after one another. Our rat Halling was an example of such a person – he was our 'nurse' rat... who looked after the sick and took care of everyone even when they were well – compassion was his middle name.

Perhaps we, as humans, should be more like rats... perhaps then the world would be a better place.

From The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want by Being Present to the Life You Have.

Live, I say, live your worries through
And your spirit will wake from its fever
And you will want others like soup.

...that worry was the mental echo of fear, the replaying in detail of all the bad things that might or might not come into being.

One of the thoughts that came to me when I read this entry was the Litany Against Fear from the Frank Herbert's Dune series, which is like a prayer or orison spoken by the Bene Gesserit sisterhood – kind of like sci-fi nuns for want of a better word – a means by which they can calm their minds and bodies. It goes something like this:

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

Whether it is the fact of reciting something – of engaging a different part of your brain than that active when one is afraid, speaking or remembering (or both) this litany does help to be calming. What I mean by this is that it's not some kind of special prayer, or magical banishing of the emotion, just that the discipline of the recitation alters your state of being. One might as easily recite Shakespeare, or the lyrics of one's favourite song, I suppose.

So that works for immediate fears, in situations where one is faced by the prospect of something that is fearful, stressful situations and the like, but what about ingrained fears and worries?

There's another saying that I like... one that admonishes not to 'borrow trouble.' I think that speaks to worries more than fears. For example:

On Friday, Ishta goes to have her surgery – it's the same surgery that her sister Samantha had, more or less, and after that surgery Samantha got pneumonia to which she succumbed. It's a natural thing for me to be worrying that the same might happen to Ishta, right? (because I am... terribly worried). I have to keep reminding myself that, yes... they are related – come from the same genes – but that doesn't mean that everything is going to be exactly the same; that doesn't mean that things will happen the same way. I mustn't assume that the same thing is going to happen to Ishta. I must not 'borrow trouble' from the past. On the other hand, a little worry can be healthy... in the same example, knowing what happened to Samantha, we can take care to ensure we watch over Ishta – take care giving her her medicine, keep her still when she needs to be still, all those kind of things – not that we wouldn't do these things anyway, just that we might in some ways be extra vigilant so that Ishta comes through everything just fine.

I think my point is that fear and worry are not necessarily all bad, just when taken to excess. On a personal note, I used to say that I was a 'born worrier' – though my worry has always before been for people rather than things/situations. Somehow, another transformation has crept over me, where I worry now about things and situations too – perhaps even as much if not more than people. When did that happen, and why?

From The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want by Being Present to the Life You Have.

If you can’t see what you’re looking for,
See what’s there.

Time and again, we are asked to outlast what we want and hope for, in order to see what’s there. It is enough.

(from 22nd April)

I had a moment of frustration. Actually I had several moments of frustration, thanks to a little girl that kept insisting on licking at her tummy where she had her stitches, that she needed to leave alone, or trying to chew on her armpit where the other stitches were, but this wasn't the moment of frustration which led me to voice it... in pique. To answer pique with pique as a matter of fact - not that I'm proud of that at all, just that I admit to it. I love the rats, and I do spoil them a little bit from time to time, but I don't spoil them a lot... I'll do anything for them, I don't want to see them hurting or unhappy. What kind of ratty mommy would I be if I did?

Samantha had her surgery today, to remove her mammary mass, and also to be spayed to prevent its recurrence... and so after a morning of worry, we were relieved when the vet called to say that everything had gone well and we could come and pick her up in the afternoon. When we got her home at first she was fine, probably still to sore and sleepy to be bothered with messing with her stitches, but as the evening wore on, she began to take more of an 'interest' in the stitches... and while she didn't manage to pull them out or open herself up again, she did make herself bleed a little bit, through licking.

So Mir and I were taking it in turns to keep an eye on her while the other either rested or did whatever they wanted. Fine in theory until your patience wears a little. Now, I'm not a cruel person, and I love the little ratties as much as anyone in this family. I'm saying that right from the offset... but I also know my own limitations. I can't kneel up beside the couch to keep her sisters and cousins able to be with her and still keep her safe from herself and from them, but I also feel guilty for taking her away from them, to a place where I can better watch her. So yes, I got a little bit frustrated when I was told that it was obvious I didn't want to look out for her and care for her, because nothing could be further from the truth. Had I wanted to spend the evening constantly intervening and moving Samantha's mouth away from her stitches? No, not really, but did I mind? No of course not. I love my little Samantha Despereauna, and want her to heal quickly.Tired and uncomfortable, I snapped - for which I apologise. I think we were both tired and frustrated, and of course worried about her, which didn't help... but the truth is that she needed us to look out for her, and we were there for her. So that's what we did, each in our own way. That's enough.

I did, in the end, move her away from her sisters and cousins... I wish I didn't have to, but they (especially her mother) had started trying to groom around the surgery site. Keeping her distracted with food seemed to work okay, and then, thankfully, she got to be sleepy. She has the annoying habit of sleeping curled up though, and that makes it look like she's licking when she's not. Once I figured that out, it was a lot easier.

We took her into the bedroom with us when we went to bed, and she seemed to settle down okay. Mir did check on her a few times in the night, but it seems that she's just fine this morning, and still stitched up... so that's good. We might be past the worst of it.

From The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want by Being Present to the Life You Have.

As long as you do not live totally in the body, you do not live totally in the Self.
-B. K. S. Ivengar

...We are often so preoccupied with the next move-or if there will be a next move-that we seldom feel the deep rewards of simply holding each other.

By treating each moment of touch as a consummation in itself, we can practice feeling eternity.

I've always been a touchy feely kind of person - touch is important to me. The light touch on the arm of the one I love often says more than words ever could... the way I reach to 'my boy' to pet him softly... and more intimate contact, like hugs and kisses are like vital breaths to my soul.

That's why the distance is so hard on me... on all of us.

Our boys are sick... and I'm not there to pet them, to let them know that I love them with the way I ruffle their little heads or bring them what they need.

Worse still, I'm not there to hold Mir, to snuggle with her and give her my strength while we worry over them together. Oh, certainly I'm worrying just as much as I would if I were there, but... it isn't the same - and I feel somehow less for not being able to do these things for them all.

Less connected, less sincere, less caring. I know that's not true... but it feels that way. Maybe that's why, "You're not here, you don't care!" hurts so much - because it isn't true, and it somehow pushes me away.