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Category: Engaging the Magic

Mom Moments

Mom Moments

If you know me or have followed my blog for any length of time, it’s probably clear that I’m quite open-minded when it comes to spirituality. However, there is a part of me that is surprisingly skeptical and discerning and searches for logical, rational explanations whenever something out of the ordinary happens – probably because I am so open and want to keep myself in check. So I’m not as easily convinced as I let on and tend to be more impressed when skeptics or non-believers have profound experiences than when I do. But I certainly have been having my share of “Mom moments” lately.

Here are a few examples:

I was driving home from grocery shopping one evening and felt a gentle nudge to turn on the car radio. The song that was playing was John Denver’s “Back Home Again.” Not only did John Denver hold a very special place in my mom’s heart, but I don’t recall hearing any of his songs on the radio in recent years. Hearing this song was out of the ordinary enough to really get my attention. And the refrain hit home: “Hey, it’s good to be back home again.” Not to mention, my mom grew up on a farm (as the lyrics continue).

I had another experience while driving. Every day – usually when I’m in the car – I say a little prayer in which I ask for blessings on my mom’s soul and guidance and support for myself and others. Then I express gratitude for various things. This particular day, right after I said, “Amen,” the car CD player turned on by itself! It clicked to a new CD and played the Crosby, Stills, and Nash song, “Teach Your Children”!

Here are some lyrics that really spoke to me:

And you of tender years
Can’t know the fears that your elders grew by
And so please help them with your youth
They seek the truth before they can die
Don’t you ever ask them why
If they told you, you would cry
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you

Now, that was really weird! But sometime after the fact, my inner skeptic wondered if it was possible that I forgot I’d turned on the CD player. However, the surprise I felt when the player clicked on led me to believe that was not the case. The moment I got out of my car, I saw a friend who also had lost a parent recently. I told him about the “moment” I’d just had, and without missing a beat, he said the same thing had happened to him six times in a row. The player turned on, and my friend turned it off – six times! After the sixth time, he acknowledged his parent’s presence, and the player didn’t turn on again.

And then there was the time I sat in the living room with a basket of Universal Cards on my lap. Each card has a word written on it, and there’s a companion book that suggests some possible associations for each word. I was really missing my mom that morning and asked for a message from her. I closed my eyes and picked a card, which was a card I’d been choosing a lot lately. No big deal. I put the basket of cards away and went about my business. About a half hour later, I returned to the living room and found one single Universal Card lying face-up on the floor in the middle of the room with the word “Healing” written on it. The entire “Healing” page in the book resonated with me. It began: “Healing influences and energies are around you… They can be called on to heal any aspect of your life.”

Hmmm…

There was the woodpecker pecking on the outside of the house right next to the window. I had only experienced that once before – when a woodpecker knocked on the door right after my mom received her cancer diagnosis. And there was the unexplained pounding on the window (heard by my husband, who was startled and looked for the source) when my husband was becoming impatient with me for taking so long to get out the door.

There was the sweet yet vulnerable cheep…cheep…cheep! of the baby birds in our yard who had just left the nest and were learning about flying and independence as the mama bird watched protectively over them from a distance.

The unexplained smells. The music that arrives fully formed and comforts me – and gives me goosebumps from head to toe when I sing it softly (without letting anyone else hear it because it feels too tender). Transcendent experiences that I wouldn’t even attempt to describe because the feeling element is lost so easily in translation. (Honestly, I don’t know if the emotional charge of any of these experiences can be transferred to another person.)

And then there are dreams.

Over the weekend – exactly one month after my mom passed away – she showed up in my dreams for the first time. It happened during a rare, late afternoon nap. I can’t recall what I had been dreaming, but all of a sudden, I was at the performing arts center where my mom spent her 34-year career, talking with a few people at the very back of the amphitheater.

I noticed a woman who looked like my mom (about 15 years ago) coming toward me down the hill on one of the walkways. She was wearing a navy blue and white striped top and navy blue slacks and looked very happy, pleasant, and totally in her element. Yet, she was in a hurry, as if she had important responsibilities to attend to. She scurried by me, en route to the seats or (most likely) backstage, and I turned my head, thinking that she looked like my mom. Then I realized she was my mom, and I gasped and woke up, heart pounding! It felt so real!

A few days later, in preparation for a meeting with a newspaper columnist who is writing an article about my mom, I came across a video from her retirement celebration, which I’d never watched. At the end of the the video, there were a few photos of her with her very favorite artists, and in two of them she was wearing the same outfit she had worn in my dream!

This morning, I dreamed of her for the second time. In the dream, it was about 10:30 at night when I received a phone call from one of my parents’ neighbors, who told me something we both felt my dad needed to be aware of. I wanted to call my dad right away, but my mom was still very sick, and I didn’t want to disturb her by calling the home phone. So I called my dad’s cell phone instead – and my mom answered. Then she was immediately in the room with me. I was in bed (where I actually was asleep and dreaming this dream), and she was standing at the side of the bed looking over me in a peach colored nightgown. I can’t remember exactly what she said to me, but she acknowledged that she was dying. With tears streaming down my face, I replied, “I wish we had more time together.” She bent over, and we hugged each other. I could feel her shoulder bones because she was so emaciated. But mostly, I felt the love.

I was at a used bookstore the other day and felt nudged to pick up a certain book and read the page I opened to. The words on the page were about the regrets you have after the death of a loved one being different than the ones you had previously. An example was regretting that you put your loved one through radiation treatments and all the related suffering. When I opened the book, I wasn’t aware of any lingering regrets, for I felt so much healing took place between my mom and me during the past year. But when I awoke from the dream, I knew better – and cried a river of tears – for it occurred to me that my mom and I never really said goodbye. We never grieved together over having to part so soon. I tried my best to help her let go and to assure her that it was going to be okay and that what she was experiencing was normal. I did all my crying when I was alone. She read my blog faithfully until she was too sick to sit down at the computer, and some of my writing from December through May was a means for me to communicate to her that I knew she was dying without forcing the issue. I happened to arrive at my parents’ house right after she finished reading one of my posts, and she came downstairs, gave me a hug, and told me that I have always been loved. In the week before she died, she beamed and exclaimed, “You’re great!” The last understandable words she spoke to me were, “I love you so much.”

We said goodbye between the lines but never came out and said it while she was still lucid. We had some conversations in which she indicated that she realized she was dying, but she didn’t seem to want to talk about it. There was a line I felt I couldn’t cross. I wasn’t able to tell her how much I’ll miss her and that I wish we had more time together – until she wasn’t able to communicate. Most of all, I didn’t want to burden her with my sorrow. I wanted her to let go and move on without worrying about anyone else. I didn’t want to hold her back.

But in dreams, we get a second chance. We get to say goodbye. And it was for real.

Looking through photos, I realized that the peach nightgown my mom wore in the dream was the same nightgown she had on when she died.

There have been other experiences that leave me with a sense of awe, peace, sweetness, love, and/or relief, and my “Mom moments” have much in common with what other family members and friends have experienced. But I think that’s more than enough for now.

© Susan Meyer and River Bliss Photography, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, including all text and photos, without express and written permission from this website’s author/owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Susan Meyer and River Bliss Photography (www.susantarameyer.com) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Transcendent Wildlife Moment

Transcendent Wildlife Moment

I had the most transcendent experience at the labyrinth this afternoon when I was blessed to witness something I have longed deeply to see – an image I have not been able to let go of since it was described to me a year ago by the gardener. There has been something magical about the conversations I’ve had with her, and I always walk away feeling blessed. Well, this particular afternoon, she told me she had seen a turtle emerge from the pond, move across the labyrinth to lay its eggs, then return back across the labyrinth to the pond.

I know. It doesn’t sound all that exciting. But for some reason, it planted a deep longing in me (and must have meant something to her, too). I love turtles – especially painted turtles – and I love labyrinths. I walked away wishing I could have witnessed it. I thought about it so much over the past year. I wondered if I’d be so fortunate to see the baby turtles cross the labyrinth later in the summer en route to the pond, and even calculated approximately when the babies were likely to emerge. No such luck. But I could not let go of the image of a wise, old turtle in the labyrinth. I visualized it through the winter. I visualized it through the spring. I wondered why this image fueled me with such deep longing. I realized the likelihood of me being there at the right time to see a turtle cross the labyrinth was very slim. I almost wished I had never heard about it because I couldn’t stop longing for it! Perhaps I’d need to camp out at the labyrinth all day when the temperature was right, and keep watch. Even just a few days ago, I wished I were more talented at sketching or painting so I could reproduce the image that had made such an impression on my heart and mind.

Unless someone were inside my head and able to read my thoughts and feelings, it’s probably impossible to understand how profound and meaningful this image was to me. I can’t explain it.

I never did camp out at the labyrinth. I just continued longing and wished I could have been blessed as the gardener had been with such perfect timing. I decided that experience was meant for her, and if it were meant for me, I would experience it, too.

So, this afternoon I went to the labyrinth with no expectations other than to clear my head after a busy day at work. I crossed the labyrinth to look at the flowers, as I always do prior to walking the path to the center and back. And then I noticed a painted turtle off to the side of the labyrinth!

Well, you can imagine my excitement. I took out my camera ever so carefully, hoping to photograph it. Simply achieving a decent, closeup shot of the turtle would be gratifying enough.

But after several minutes, the turtle turned around and maneuvered toward the labyrinth. My excitement turned to astonishment. When the turtle began to plod along the outer circuit of the labyrinth, I whispered softly and repeatedly, “Oh. My. God,” as tears dripped down my face.

This was even better than the gardener’s description of the turtle crossing the labyrinth, for this turtle was following the labyrinth path!

With nearly breathless reverence, I watched the turtle as it continued to navigate the outer circuit.

Then it turned and exited through the threshold!

Before it slid into the pond, I thanked the turtle for giving me this incredible blessing. Then I walked the labyrinth in the turtle’s footsteps, filled with awe and reverence. After that, I took an exercise walk on a nearby trail, and what I had just experienced hit me again. How profound that I was able to experience the sight for which I had longed so deeply! I cried reverent, grateful tears for quite some time as I walked along the trail. It simply was the greatest gift I could have received.

I had to write about it before falling asleep because such experiences need to be remembered and shared. To have such a deep longing fulfilled so unexpectedly is the most incredible feeling in the world. It’s grace. I don’t understand why the turtle in the labyrinth was such a powerful image and experience for me – only that it was. Before going to bed tonight, my son gave me a hug and, despite not fully understanding my excitement hours earlier, told me that he’s glad I got to see what I needed to. That sums it up perfectly.

© Susan Meyer and River Bliss Photography, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, including all text and photos, without express and written permission from this website’s author/owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Susan Meyer and River Bliss Photography (www.susantarameyer.com) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Out of the Chrysalis, Into the Light

Out of the Chrysalis, Into the Light

The past week has been the most intense week for our family. My mom experienced a dramatic decline in her cognitive and physical functioning. She hit “the wall” I’ve heard described by others who have lost a loved one to cancer and became completely bedridden. She couldn’t talk, swallow (other than tiny amounts of water), and slept virtually all the time. I thought of her as a monarch caterpillar that had turned into a chrysalis, for it was necessary to go within and attend to the hidden and mysterious work that needed to be done. Earlier in the week, it was emerald green, and as the week progressed, the chrysalis became more transparent as a butterfly formed inside and clearly was getting ready to emerge.

I also became fascinated with fiddlehead ferns that spoke to me of opening and emergence. I was drawn to the spiral pattern, which is symbolic in itself.

It was a week of small miracles and seizing moments that I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back, and I’d like to share a few with you. I began last week already exhausted and stayed overnight at my parents’ house because they needed another person around to help my dad care for my mom. That evening, I wasn’t sure whether I should stay home the following day and care for myself or go to work because it’s a busy time of year with a long list of important, end-of-the-year deadlines and tasks to attend to. Not knowing how long my mom would live, I wondered if I should save my sick days for later in the week when there might be an even greater need for my presence. Later, I told a hospice nurse that the hard part was running a race but not knowing what kind of race it was (marathon? 400 meter? short sprint?) and how I should pace myself. If only we had a crystal ball that could reveal how close we were to the finish line!

I trusted my intuition and did not to go to work. But I didn’t tell my parents because they worried about negative consequences of me missing work, so I acted as if I were going. I planned to take advantage of some much needed time to rest, clear my head, exercise, and charge my battery. I was just about to leave their house in the morning when I noticed the vases of withered lilacs and decided to replace them with fresh lilacs and change the water in the many vases of beautiful flowers throughout the house. Had I been up against the pressure to get to work on time, I would not have been able to take care of the flowers, and doing so felt important. I stopped to let my mom smell the fresh lilacs for a few seconds of bliss. After finishing the flowers, I gave my parents a hug and was about to head out the door when my mom called to me in a voice that was at the same time hoarse, weak, sweet, and loving, “You are great!”

Those were the last energetic, coherent words I heard her speak, for when I returned later that day, her functioning had declined. She looked so sweet and dignified sitting upright in a chair wearing a pretty red dress and white sweater with her hair styled neatly, but she was unable to drink unassisted or to eat at all. She did not seem like herself anymore and seemed sad and agitated.

The point is: Sometimes you don’t get a second chance to do something. I had a feeling it was important for me to take the day off, and that’s what I did. My mom’s windows of lucidity (which tended to be early in the day) were closing more each day, and I never saw her so lucid again. I followed my intuition that day and throughout this whole journey and have no regrets as a result. I knew exactly what to do and when to do it, and everything seemed to happen at just the right time, leaving no unfinished business.

Within a day or two, my mom was fully bedridden and it was exceptionally difficult to understand what she was trying to say. We had to lean in close and listen with all our might as it took every bit of strength and concentration for her to whisper. The last understandable words she uttered to me crystal clear were: “I love you so much.” At that point, she communicated through subtle gestures rather than speech. She loved kisses – giving and getting them – and there was such sweetness to that.

We tried to care for her at home for the remainder of the week, but her physical needs became too much for us to handle. We made frequent, frantic calls to hospice to send a nurse out to help us even with simple things such as repositioning her without causing her undue pain and suffering. I reached my breaking point one night when I felt her dignity was being compromised and realized that something must give. We needed more help – and private nursing care seemed cost prohibitive since we could not predict how long she would need it. I felt so desperate, and a friend assured me that the answer is always a surprise. Sure enough, later that afternoon – which was the Friday heading into Memorial Day weekend – we were informed that a bed was available in a lovely, brand new, two-bed house affiliated with hospice and had her transferred there the next morning. Although it was a grueling decision for my dad to make because my mom had wanted to die at home, when we visited the house and met the angels (mostly volunteers) who staff it, we knew it was the right place for her and that they could provide the round-the-clock care she both needed and deserved. What a blessing to have the burden of her physical care lifted from us, leaving us with more energy to give her love and comfort and to be her family rather than her nurses. Finally, I could sleep.

And that’s when the little miracles began.

My mom had a dear friend in her twenties who was one of her bridesmaids. They hadn’t been in touch in decades, but all of a sudden – without knowing my mom was sick – this woman began searching for her online and was able to connect with me via the Facebook page I set up for my mom so friends far and wide could leave her messages and encouragement and express the ways in which she had touched their lives – so she would know how much she was loved and had made a difference in the world. The day after my mom was admitted to Gateway House of Peace, this woman and her husband drove three hours each way so she could see my mom and our family. Without setting a specific time, my husband and I happened to pull into the driveway right behind her and her husband! Although my mom was virtually unresponsive and sleeping deeply, we gathered close around her and listened to all the memories her friend shared about their times together so many years ago. The stroll down memory lane lifted my dad’s spirits, and it was interesting and amusing for my daughter to hear about what her grandmother was like when she was only a few years older than her.

The night before, I asked my husband to accompany me to Gateway in the morning and play guitar and sing for my mom like she did for her hospital patients as a volunteer. So when the time was right, he took out his guitar, and we sang “Sunshine on My Shoulders” because my mom loves John Denver. Then we sang “Amazing Grace” and “Take Me Home, Country Roads” – and everyone in the room was belting it out by the end. My mom became alert enough to indicate that she could hear us. It was so amazing. Then the older folks began singing an old song my mom used to sing to my dad. We filled that room with JOY and MUSIC! It was a CELEBRATION! (And I absolutely adore my mom’s friend and her husband!) It felt as if my mom were on a raft rather than a hospital bed, and we were on the shore giving her a joyous send-off.

That evening, I had a vision of my mom as her former flight attendant self awaiting takeoff.


We had one more day with my mom before she passed very early this morning. I spent hours holding her hand, stroking her head, telling her that I love her and that we all will be fine, doing a light visualization, and encouraging her to let go. I assured her that letting go will be so easy when she does it, and she will go on a marvelous journey. It will be so wonderful! But she kept holding on, even after our whole family had gathered around her and assured her it was okay to let go. We played her favorite music quietly all evening, and in the middle of John Denver’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane,” a small jet actually flew by! 

Eventually, my dad and one of my siblings left, my teenagers went upstairs to watch a movie, and I went into another room to try to get some much needed sleep, although I don’t think I ever actually fell asleep. I said goodbye to my mom for the final time and noticed some tears welling up in her tear duct. A little after 2 a.m., my son was about to go to sleep and went downstairs to say goodbye to Grandma. (He said this time it felt different; it felt like goodbye “for real”.) My other sibling had fallen asleep in the recliner chair next to my mom’s bed, woke up when my son left the room, and had a few very meaningful moments with my mom. Then her eyes, which had been closed all day, opened wide and bright for several seconds. She looked toward the door and then slipped away around 2:17 a.m.

I absolutely wanted to be with my mom when she passed. I wish I could have felt the energy at that moment and seen her open her eyes right before she took her last breath, but that gift was bestowed on her child who was in tremendous need of such a blessing. When I came downstairs a few minutes later, I entered the room and clapped, so happy for her, and then sang “Amazing Grace” by myself. Something I didn’t notice at the time (although both of my children did and told me later) is that the instant I stopped singing, some objects in the room fell. 

I scattered rose petals around her head and put tulips on her chest, and she looked so peaceful and even happy, no longer in pain. It was a beautiful, gentle transition. The look on her face was both a comfort and a blessing to my dad when he returned. 

Eventually, I went back upstairs to try to get some sleep, and I heard a faint melody that sounded like an electrical current that kept repeating over and over. At the same point in the “loop,” I heard the cooing of a mourning dove, over and over. It was rather haunting and lovely. The melody sounded like fifth chords played on a marimba, and the mourning dove sounded like a wooden flute accenting the end of the phrase. Finally, I sat up to try to determine if these sounds were “for real,” and I no longer could hear the melody but still heard the dove. The way the two elements had fit together so perfectly, over and over again, was uncanny and felt soothing. I notated the music when I got home a few hours later and gave it the title, “Mourning Dove Blessing.” 

And my daughter saw her very first butterfly of the year as she drove home.

I don’t know about you, but I love hearing stories of transitions in the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. I think it’s important to share our stories.

My mom lived a beautiful life and in the end died a beautiful death. She loved flowers, especially lilacs, and passed when all the lilacs on our trees were withering. 

I wish everyone could experience such a lovely transition. The hospice staff and the volunteers and staff at Gateway gave my mom such compassionate, tender, loving care – gentle caresses, loving words, and devoted attention. The hospice nurse who arrived to pronounce the death touched her so sweetly, spoke to her so kindly, with tears in her eyes and compassion for her struggle. People who do this work share such intimate, personal moments and become family. One such angel explained that to her, my mom was her own mom, who also had passed. They continue expressing love for their own parents and dear ones through loving the dying people in their care as if they were their own parents and dear ones.

I don’t think of this as my mom losing a battle with cancer. Rather, the delivery service that came for her took the scenic route, for whatever reason. She was a flight attendant early in life and loved to fly, but a week before she passed, she spoke to me of a bus. She was desperate for me to call hospice to find out where the bus was headed. People are quick to blame such “hallucinations” on the pain meds, but my mom speaking of a bus rather than an airplane means something to me. It was a long road for her.

May her journey be marvelous and filled with the most beautiful and wondrous love, light, music, and goodness! And may all who knew her carry on her legacy in our own unique ways, inspired by her love and kindness.

© Susan Meyer and River Bliss Photography, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, including all text and photos, without express and written permission from this website’s author/owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Susan Meyer and River Bliss Photography (www.susantarameyer.com) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Daily Miracles

Daily Miracles

“Give us our daily miracle. And forgive us if we are not always capable of recognizing it.” -Paulo Coelho, Manuscript Found in Accra

Do you realize how close you are to a miracle?

I truly believe that every day offers us a miracle, a magic moment that changes everything, awakens us, and offers new possibilities.

Paulo Coelho writes a lot about such moments, and in Manuscript Found in Accra, he defines a miracle as “…something that suddenly fills our hearts with Love.”

I search for miracles every day. They are easy to miss. But missing them doesn’t mean they never happened.

Perhaps the miracle was to be found in the impulse ignored to turn in a certain direction or to strike up a conversation with a certain person. Perhaps we were too tired, in too much of a hurry, or preoccupied with our own thoughts and dramas.

Do you remember the 3D stereogram images that were popular about 20 years ago? You stare at the two-dimensional, patterned image with the right focus and all of a sudden enter into a three-dimensional image that, until then, was impossible to perceive. That’s how it can be with magic moments. With a little practice, you might just find your heart steeped in gratitude most of the time. With gratitude, beauty (love) is more inclined to reveal itself, and you can find it just about anywhere.

On a rainy day, the miracle might be found in the rippled puddle that you normally would pass by without taking notice. That’s where I found it today, during the short walk to my car at the end of the work day.

Sometimes you will discover it if you turn around and look behind you, crouch down close to the ground, slow down, step off the trail, take in the details of a single thing, or listen wholeheartedly to the person next to you.

If you tune in to the miracle channel, you will find them everywhere and be transformed. At least that’s been my experience.

Yesterday morning was dark and dreary. By the time I arrived at work, there wasn’t so much as a hint of the sun, which has been rising a little later every morning. Witnessing the sunrise makes a substantial difference in the quality of my day. Filling with light first thing in the morning is a powerful way to start a day (although when the sun doesn’t shine, we can go within and make our own light). By the time I got home from work, however, the sun was shining, and I took a walk with my husband. As we walked, I stopped to photograph landscapes and trees I’d photographed numerous times before. I stopped yet again, knowing they are always a little different.

After snapping a few shots, I commented to my husband that I still hadn’t encountered the magic moment of the day. But I knew I would. And I did. I’m a sucker for sunlit leaves, and the auburn-toned oak leaves seemed to be on fire with grace around a birch tree. It was their moment to shine, and I got to witness it.

Sometimes I feel called by a tree or flower, and when I approach it, it gives me an offering. I feel its energy and my interconnection with it. I might look at it from different angles, until love bursts through.

Sometimes one leaf playing with sunlight at just the right angle can make all the difference in the world if it speaks to your soul. I waited for 15 minutes for the sun to emerge from behind the clouds in order to capture the image below, which had revealed itself briefly moments before the clouds covered the sun.

Over the weekend, I watched part of Eckhart Tolle’s June 2012 retreat at Omega Institute and was struck by something he said about when he lived in London after going through a profound shift in consciousness. After the shift, he felt so peaceful and perceived everything around him as so lovely, though he didn’t know why. A Zen monk told him that, “Zen is really about the cessation of the thinking mind,” and it occurred to Eckhart that since the shift, he hadn’t been thinking as much; there were “vast spaces of no thought, of just perception.” When Eckhart was finding the world so intensely beautiful, he was not thinking. He was liberated from the tyranny of thought.

That is something I can really relate to these days. When I go outside, I can’t help but be amazed and astonished at the beauty in the natural world. It is everywhere!

Even walking from my car to my classroom in the morning, I am dazzled by leaves and berries clinging to trees, reflections in puddles, birds in flight. Every little thing seems to be filled with incredible energy and beauty. It feels so peaceful and good. And during those moments, there is an absence of thought. Love enters in.

I live for those moments.

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The photographs in this blog and in my Flickr photostream are available for purchase as prints or cards through my Etsy shop by selecting a “custom print” in whatever size you prefer and indicating either the name of the print or the blog post and order in which it appears. 

 © Susan Meyer and River Bliss Photography, 2012-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, including all text and photos, without express and written permission from this blog’s author/owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Susan Meyer and River Bliss Photography (www.riverblissed.blogspot.com) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Under the July Full Moon

Sat on the dock last night without a camera because in this case words come closer to describing the sublime perfection of the moment…

Moonlit Symphony

Mint forest has been cut
back to make room
for lavender, the sweet
leaves plucked
for tomorrow’s use, and
Now the full moon
and not having anywhere to
Be in the morning
lure me to the dock, where
waves lap softly against
the shore, melodic tinkling
of liquid wind chimes,
middle voice.
Invisible breeze passes
through foliage turning trees
into soft rustling tambourine bass
as buzz of night-singing insects
become egg shakers gliding
along the top this gently
percussive evening.

The round moon swims slowly,
steadily through a sea
of illuminated clouds until it
rests, floating
in an ocean of dark blue,
luminous and full.

Reflections of moonlight
on the wavy surface below
shimmer like fireflies along with
thousands perhaps millions of real
fireflies flickering in the yard,
becoming stars in the sky:
So many kinds of light!

Glowing moon moves
perceptibly between the first
two of five parallel power lines;
since I first sat down, it has floated
twenty degrees along
its celestial arc, touches
the first finish line (like a number
on a clock) and continues on.
All is well in my world. All Is
Thank you thank You Thank You.

Heading back to the house,
make no mistake: That tree
is singing. I stop, feeling rooted
and still and Listen then
Ask: What am I?
The answer comes in tree-song;
I understand.

Listen, says the night,
to the moonlit symphony.
Come out and sit for a while
In deep blue, luminous
Perfection.

© Susan Meyer 2013

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© Susan Meyer and River Bliss, 2012-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, including all text and photos, without express and written permission from this blog’s author/owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Susan Meyer and River Bliss (www.riverblissed.blogspot.com) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Synchronicity: Then and Now

Synchronicity: Then and Now

In the early twentieth century, Swiss psychologist Carl Jung coined the term synchronicity to describe causally unrelated events that appear to be meaningfully connected in some way. In my own experience, I’ve found that if you keep your senses open to synchronicity, it happens all the time. A few months ago, I even began keeping a synchronicity journal to remind myself of how extraordinary it can be.

A few of my most memorable synchronicity experiences occurred when I was trying to land a teaching job. It was a really long haul to go back to school as a recently divorced mother of two children and obtain a master’s degree and all the credentials required for the various New York State teacher certifications that would make me more marketable in a highly competitive job market. Sometimes I became discouraged and overwhelmed by the marathon and the slim odds of receiving a job offer in a supersaturated field. However, one day it occurred to me in a moment of clarity that I held a key to a door that would only open for me – because I alone had the key. I just needed to find the door. It was an empowering insight that renewed my enthusiasm. When my son came home from school that afternoon, the first thing he said to me was, “Look what I found!” And then, with great excitement, he presented me with a very old key that he considered quite the treasure.

And so did I! My eyes must have bulged out of my head when I saw physical confirmation of my insight. The old-fashioned key remains on my meditation alter to this day.

That is synchronicity.

As I got closer to approaching that metaphorical door, I was contacted by two school districts for interviews. One was a second interview with the district I really wanted to work in – the district I attended from kindergarten through high school graduation and in which my children were enrolled at the time. I did my student teaching and all my substitute teaching there, and it felt like the logical place for me. The other was a much smaller, agricultural district a couple towns away, with which I had no prior experience or contacts. About a week before the interviews, I received in the mail a publication from my religious order, and on the back cover was a poem about how sometimes the things we want so badly might end up having a bitter taste, and perhaps we are better off without them for reasons we may never know. I had a feeling after reading it that it spoke to my situation, although I tried to convince myself otherwise. At the time, I worked part-time as a library shelver and sometimes played a little game while walking through the stacks: I’d open a random book to a random page and read it. The next time I was at work, amazingly, on the page I opened to, my eyes fell upon the name of the second, smaller school district, with a different spelling but the same pronunciation! Now, what are the odds of that happening when you open any random book in a large library to a random page?

To make a long story short, I was not offered the job in the district that was my top choice. And I felt devastated. However, the next day, I had an interview with the smaller district and was offered the job – and felt jubilant. I considered the synchronicities as indicators that this was simply how it was meant to be.

Fast-forwarding more than five years, I’ll share the two most recent experiences that occurred this past week.

This summer, I began a massive cleaning and restructuring of our house. It’s time to lighten our load and change things around – get the chi flowing and make room for new energy to flow in. I was going through some old magazines and decided to get rid of most of them. On the way to the recycle bin, a magazine fell open to a page with an ad for a book that caught my eye. It was a new release (at the time) called One Hundred Days of Solitude: Losing Myself and Finding Grace on a Zen Retreat by a Zen teacher named Jane Dobisz. Without reading anything more about it or ever coming across it previously – and despite not being a Zen practitioner – I knew intuitively that I needed to read that book and ordered it immediately. And it turns out it is exactly what I need right now and is shedding so much light on my current situation. It’s absolutely perfect. I have been longing to go on a lengthy retreat somewhere although it is not the right time to do so, and I am able to experience it vicariously through the author. In the off-the-cuff definition I offered above of synchronicity, perhaps this doesn’t seem to fit because it (seeing the ad for the book) was just one event. However, there were a few other details that would take too long to explain but made it seem clearly synchronistic. I recognized the book ad instantly as an answer I was seeking, without having to think about it at all. Intuition bypassed the conceptual mind, and I just knew.

I find that there is a certain feel to synchronicities. You can choose to ignore them or to follow them. In my experience, I have found that it is a marvelous adventure to follow them. They often lead to more synchronicity, a trail of new possibilities and enhanced energy and creativity. I regard synchronicity much the same as I regard dreams. I don’t know whether they are generated internally or externally, but it’s the noticing and intuitive knowing about them that is meaningful to me. If you decide to take a walk and look for things that are a certain color – let’s say, purple – then purple objects will begin to jump out and register more in your field of awareness. The same thing happens when you play I-Spy. Maybe synchronicity operates along those lines. Or perhaps in Jungian terms, it is the connecting principle of the collective unconscious, bridging our inner and outer experiences, uniting mind and matter.

Finally, I was on the river earlier this week. For the most part, it’s not the peaceful experience it has been in past years due to all of the traffic from work boats and dredging barges. The pontoon work boats tend to disregard posted speed limits and “no wake” signs and gun it up and down the river. I was paddling for about an hour, encountering considerable traffic, and as I got closer to home it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen any wildlife the whole time I was on the river. No beavers. No herons. No egrets. I assumed it was because of the constant activity between the two locks this year. In my mind, I asked, “Where are you, beavers and herons?” And just then, I received an answer: A great blue heron lifted into the air from a concealed location and squawked as if responding to my question. It was so uncanny that my jaw dropped.

After fetching my camera, I went in search of the heron, who I found standing still as a statue on a log in a shallow area. I paddled ever so gingerly toward the heron in an attempt to get as close as possible because I was in need of “heron medicine.” I was able to get quite near and observed the heron so closely that it felt as if we were one being. I entered “heron consciousness,” a state of intense presence and patience. It is a state of mind free from distractions; even the intense heat and bright sun didn’t make an impression on me (which is highly unusual). But at the same time, I was highly alert, with a laser-sharp focus. Aware but not distracted. When you are in “heron mind,” you know instinctively what to do and when it is time to move on.

I was so in tune with the heron that I could tell by a subtle movement that it was about to take off. I have been wanting to photograph a heron lifting off for years but never have been quick enough; it always happens so suddenly. But this time, I was ready!

So I ended up with a satisfying photo, but that’s not all. Having entered “heron mind,” something clicked inside me, and I knew that the deep presence is the element I need to bring into my teaching for the next year. As the curriculum becomes narrower, more demanding, and more tightly scripted, deep, authentic presence might be the key ingredient to help me navigate through the year with as much grace and integrity as possible. I ordered prints of both of the heron pictures to place on the cover of my planning notebook so I can stay in touch with heron energy throughout the year. Last year it was water lilies and the slogan, “Bloom where you are planted.” This year it is heron energy and “Be here now.” 

When I read a chapter in One Hundred Days of Solitude about Zen koans, I thought of the question that has been on my mind all summer and the dualistic way I’ve been approaching it: Should I do this or something different? Suddenly, it became a koan to me – a question with no logical answer, designed to liberate you from thinking – and I saw in my mind the answer in the form of the action and energy of being present. Seems the answer is not a yes or no – an either-or – but rather, enlightened action that bypasses yes or no altogether. Deep presence that cuts through the opposing possibilities to something…deeper.

I truly believe that if you are alert, truly present, and able to embrace the “now” rather than resist it or be distracted by too much thinking, you will find your way and end up where you need to be. The journey is the destination, and every moment makes a difference. Either you will find meaning and joy in your current situation, or your zest will lead you in another direction and open new doors.

Guidance and possibilities are everywhere, always, and it’s interesting to take note of what resonates!

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© Susan Meyer and River Bliss, 2012-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, including all photos, without express and written permission from this blog’s author/owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Susan Meyer and River Bliss (www.riverblissed.blogspot.com) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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