A Walk in the Park

It’s a sunny Sunday afternoon and I decide to take a hike at nearby Kensington Metropark.  I leave my car in the nearly full parking lot and walk down the old wooden stairs to the fork of Aspen and Wild Wing trails. 

I haven’t walked far when I see a mother and daughter standing silently, hands held out filled with sunflower seeds.  A downy woodpecker swoops down, followed by a chickadee, then another, seemingly oblivious to the humans who gather.  Walking slowly and silently around them I see a sand hill crane strutting in the grass and hear a little girl ask, “Where are the babies?”  “Nearby”, responds her mother.  “The mother never lets her babies get far.”  I hope that is true and predators have not harmed them.  Soon we spots them tagging along in the tall grass.  “See?” Mom says.  I breathe a sigh of relief and watch the little crane family out for a stroll.  Even the spoken words are bathed in woodland quiet. 

Farther on I encounter two male turkeys ahead of me on the path.  Camera in hand, I walk a bit faster and nearly catch up with them.  As I’m ready to shoot the picture, a third turkey, not to be left out, rustles quickly from the grass onto the path to join them.

I listen to the silent sounds of rustling leaves.  A small rustle in the grass suggests a mouse, or perhaps a chipmunk scurrying about her business. 

The sound of firearms intrudes on my quiet space.  I’m suddenly aware of gunshots coming from the nearby State Park where there is a firing range.  I heard that turkeys are In Season now.  I cringe with each shot.  Kill!  Kill!  Kill the silence!  I breathe deeply… listen as peace confronts noise.  In time, quiet overcomes noise.  Again I learn I can choose what to let into my space.  Today it is the silent sounds of the woodlands.  I return to my center.  I listen to birdsong and the rustling of chipmunks and squirrels, the soft voices of children learning of the wonders of nature from parents and grandparents.  I feel gentle breezes touch my face.  The woodland holds secrets—secrets beyond words. 

I invite you to take a walk in the woods…listen to the silence and learn.

On Quiet

Paradox – Illogical truth; a seemingly contradictory statement that may nonetheless be true; exhibiting inexplicable or contradictory aspects.

I live often in the center of paradox.  Today our pastor preached on the importance of words.  He talked about the importance of words and how our lives, our relationships are founded on words, especially the two words Joy and Friendship.  My mind immediately went back an hour to the NPR program I was listening to on Sound and Spirit, an interview with Gordon Hempton on The Joy of Quiet.  The foundation, the voice in my head inserted itself, is quiet, not words.  Sometimes I think there are too many words.  And yet?  I forced myself to listen and sort it out later.  It all made sense to me—the importance of true friendship, of choosing our friends, choosing people who bring out the best in us, people who love us and who we love in spite of everything we are and do.  And Joy!  I look for, long for life-giving joy.  Yes, Friendship and Joy are two foundational words.  Yet, so is quiet.

     The importance of quiet is making its voice heard.  Gordon Hempton suggests that quiet is not the absence of sound, but the absence of noise.  I listened to his meditation on “One Square inch of Silence” in which he has staked out a square inch in the forest where for the most part noise (the noise of jets overhead, of a rumbling train or traffic does not penetrate); where in the silence you can hear for twenty-five miles or more songs of many birds, flowing waters of a river, gentle breezes in the trees, scurrying small animals on the ground, a distant rumble of thunder.  If you really listen closely you can hear an insect land on a leaf, the quiet creaking of trees.  Within these sounds of silence lie also the sounds within. 

     Since I moved to South Lyon from the outside Cheboygan, MI, I have missed the sounds of silence.  Not quite such a purist as Hempton, silence for me included peaceful voices of neighbors around a campfire, an occasional softly strummed guitar, foghorns and the low rumble of freighters passing by on Lake Huron.  I loved sitting on my meditation bench overlooking the lake in the early morning watching the orange-pink sunrise in the east, listening to the first birds awakening, joined by more birds until there was a virtual symphony of joyful sound celebrating another new day.  Whether up sitting on my bench or lying in bed listening, this growing symphony was the foundation, the joy of my day.  Here in South Lyon I still lie in bed listening as the birds begin their morning serenade.  I listen until I hear noise—a dog barking, car motors, and on Mondays come the lawnmowers with their intrusive noise and smells.  But I can still, if I work at it, move to the silence within—to my quiet center, my still point.  Today I awakened early, left the house for a walk, and was greeted to the sight of six sandhill cranes moseying about the field across from my condo.  I watched a while in silence and moved on.  Midway in my walk I stopped to greet a neighbor who has created a nature haven in and around his yard.  We sat in silence on his bench and listened and watched red-bellied woodpeckers, Baltimore orioles, house wrens, and others feed.  The sounds of silence included the joy of another day.

Lake Huron Shore

Listen!

Brushed by water and wind, the stones of Lake Huron whisper.  Their voices color my ideas, shape my thoughts, pattern my days.  On bright days, they pulse with sun energy.  Moon energy has a different voice.

Hear them. 

Stones really do talk.

The Pendant

THE PENDANT

I looked at the silver-gold rings as I handed them to the jeweler.  I held back my tears as I remembered the vows David had made to love and be faithful as he placed the ring on my finger binding me to him in marriage.  The marriage was long over—the rings a painful reminder of failure.  I could not get rid of them, nor did I want them to languish forever in my jewelry box. 

I saw the sign in the jewelry store window suggesting a new piece of “nugget” jewelry could be made from old gold jewelry and the idea took hold—something I could wear as a symbol of my transition to a new life.

The rings leaned against each other melting

Silver-gold liquid released drops like hot tears that

spread, merged, separated,

merged again in new patterns, some

not so pleasing, some

beautiful to my eyes, solidifying

my past within my present and future.   

With help from the jeweler a bridge

arched over what looked to me like a figure

standing on its head holding a tiny circle.

How perfect! 

I was a gymnast once, I thought…

The circle, a suggestion of unity,

 The finished piece pleased me.  I wore it reverently around my neck…a symbol of my life in process.  The diamond hung beside it on the chain.  Occasionally painful memories still surfaced, but mostly the pendant was a symbol of strength and hope. 

 For years I wore the pendant—often at first, then less and less.  The pendant and the diamond need to be together I thought and wondered if it were possible.  One day, I brought the pieces to the local jeweler and asked him if it were possible to put the diamond in the pendant.  His excitement surprised me as he picked up the diamond and said, “Beautiful!  I’d put it right here.”  He placed it off center, not where I’d expected it to go.  My heart sang.  It was perfect! 

Two weeks later, I picked up the necklace and put it gently around my neck.  The diamond sparkled brightly enjoying its place in the whole.  More than just a piece of jewelry, this was a symbol of my life.  It had been broken, nearly destroyed.  It had been molded and shaped by circumstances, by choices I had made, by mistakes that turned into opportunities, and by a Love that held me and gave me strength.  Now I was becoming whole.  I had learned a secret.  Unity and Love come not from the outside, but from within.