Farewell to Blue Heron Pond

Though on the surface I'm going away for only a two week period to Italy and Greece, there is a part of me that feels like I will never return. The poignancy of love, even new love where the departure is painful, and leaving BHP in the middle of summer is a mixed blessing. I have reached the point in life where I don't want to travel anywhere else, I don't want to voyage further, the only place I want to be is here at the pond. Though I will always wander in my soul and imagination, my spirit ever restless, it is by being rooted here that I find my greater clarity and purpose. I don't need to be the vagabond, wandering minstrel, I am satisfied with my voice and spirit as one part of the conversation of life on the pond. There are far more eloquent singers and poets here, the dozens of birds by the pond, with their chorale of life and birth. Conversations across the airwaves -- "Good morning, lovely day here at the pond." "Good eats down by the rock." "My hormones are ready today, let's mate" "Here my sexy song!" The voices of all of god's glorious creatures by the waters. Each song is enchantment and the crow's boisterous bellowing interruptions are quiet today, blue jay's screech gone, and the sweetness of the early morning birds are glorious. Even though I was awakened by them at about 5 this morning. I can still appreciate them.

Talking with Joe these past few days about life in Hati and the tremendous loss of nature and life, the depredation, and poverty. Yet, I am here by these waters, enjoying and savoring paradise.

I write to hold this prayer of Blue Heron Pond. To hold the songs in my spirits, to cherish each moment of this paradise. I send this blessing out across the airways, a private reverie and blessing from the birds and creatures by this pond. Is their song -- savor this paradise? Enjoy this corner of heaven?

Wherever you are today, in whatever part of the globe, find your small corner of paradise. A flower growing in a city sidewalk crack, let it be your garden, let the dreaming roots speak to your soul and the flowers inspire your imagination. Hug a tree, no matter how slender or modest, and feel its presence. Smell the air and find the sweetness of breath. Appreciate and savor for even an instant the miracle of life.

At Blue Heron Pond, this insistent quiet presence of the miracle of life is spoken in each tree, blade of grass, flower, bird song, and held in the wind - here in this sacred crucible.

I will miss this corner of heaven,as I travel, but as always to these that are dearest to our being, we keep them close in our soul. I cherish Blue Heron Pond this morning.