We are still looking for a house, and it would surely be nice to have a star hanging over its eaves saying- here, here, this is the place where the light lives! We have only our own hearts and instincts and ability to read the signs. We come ever closer, but have not, shall we say, fallen on our knees in wonderment. That said, it is always a question of willingness, of patience, heart, trust, and courage. To take the journey in the first place, risking everything- our vision, our marriage, renewable energy sources and the end of the world- in the search of the place where our vision can take root. And it is then just as courageous to actually settle on something, and be willing to jump in and buy it. And then to every day to live with the choice we have made...wouldn't anyone cringe in fear at such a possibility? How do we as a species get anything done and make all of the miraculous and sometimes horrible innovations that we have?
The poem I have heard since childhood, when my grandmother- also a poet- first read it to me, has come up several times in the last week from various sources. I find it still both an inspiration, and an accurate description of my life.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference ...
Robert Frost
I never imagined that I would end up in Germany, married, looking for a house to buy and longing for sheep. Bodywork, healing herbs, and performance are still my companions, although now I work to translate them into another language and culture. I could not have chosen this life if I had tried, but clearly each choice has led me to it. And it is good so, as it is. I have learned how to read the signs and am still learning how to decipher them, and the even greater task, to act upon them with an open heart. I am reminded of the story of the prince who is sent by his father to learn the language of the birds. After 10 years, the boy comes back and, when questioned by his father about what he has learned, he answers, " I think I have begun to hear something." The father is, of course, irate that after 10 years of good money spent on an education, the boy is only just beginning to hear something,and sends the boy back. After 10 more years, the boy comes home and is asked again what he has learned. He replies, " I think I have begun to understand something." The father sends the boy away again. After 10 more years, the same scene is repeated, but this time the boy says, " Now, although I have begun to be able to speak the language of the birds, i have nothing more to say."
Such a long, forgetful, rememberful practice of praying, listening, feeding and offering, living each day full of thankfulness and gratitude and then forgetting and remembering everything all over again, this life is. Merciless in its beauty, when we once, through the struggle of our daily lives, come into contact with what is holy, we either know enough to keep our mouths shut about it, or the trickster comes along and steals it out of our memories. I have always longed for the road less travelled. Weird, my sister would say. But I am happy with its weirdness, its signs and languages and people and places that I happen through. I am happy with the gift of this life, on the road less travelled. Happy 2012, may we bless the gods with beauty this year.
