delithopia

Notes from the Waxhaws

Archive for November 2013

Just let go

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The other night
You came to me
Like an angel you appeared

And we climbed
The endless sky
Held each other near

And there we’ll stand
Looking out upon the world that we’ve known
All fear will be gone
When we reach the shores of Avalon

~ Tina Malia, Shores of Avalon

I’ve developed this theory over the years…that the human brain is just an interface of some kind…something like a band-pass filter…that tunes in to a very specific frequency of reality. And that when we sleep…the selectivity of the filter widens to include, other possible versions of reality? Parallel universes that exist beside the one that we normally experience? I’ve always been amazed at the creativity of some of my dreams…dreams so intricate I couldn’t even begin to explain them. Where is this creativity coming from? There are nights when I inhabit vast, complex cities, and participate in other, strange lives…difficult to rationalize as being of my own creation. What is going on here…the random firing of neuronal synapses? Or, something even much more astounding?

Stuart Hammeroff, an anesthesiologist, asks the question…when people are anesthetized, where does their consciousness go? They’re not in a dream state.  Hammeroff speaks of microtubules in the physical brain…that may contain the essence of who we are…our consciousness. And even more amazingly…of a quantum consciousness…an entanglement of atoms, that, at death, may separate from our physical body…and continue to exist in the universe. Our soul, perhaps?

Sitting in my darkened living room…music softly playing…a gentle voice beckons to me…Just let go.

Be Brave my love
The time has come
To cross the Tintagel sea

Written by Jim

November 18, 2013 at 8:33 pm

Witness

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Hanging on the wall near my front door, is a poem by Mary Oliver…The Summer Day.

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

My eyes are getting dry and blurry at times…probably a natural result of the aging process. But, every time I read the last few lines of this poem, for some reason…tears come to my eyes. Probably, a rebuke of how lightly we tend to take this miracle of life…this ‘one wild and precious life’ that we’ve been given.  But, as I go out the door with my tear-moistened eyes…everything is crystal clear…and it’s always a shock to see how beautiful the world is as it lies before my eyes. Every dew drop…every leaf fluttering in the wind…the crystalline blue sky.  Nothing focuses the mind as much as pain and suffering…and loss. Perhaps it is a gift of some sort…a gift that we do not fully understand.

It’s been especially apparent on this spectacularly beautiful autumn day, here in the Carolinas. I’ve spent a greater part of the day sitting on the front porch, taking it all in. What makes a sweet gum a sweet gum…an oak, an oak…a dark green mysterious juniper, a juniper. I hear the wind rushing through short-  and long-leafed pines…the sound of a distant surf…or the cascading flow of a phantom waterfall. I see ladybugs flitting about…feral chickens grazing on the grass…a wren belting out its song from the trees…the call of a red-shouldered hawk soaring somewhere above…dragonflies…yellow-jackets…phoebes…crows. The list goes on…profligate beauty and being…all in this one, tiny corner of the universe.

Sometimes I think that our main purpose here on earth is to be a witness. A witness to creation. We all like to share our insights and experiences with others. It must be a real need. Hence, our books…and our blogs. This creation is much too special to go unnoticed. Someone needs to pay attention…to witness.  Perhaps we are created because the Creator also has a need to share this…and to not let it go unnoticed. Perhaps we are the universe…reflexively looking back upon itself…and seeing that it is good. Very good.

Written by Jim

November 3, 2013 at 1:54 pm