Ornithology Dream Lab

Last Friday night, I dreamt of a beautiful bird, it was not one I had ever seen before. It was distinct in its coloring and form. When I woke I carried the dream vision of it in my psyche- a large bird in flight that turned into a small bird when it landed.  I puzzled over the meaning of it.  Dream guidance from author, Robert Moss says, "We should view our dreams as more real and our waking life as more symbolic."  I have been keeping that advice in mind as I walk through my days lately and I find it to be most helpful. 

 

After reading an essay by another teacher, Jose Stevens, about the nature of the energy of animals and birds in the universe, I thought my dream was a sort of further lesson on that. In it, Stevens' says: Shamans understand that there are two ways of knowing. "One way of knowing utilizes the rational mind via the brain and the other one uses inner knowing via the heart and the brain. Inner knowing is related to Essence, so almost anything that one wants to know about the universe can be known or glimpsed this way. This second way of knowing is also the one that other intelligences use to communicate with us." 

Later that Saturday, the day after the dream, I found myself passing by a place where there are three man-made fishing ponds, an area families frequent to fish and to picnic.  As I drove by, I noticed a large bird flying low over one of the ponds- I had never seen this bird before, neither in a photo or live.  I pulled over and grabbed my binoculars quickly, in order to gaze closer and unbelievably, this bird looked just like the bird in my dream. As beautiful, as remarkable to my eyes as anything I have ever observed.  A different beauty than the Great Blue Heron, or the elegant White Egret I saw today, none-the-less awesome to witness in flight. Once home I surfed the net until I found him: a Black-Crowned Night Heron!  The small photo at the site reminded of my dream, first flying large, then landed, small.  

In my childhood home, I was raised more in the consciousness of "no-ing" than in knowing, if you get my drift. There was a long suffering, fear-based, teaching that one should say "no" to life more often than "yes."  If a joyful opportunity to do something new arose, in my family there would usually follow a litany of reasons not to do it.  The idea of inner knowing via the heart is something I am learning anew each day.  Thank you Black -Crowned Night Heron for entering my dream laboratory and offering me the possibility to recognize you in real time.  You have taught me that dreams do come true, that winged ones communicate with humans in many ways. I am enlivened by your flight into the realm of my inner knowing.

Mother's Day: The Garden of Silence, part ii

On all of the Sundays that I have observed in silence, every other week, since last August 2012, I have kept my sacred vow.  Well, there has been a slipped word or two -an automatic, "sorry"  for something once or twice.  And, I admit, a four-letter word slid out of my mouth one day, oops. Fortunately no one heard that.  

I am not perfect, but all in all, it's been a successful campaign, one I will continue with a glad heart.   Last week however, I gave myself permission to make one phone call to my 94 year old mother for Mother's Day.   She doesn't know about my Sunday's in silence, not for any reason other than I thought it might confuse her if she needed to reach me.  So we had a lovely chat in the late morning and that felt absolutely right. I cannot think of a better reason to break my silent ritual.  Anyone who has a Mother at that age, would no doubt agree, a lucky thing to have her longevity, health and her pretty sound mind. Not something you want to miss, or take for granted, especially on Mother's Day!  I desire to nurture our connection, even long distance, as long is she is on this physical plane. 

As mentioned in the previous piece, (A Lesson in Calm) in a Craniosacral training class, I participated in last year, with Michael Dunning, he said:

In the earliest embryonic process, the human heart arises from stillness, deep stillness for 48 hours-as the future heart gets impregnated with spiritual information.  The heart forms above the future head and folds into the interior space of the body later.  When we are first conceived, our form, the zygote-meaning yoked, like yoga- is more of a mineral than an animal, cells dividing inwardly, not expanding until we are implanted into the wall of the uterus.  Once that happens we are more plant -like than animal.  A thin membrane connects our spine to our mother before there is an umbilical cord, we are more two-dimensional than three-dimensional, like a sprout.  

We are truly rooted to Mother Earth through the womb of our mother and we are rooted to stillness, it is in our earliest nature to be held in the space of the eternal connection to Mother.  Just returning from a visit to the bosque near my home in Albuquerque, the wooded area I love, I felt called to a few trees along the ditch we call the "Mother Ditch."  This is the main ditch or acequia that runs from the Rio Grande River.  There are dozens of ducklings paddling in the shallow water with their feathered parents now. Next to the embankment and near to a major freeway overpass, several trees have rooted themselves.  One is a young elm, another, a Russian Olive, but the one that called to me was a fruit-bearing Mulberry tree.  As I came closer to its waving arms, I saw that some of its berries were dark, ripe and already falling on the ground below. I delighted in eating them right off the branches in gratitude for being nurtured in the tenderness of this sweet fruit. To all Mothers, human and other than human, much love to you, may you know deep sweetness for all you do.

A Lesson in Calm

Known as the month of Mary, May is when the fragrance of blooming Russian Olive fills the dry air here in the Rio Grande River valley. Now is the time I am wanting to live along the river where it grows in abundance.  The tiny yellow flowers that line the branches of the tree produce a pungent aroma the hummingbirds adore.  Yesterday, on the new moon, I took the late morning to follow it's sweet call and wander along the trails to the river's edge.  I noticed an elegant thin black shape in the middle of the river just south of where I found myself. Peering through my binoculars I discovered it was a black bird, a large water bird poised on a log that I assumed must be lodged in the thickness of mud of the shallow river bed.  Somewhat similar in shape to a Blue Heron, this bird had a much shorter neck and a smaller body.  Quite black against the muddy brown water, I watched it for a while from a distance and noted it's serene manner, so still, so composed.  

I felt restless by comparison, not settled, not as calm as this winged one appeared to be.  He or she was in fact, so still that I wasn't certain it was a bird, at first, but perhaps a blackened branch.  I wanted to get closer to it, so I rode my bike along the sandy trail until it started to veer away from the river, then I laid the bike down and walked west through the trees and brush until I found just the right viewing spot underneath two twinned cottonwoods, magnificent umbrellas in their new spring green leaves.  For most of an hour, I bet, I sat and watched the beautiful black one barely move on this log in the river. As I admired it, and its ability to be in stillness with the environment, the name came to me-Cormorant.  Later, checking my observation with a friend she said, yes, that sounded correct from my description.  

Looking up the spelling, I noted that originally the name is from medieval Latin meaning "sea raven".  I learned it has a voracious appetite and because of that, a cormorant has come to mean, figuratively, a person who is insatiably greedy.  But this one did not seem at all hungry, not feasting on anything at all as I admired its composed spirit.  It appeared to be complete, content and very satiated.  I left before it did. I did not get to see it dip into the water or spread its wings. but it gave me a teaching in being calm. Finding a photo of it today, I am awed by its dramatic display with wings spread and plan to go back and hopefully, see it again.  A rare treat to see a sea bird in the desert, a gift.  

I learned from Michael Dunning in a Craniosacral class that in the earliest embryonic process the heart arises from stillness, deep stillness for 48 hours-as the future heart gets impregnated with spiritual information.  The heart forms literally, above the future head and folds into the interior space of the body later.  When we are first conceived, our form, the zygote-meaning yoked- is more of a mineral than an animal, cells dividing inwardly, not expanding until we are implanted into the wall of the uterus.  Once that happens we are more plant -like than animal.  A thin membrane connects our spine to our mother before there is an umbilical cord, we are more two-dimensional than three-dimensional at this stage.  I want to entrain my heart again, to that stillness, to that calm connection to Mother Nature.

Addendum: Three days later, I travelled a little further north along the river and spent an afternoon at the water's edge. I saw three more, similiarly standing, preening on a log in the river.  And then again two more, spotted a couple days later...altogether six birds patiently waiting.  

A Prayer for Juarez and West Mesa: An Offering Mandala

Sunday, March 24, 2013

2 p.m

Plaza of the National Hispanic Cultural Center

Avenida Cesar Chavez and 4th Street

Albuquerque, NM 

Free and Open to the Public

Please join us to create a prayerful community offering in memory of the young women of Cuidad Juárez and West Mesa, Albuquerque whose lives have been lost to violence.  Wear black and bring a large bowl to pour water, one to another, as we create a mandala—a portal between the dark and the light. Please invite your friends—men, women and children.

Contact:  Deborah Gavel, djgavel@gmail.com 

This special event is part of Women & Creativity Month and is sponsored by Littleglobe.

To view a video from the event in March 2012: www.youtube.com/watch?v=YEdyK3O1-U0

About Deborah Gavel: Deborah is an artist, educator and art activist in Albuquerque.  She is interested in the intersection of healing and creativity. www.deborahgavel.com

Women and Creativity Month is an annual, month-long series of events that celebrates women’s creativity across the disciplines.  Coordinated by the National Hispanic Cultural Center (NHCC) and the Harwood Art Center. Women & Creativity is a collaboration between over thirty partners and organizations in Albuquerque and Santa Fe.  Visit the website at www.womenandcreativity.org 

Littleglobe is a New Mexico based 501(c)3 organization of creative professionals dedicated to artistic innovation in the service of social change.  Littleglobe exists to create collaborative art, nurture community capacity, and foster life-affirming connections across the boundaries that divide us.   Learn more at www.littleglobe.org. Littleglobe has been a Women & Creativity partner for the last five years.

The Garden of Silence, Part 1

"Inward. inward. To the sacred groves." -Mary Oliver                    

Longing for the seashore now, for a stretch of sand, I am floating on a memory from last year, being in Truro on Cape Cod. During a perfect September weekend after Labor Day, I led an art and meditation workshop on silence.  If you have never been there, think of Cape Cod as the shape of a bent arm reaching out into the Atlantic off the body of Massachusetts. Truro is on the National Seashore just north of the elbow, south of the fingertip at Provincetown, it has take-your -breathe-away stunning beaches on both the ocean side and the bayside.  We met (four friends) to share food, to take walks, to be in silence and to find through the process, a gateway to expand our creativity.  The inspiration for this adventure: Listening Below the Noise, a memoir by Anne D. LeClaire.  It tells the story of her personal commitment to silence, every other Monday since 1992.

The serendipitous fact that LeClaire lives on Cape Cod just a half an hour from where the workshop was to be held seemed too synchronistic to ignore.  So I looked up the author online just before my departure and sent her an email request, hoping that we might connect while I was there.  She is a writer of note, her most recent novel, The Lavender Hour as well as seven other novels has kept her busy along with family, a full schedule leading lectures, retreats and workshops. So I was surprised and delighted to get a positive response to my invitation to her to be a guest during a part of our weekend.  

She is a self-proclaimed "chatty-Cathy" who was not at all sure she could be silent for twenty-four hours in a row when she began the practice of silence.  But she did make it through that first day and consequently opened herself to a new state of mind like she had been away on retreat. Her inclination to continue these mini vacations has fed her as a writer and inspired a beautiful journey of a book on her experiences with silence.  Rainer Maria Rilke wrote, "[n]owhere, beloved, can the world exist but within." Silence takes you within, it also takes you, when it is a conscious choice, not a forced silence or an accidental silence, to an orientation that might help open the door to creativity and further self-expression. 

LeClaire writes, "[l]ike countless others before me, I would come to silence to learn how to listen." Not only to learn to listen to others better she notes, but to learn to listen within, to learn to listen to her better self, "into a sacred space where wisdom can be heard."  To find a space of silence is not so difficult a task for me, because I live alone, my days are frequently sans conversation, but this I have come to experience is quite different than intentional silence.  Of chosen silence, John Francis says in his story, Planetwalker, about his experience of seventeen years in total silence, "[m]y life altered." Mahatma Gandhi took one day of silence every week, every Monday for a year in 1926.  He said, "speak only if it improves upon the silence."  Anne LeClaire claims the power of silence has influenced and lighted her way more than any thing or any one during her more than twenty year practice.  In just five months of following in her footsteps, I am beginning to sense what she means. Chosen silence has begun to feel like a warm blanket around my shoulders on a cold winter day. It deepens the experience of my days, stretches out the hours.  

During the weekend in Truro we took our silence from bedtime through the first few morning hours of the next day, including breakfast.  Even that short a time frame proved difficult for some but it was a way to fold our conversations around the text in a first hand way. On Saturday before dinner, when Anne joined us for a drink, one of the women asked if she had ever broken her days of silence. She responded, "only once", when she was involved in an automobile accident and chose to speak to the emergency crew. She added that, because it was a day of silence, it seemed to support her in the process of staying calm. Detaching from conversation twenty-four hours at a time has given her the opportunity to tune into the deepest part of herself, to her own secret garden. And she says, “[t]he garden of silence is always there for us. Patiently waiting.  We only have to claim it.”  I am learning January can have its gardens of silence as well as any other time, along the seashore, close to home, or the sandy beaches in our minds.