The Rare Blue Cicada in a Hurry:
This morning I listened to a recording of Alan Watts speaking about the Four Noble Truths. It connected with the story I’ve been writing about the Barred Owls that have adopted my hollow tree for their nesting site, and how they’ve taught me, empirically and spiritually, that we’re all tiny fragments of the One universe, forever being re-collected and recycled. I understood Watts to say we’re all broken apart but we’re being put back together, whether through the Eucharist (communion), meditation (the Sanskrit word means ‘recollection’), the physical cycle of life, or any of the other diverse means we may discover.
There was too much teaching bundled up in his talk for this one little piece of my writing today, but as I’ve watched the Barred Owls raising their young in the shelter of my yard, dealt with the heartbreak of losing a husband and a child, and learned to let go as I watch the wheel of life turning and never ending, I’ve been comforted in my body and mind again and again. The comfort is fleeting; I’ve learned the importance of re-collecting it, along with joy and everything else I feel and unfeel, throughout all my days and years.
The “broken” fragments of the universe include stars, all the way down to living beings and quantum particles. How amazing they are, and how incredible to think of all life as part of the vast ecosystem. This week I discovered a rare blue-green cicada on Sunday, and a foot-long earthworm on Thursday, right in front of my eyes: in my concrete breezeway that connects my house and garage. My puppy Charlie picked them both up and let them go just as quickly when I told him to. The newly molted fairy-winged cicada filled me with wonder and must have flown away, but I nearly jumped out of my skin four days later when I saw that the “stick” Charlie had picked up was alive and writhing like a baby snake. I estimated its length at a foot, give or take some as it wriggled, contracted, and expanded, disappearing after we left it alone to wait inside for five minutes.
The Foot-Long Earthworm in a Hurry:
I googled them both to find mountains of fascinating information about each tiny creature. The blue-green cicadas are rare, and earthworms can grow as long as 14” in this part of the country. Who knew? My yard always has tiny frogs, toads, insects, worms, and as yet undiscovered beasties in it. I love the butterflies and dragonflies of course, and all the seven insect families I learned about when I had to collect them in my high school Biology class. Coleoptera, Hymenoptera, and Lepidoptera were the most gorgeous names, words I still love to say out loud. I’d named “Digging for Bugs and Worms” with the little boy next door as my favorite hobby when I was three and four.
These years, I usually focus on the larger creatures like Barred Owls, Raccoons, and cute bunnies, but my entomologist friends and neighbors might be just as appropriately obsessive about these “little ones.” I once knew a guy getting a master’s degree in entomology who discovered a new insect in Northwest Arkansas, and I think it was named for him.
Yesterday I was at the nearest Methodist Hospital with my mother, who’s 93, for an outpatient test. As I was waiting behind others at the desk to get her checked in, some tinkling chimes rang above my head and faded. I don’t think they would have registered in my head if the woman in front of me hadn’t turned around and said, “A baby was just born,” and smiled. I opened my mouth and said softly, “OH, is that what those chimes were?” She wanted to say more: “Yes, they ring them every time. Once I was here with a good friend who was dying, and just as she died, the chimes rang. You know, life and death all together at once,” and we both nodded.
She pointed up to the Scripture carved into the marble slab above the entry hall. It said, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” I knew it well; I’d memorized the passage from Philippians as a child. The rest of it goes, “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
Mother’s caregiver, Carleshia, had noticed the sign, too, and was pointing at it when I sat back down with them. I said, “It’s a good Scripture for a hospital,” the same hospital where my husband spent his last days, where my mother barely survived COVID pneumonia, and where my five-year-old grandson was born.
I’d just told myself to remember the well-loved passage more often. In my grief journey I’ve never stopped praying, but my prayer practice has become different. I don’t send out petitions for every little discomfort I have because letting go usually solves those problems. I don’t need to ask for help with them if I only stop clinging. But I’ve been praying for specific situations of greater magnitude before I let them go, these days. Turning them over to the One who can put us all back together.
Alan Watts was an Episcopal priest, and Thomas Merton a Catholic monk, before they individually became drawn to Zen Buddhism and the Tao and other Eastern systems. I’ve learned to see wisdom in all the systems and teachers. I appreciate the teachings of Watts, Merton, and now others, because I know they stayed open and willing to receive teaching for their entire lives.
My son Dylan, when he was in college, wrote in a notebook, “I hope to make a positive ripple in the universe.” I know he succeeded, and I believe he made much more than a positive ripple to so many of us, with his bright eyes and openness to the people and the world around him.
But, thankfully, we’re all ripples in our own way and just as important. I believe all of our ripples continue to spread throughout the Universe for all eternity. So what if we can’t explain it any better in human language, in this Universe which we experience primarily as physical and emotional, with its necessary pains? We can, I believe, experience it beyond the physical and emotional, with openness to the One that brings the Many together, again and again. I’m grateful for every atom, every creature, every star, all the way in or out, to the Source of it all.
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