Life on the Edge

Today is my birthday. Born year of the Dog, 1946. As I rolled out of bed and ambled down to the beach for a special, early dawn surf I couldn’t help but think of the Green Rosella that, yesterday, flew into the side of the house, broke its neck and died within minutes on the deck off the dining room. Now, I have had eagles, currawongs, hawks and cockatoos all enter into my life with messages in ways that can defy scientific explanation, but this crash seemed to be just an unfortunate incident. I did look for a teaching, though. As I held the dying Green Rosella in my hands, I thought: “Awareness of one’s surroundings is the key to survival. Fail to pay attention and you will fall victim to this lack of awareness”. So, I vowed to work even harder to see what was around me; to become even more aware of the flowers, the birds, the waves and, well..... just everything. This boy from Detroit was on the path to total awareness of place. This morning, as there were no waves to speak of, it was relatively easy to walk into the water, do my normal ritual of kissing the water, and then paddle out to deeper water. The dawn sky was pink; the shore breeze caressed the blue green surface into tiny ripples; the far sand stone cliffs were bathed in that luscious deep yellow morning light. A tiny wave came in about three feet tall and I took a simple, yet sweet, short ride. My eyes were taking it all in. Boy, was I every aware of my surroundings. And then...... I felt something funny about my head. The wet suit hood seemed too far forward on my head, so I tried to push it back off my forehead. “Ha! “ I screamed out in delight. I was still wearing the woollen hat with the red puff ball on top. I had put it on because of the morning cold, but had forgotten all about it. Talk about awareness, or lack of. And then the message gifted to me by the Green Rosella became apparent. What is really important in life is to daily celebrate one’s existence with gratitude and a simple joy. Look at the colors of the feathers on the Green Rosella. What a cloak of celebration. What an exquisite demonstration of visual music dancing. And me, swimming around with a red puff ball on my head in icy cold water at the crack of dawn laughing at my silliness. What fun. What a joyful beginning to this day of birth.

Two days after the event and I want look at the long lasting significance of putting together the Peace Sunday prayer and celebration day. There is no doubt that those that came (around 50) enjoyed the day. Children and adults alike were all smiles as they basked in the palpable delight of the dancing prayer flags. The question I want to ask is whether or not these feelings were superficial; a light hearted good time equivalent to going to the city park with a picnic and flying a kite? Or, did they go deeper; penetrating an atavistic memory of our human connection to tribe, to earth, to spirit, allowing them to flow unimpeded without fear or mistrust? A form of healthy cleansing? Will the good will generated on Sunday still be lingering today, tomorrow, next week? Will some part of our soul/ the earth’s soul be healed because of the cumulative effect of intent, location, prayers, mood, weather and open hearts? During a storm last night, several of the flags broke away from the bamboo poles. By the end of the week I will take the rest of the 50 flags down and, like taking the Christmas tree ornaments down, will there be a bit of sadness mixing in with the memory of the festivities? During this lifetime, I desire to give birth to at least one angel; my own. And, if possible, to help others give birth to their angels. Unlike the Christmas angel that gets put into a box for the rest of the year, I hope that I can nurture and acknowledge my angel more frequently. Events like the Peace Sunday help with this.

Such a beautiful beginning to the day yesterday. People came to Windgrove, chose a flag and wrote their messages of peace. The sun soft; the air a gentle push against the yellow fabric; the sound of bamboo clacking. For a moment it all seemed permissible to shut out the cries of war, the cries of the wounded, and exhale a slow breath of forgiveness. Late in the morning I received a phone call that my sister, Angie, had been in a serious car accident; was hit by a car that ran a stop sign; rolled twice then was hit again by another car. It took four hours to cut her free. Her heart stopped. May my sister, Angie, recover fully. May she yet again experience the fullness of life; of her life. May the world recover fully. May all its inhabitants live a full completeness. May peace drop over us all.

This morning about an hour ago Tim (in well) and I placed 50 yellow banners in the 50 holders that run between the Peace Garden and the Peace Fire. As the day progresses, local families and families from Hobart will come to write their individual prayers for peace on each of the banners. The other photo shows neighboring friends around the dinner table last night sewing up the prayer flags/banners in preparation for today. Just this simple act of friends and children coming together to share in food, conversation and the making of a small community event is enough to warm the heart and reignite the sense that the human family is capable of kindness, compassion and generosity of spirit. Tomorrow, will bring more photos of today's activities.

Sometimes one has to stop writing letters to the editor about the deteriorating condition of the world and take the time to savor the bounty of what is still beautiful and available to all of us. On the dining room table surrounded by twelve chairs can be seen two apple pies fresh baked this morning and cooling in their blue ceramic dishes. Soon the Roaring Beach kids and other disciples of fine food will begin dropping by for a taste. My original intention was to show my community the recently finished "Generational Flow/ an altar" before it went on exhibition in Hobart. But like any good opening, there has to be an ulterior enticement. Shunning the normal cheap wine and cheese, the baker at Windgrove wants to tempt the neighbors in with the remembered aroma of grandma's pies drifting through the house. And when these two are eaten, there are enough apples for more pies.

Every first Sunday of each month at Windgrove is a dedicated Sacred Earth Sunday; a very informal Quaker like gathering of people who have come to honour their committment to seeking Peace within themselves and the world at large. From 8:30AM to 9:30AM is an hour of "respectful silence" where people either gather together to meditate or choose to go off alone. At 9:30 a bell is rung bringing everyone together for breakfast and conversation. The above photo is of a stone received in the mail yesterday from Western Australia and being placed on top of the Ancestral Midden during this morning's Sacred Earth Sunday. The Ancestral Midden is that part of the Windgrove Peace Garden that is dedicated to the "past" and the honouring of one's ancestors, one's own history, one's personal truth. Any visitor to Windgrove is encouraged to bring a stone with them from their home to be placed with all the other individual stories that comprise this growing, global pile of stories.