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.