October 14, 2014 – The little junco’s last moments

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Yesterday morning, as Bo and I took off for our hike up the hill, I saw a little darkish ball of something on the sidewalk in front of the house.  I got closer – not letting Bo get to it – and saw that it was a little bird (I looked it up online and think it was a junco) with its beak tucked under a wing, all curled up.  I was concerned about it, but decided to let it be. When we came back it was in the same position, about a foot away from where it was.   I went in to call Wild Care to find out if I should pick it up and move it to a place where it wouldn’t be so vulnerable. When I came back out it had uncurled and was lying on its side on the sidewalk, eyes open and not responding when I nudged it with a leaf.  The sweet little bird had died.

Being there on either side of this little bird’s death told me what to write about today – because I’ve been watching something in my consciousness and have been resisting writing about it.  You see, I’ve been noticing myself ponder “the last time” of a lot of things.  It occurs to me that there will be a last time for everything.   As I’m painting, I think, one day, there will be a last painting I ever make. There will be a last time Bo and I hike up that hill, a last kiss that Joseph and I share, the last time we will sleep in this house, or go to Kauai, or….  I even go to the point of thinking of the day the last human is alive on the planet and the last bit of energy emanates from our sun.  It’s a star and stars burn out.

Some of these “last times” are not so momentous. We will probably not live in this house for the rest of our lives, so the last night we sleep here we will know that it is and can be present to it, grateful for all the rest and shelter this house has provided to us. But will I know which is the last painting I make? Or that this is the last kiss?

There is another version – that this is never to be repeated. Often it’s in the kitchen.  I make a soup with the bones and juices from a leftover chicken that had rosemary and a bit of lemon in it. To the broth I throw in the cauliflower/leek gratin leftovers, and some cold mashed potatoes, puree it up with a bit of milk and grated parmesan and it’s soup we start meals with over a few days.  I know I will never make that same soup again, the ingredients are never the same.

Eee-gads!  What am I doing, thinking this way?!  It all seems quite morbid!  But it’s true, it’s real.  Nothing in our manifest world is forever.  Everything dies, ends, runs out or cannot be repeated.  And we want it that way.  If I think about, even feel into, being immortal, my physical body living on and on and on into forever, it’s dreadful.  The endlessness is heavy. There is a blandness, even a torturous-ness to it.  But more importantly, I think that if things don’t end, then nothing is precious. Taken to a finer point, the moments of my life – our lives – are each distinct and different and are never to be again. For me thinking this way is a huge call to mindfulness – to be awake and present as much as I can.

I absolutely do live in the trust that the sun will come up in the morning, warming our planet for billions of years yet and that Joe will come home and give me a “hello, Honey” kiss this evening. But, paying attention to the “someday” keeps me awake for this morning’s “have a good day” kiss (which we just shared!).

I was lying in bed this morning thinking about all of this and wondering if I think about these “last times” all the time, how do I not get despondent, what keeps me inspired?  And I felt the skin on my body, warm and alive, I felt my body being breathed, without my having to think about it. I felt the eternal. The life force, the Source – for me it’s God. It animates it all, us all.  My faith is that God is never-ending.  It’s the “why” in my life – it gets me out of bed, connects me with Joe, Bo, you all – it gives me the energy to write this journal entry.

Ok, so there voice in me is saying I can’t believe that I’m writing about this. It’s quite trippy and I’m quite sure this is so not all there is to say about it. I’d love to know what it brings up in you, and what your experience is.

On another note – I finished a painting and will update later today.  Bright fall color – different than anything I’ve done before. I’m looking forward to what you think of it.

Wishing you color and light today.