My Dear Friends, Relatives, Companions upon the Path:

It’s a rainy day up here in the North Country. Outliers from the current hurricane are pushing in from the South. We’ve already had significant flooding and the aquifers are filled, inundated rivers rush into the swollen lakes. Most days I spend time with my bedraggled garden harvesting what I can and head out on my bike, leaving the village behind, to check on the Ospreys. I listen for their usual callings as I come into view of their nest. They seem to be comfortable with my presence over the Spring and Summer. And surely, they lift my spirit upward with their soaring high ebullient displays of grace gliding free and unfettered in the holy air.

Yesterday, I was gifted with their fledgling staring down at me from the nest above, Very soon now, I’ll turn into view listening for their calls but there will be only an empty silence. I’ll fight off crying and bless them. And with an expectant heart listen for their call when I come into view next Spring.

When I’m sitting down at my desk and sharing, something like the hawks, the words flow unencumbered from my heart to yours. We’re in the air flying together, rising and swooping through the floating clouds.  But when I try to explain my daily struggles, words become like quick sand. I spend time each day deciphering the startling onslaught of memories that present themselves to me throughout each day – Where did that one turn up from? – reassessing old self-exonerating interpretations. Fair to say, the inner work of unravelling the past and taking responsibility requires expanding honesty, deeper vulnerability, and transformational humility.   As we commit ourselves to the path of releasing the past authentic gratitude replaces resentment.

Did I already send this to you? I see it scratched out on a scrap piece of paper. It’s my handwriting: Whenever, I hear from you or see your face, it’s like a transfusion of Light. It brings me to a smile. What a gift to share.

I look forward to seeing each other in the mirror of our eyes.

Abiding Peace,           

Carl