Yesterday I spoke with a woman who after her best friend died, her four year old daughter saw the woman who had passed planting seeds in their yard.  The mother explained to her daughter that couldn’t be so, but summer came and their yard was blooming with thick-stemmed sunflowers, the flowers her friend loved most.

Years ago I had a tiny basket that held three tiny foil-wrapped chocolate eggs.  It sat on our wall system near a sliding glass door. One day I returned, and there were three watermelon seeds filling the basket.  The colorful eggs were gone with a gift in exchange.

I can imagine a blue jay or crow came in and made the exchange, a fair exchange for sure, and this with the sunflowers is different, and yet, there’s something about the surprise in it, the joy, that lifts my heart on this day of fog.

What moves beyond the veil?

This morning I spoke with my son.  Baby in the womb is moving along and my son told me of the many decisions to be made.  Yesterday I was with two women in their forties, who were speaking of how overwhelmed they feel with lists of things to do, with obligations, and “shoulds”.  We discussed whether it is a cliche to say that some lives are so over-scheduled that a person in the ICU appreciates the time with nothing to do.

I find myself wanting to sit and reflect, to be the still lake into which people look to find moments of peace.  I want to be the mud through which the lotus rises. I want to be an example what it is to know enough.

My brother passed 62 days ago.  Our father viewed life as play. I feel them both  waving wands over me, wands sparkling and spraying bubbles of love and kindness, contentment, acceptance, joy, and play.

I’m reminded that in fourth grade, I was the fairy in the play Sleeping Beauty who waved a wand and said, ”I give you kindness.”

I want to wave a wand of kindness over a world that seems shaken with division and fear.  I trust there is a place where seeds are planted and placed, circulating love and kindness between the folds of the veil.  Children can see them, and so can we, when we allow ourselves to be like a child, open to the seams.

Scarab knows – ask Carl Jung

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