My youngest son is 46 years old today.  It’s a warm, sunny day with so much twittering it sounds like spring, but the Monarch butterflies are flying about which means fall.

Perhaps a day of celebrating birth unites all the years, brings the seasons together like a womb holding and preparing for emergence of a new coherence and birth.

I read recently that when two sand dunes approach, come together, and part, they leave behind a tiny sand dune. I’ve never observed this for myself but I immerse in the image of connection, separation, and birth.

The windows are open, unusual for here, and in the night I heard all the critters that come out to explore and feed in the dark.  I forget how active the night is, and perhaps that’s another entry into appreciation of where life leads me now as I age and mature. What am I coming to see that I didn’t notice or acknowledge before? What fills and guides me now?

I just finished reading Returning Light: Thirty Years on the Island of Skellig Michael by Robert L. Harris.

The book is a poetic meditation on his 30 years as a caregiver and guide on the Irish island of Skellig Michael.  He’s there from May to October, observing and living with thousands of birds, especially puffins, and the memories of the monks who a thousand years ago built on this rock a place to isolate and meditate.  It’s a place for the waves of light to unite loneliness and belonging.

Harris writes: Emptiness. And light changing, and changing, the vision of ourselves.  

Light! Change! Vision!

Who likes it?

I do!