Mysterious Skies

Graham has been really ill over the last month. It began with bronchitis, which turned into a lung staphylococcus infection. He collapsed during our visit with the family and was taken to hospital by ambulance for an overnight stay. The infection cleared within two weeks, yet Graham still wheezed and coughed and could not get Air into his lungs.

Once again, he was hospitalized, where he was given Oxygen and ventilizers and other medications.  His stay this time lasted for four days...and his doctor suspects his illness is COPD. In a few weeks, he will see a lung specialist for confirmation.


We hope, in this case, his doctor's prediction is wrong, of course.

During all this upheaval, I found I could do very little. I wandered from one thing to another and I was no longer able to voice my thoughts. It was as if I were living in an empty space...a void...where nothing could intrude.


But I discovered something that did intrude, something that is awe-inspiring, miraculous and exciting.


There is a lot of activity in the Skies these days.


I discovered this one night about a month ago when I took Lucky out for his last walk of the day. Each time it is around eight PM and of course, it is very dark around that time. There are no lights of any kind that intrude where I live; flashlights are the order of the day (or night) when Lucky and I venture outside.

I am accustomed to seeing satellites crossing the night Sky, and falling Stars and Meteors. On certain nights, it seems as if the heavenly bodies hang by a thread...it seems as if I could reach out and touch them. The atmosphere is so very clear here; one can see for miles into the deep, black Universe. There have been many nights when I have wished for a telescope for the ability to see farther into the Universe than the human eye ever could.

I am not looking for UFO's the first evening I spot them, as Lucky and I venture outside. I am only looking up, and marvelling at the Stars. To my astonishment, as I stare at a vivid little Star, a tiny round bit zips away from it, sending out an especially bright green flare. It flies South, then West, then back North again...back to its original "Star".


What was that!...I say to Lucky, who perks his ears.

The tiny UFO flew so fast...if I could only describe how fast!


I think my eyes must be tricking me...tiredness and emotional stress over Graham must surely have taken over...


But then the little "bit" zips away again...this time, heading South in a winking, wavering line until it is out of sight. There are one or two flashes of an...electric type of green and pink. I am not sure I have described those unearthly flashes correctly...they were quite unlike anything I've seen before in the night Sky. Even Northern Lights pale in comparison, and are very dissimilar in any case.

I tell Lucky...They must have forgotten their toothbrushes...


For many reasons, that first sighting, and the ones subsequent to these, fill me with a joyful expectancy. I feel as if I have been washed clean and clear throughout, with a loving feathery touch.


I become addicted to watching the Sky, feeling quite out of sorts when it is cloudy. But one night, expecting Snow, I look up in time to see a Cloud light up with that unearthly flash again. This time, the brilliance was of many colours, although it did not have any lasting effects on the Cloud. The Light was there and then it was gone completely.

Another night, it had been Raining. But, right above me, Clouds had parted in a circle, leaving heavy Stars to hang in the void. I was looking North, above our house. I see three tiny UFO's chasing each other, making impossible configurations. Again, they seem to be attached to a larger "Star".


As I stare at the bigger "Star", keeping the little ones in my peripheral vision, I notice it is different from what an ordinary Star might look like. It looks and feels harder. The brilliance of it is digital and static.

As I keep my eyes on the fantastic display above me, there is a flare from the Star, which I feel more than actually see, if that makes any sense. And then, as I watch in complete wonder, I see pulses of some kind of energy wash slowly away from the Star, towards the protective ring of Cloud cover.


I can find nothing anywhere that tells me what those slow pulses might have been. They were slower and more precise than those a pebble dropped into a pond might have made, but very similar.


I watched three emanate from the "Star", before I became aware of how cold I was. Lucky, who had become quite excited as the pulses washed over us from above, had been at the door for awhile. The neighbourhood Dogs, who had began to bark and howl, when the first pulse appeared, had quietened, seeming to accept the consequent pulses or rings of muted light.


I decided to go in and warm up. Later, I went outside again, unable to resist. The circle of Cloud was still there. I watched for awhile, seeing nothing, but just as I was about to go in, the burst of Light occurred again...and again, there were the rings emanating from the "Star".


I wondered if those strange, intermittent pulses would continue all night. 


The incredible activity in the mysterious Sky has stopped. It has been at least two weeks since I saw the last strange Lights. I feel rather bereft...

I'm grateful for my time with these tinkling, teeny Lights in the night Sky. They took my mind off  the daily stress I was experiencing with Graham's illness. Strangely, they gave me hope.


Look up on a clear Night and study the Stars. Watch for the ones that move...

Wild Roses

Many long years ago, when I was a small girl, the best part of the school session was the month of June, and not only because it was the beginning of Summer holidays.

I travelled home by school bus. The weather had warmed up by June; the bus windows were all open. And every once in a while, a waft of Air would bring in the scent of the wild Rose, which grew rampant on the sides of the roads.


I was amazed at this flower. She came back year after year, without any tending. And Rose's scent...clean, fruity, sharp, sweet and unmistakable...made me gather fist loads of her to give to my Mother, never minding the thorns. I did this until I discovered how fleeting the life of Rose's flower was, once picked.

Her beautiful, scented blossom is meant to be admired outside, where Sun and Rain and Wind release her ethereal essence. It seemed to me that she breathed out the very smell of the upcoming Summer.

And here she is again. Our property has wild Roses everywhere. Some do not like her; they pull her, they poison her, they bulldoze the Soil around her. And eventually, she does not come back.


There are very few wild Roses blooming along roadsides anymore.

But I love her.  She can be difficult to love, with her running roots and her habit of hanging on to her dead canes until there is very little of her blooming canes left in a huge tangled bush. Rose does so for a reason...those old canes give her support when she leafs out, when she blooms, and finally, when her red hips hang ripe and luscious.

When I cleared the lower bench, I took out those old canes, and pruned the others.  Rose has rewarded me with an abundance of blooms...but she can not hold herself upright, if the canes left were small. One of the jobs on my list is to stake those dangling, lovely balls of pink, in so doing giving Rose strength to grow those large hips.
 

She will send up other canes.  If they are in the same area as the cane left after clearing, I will leave them, in order to build  a bush.  I did this with a small, wild Rose I found when we moved in, right by the West side of the deck steps.

After two seasons, she glows.  She is clothed in pink with very healthy dark green leaves, used almost as a fashion accessory. It is as if, at any moment, she may pick up her skirts and twirl and dance, as if in a minuet.


From a very unassuming little Rose, about the size of a minute, she has grown three feet, possible more if I had let her. But I pruned, fertilized and clipped, last year when there was little in the garden to nurture.


And she has certainly rewarded me! Now my concern is for how large she will grow...and how much clipping and pruning there will be, in the future.


When I smell her unforgettable scent, as I work in the beginning stages of what will be a garden, I am transported back to my childhood.  It never fails to make me smile with anticipation for the upcoming Summertime.


It doesn't matter that I no longer have Summer vacations such as I had as a child.  I am flooded with happy memories, all of which shower me with joy and well-being. In reality, my childhood was not always like this; yet, Rose only sends me cheerful, buoyant recollections.


And this is the way I prefer to remember my past...with joy. I have left the rest...the garbage left over from lessons learned...behind.


Wild Rose takes me back in time when I first began my journey. A time of anticipation and innocence, a time when life's sorrows had not yet tinged happiness for me.


And I wonder...perhaps it is time, once again, to view the World through those proverbial rose-coloured glasses I once owned...the ones I put away long ago? Perhaps it is time to put the scarred, cracked and blackened ones away,  along with that left-over garbage?



The scent of Wild Rose tells me it just might be so.

Destiny and Dreams

I am beginning to feel like a character living in a distant, Wintry Forest, those which are depicted so well in the Grimm's Brother's fairy tales.

Or perhaps, the countryside in Russia shown in Dr. Zhivago is also descriptive of where I live. Parts of it were filmed in Canada, after all.


Do you remember the scene where Zhivago says goodbye to Lara?  Those fields through which the horse drawn wagon takes Lara...away from Dr. Zhivago...those fields are very reminiscent of the vast, snow blanketed land in the Cariboo.


I wept rivers...torrents of tears...during that scene.

As a very impressionable fourteen year old when Dr. Zhivago aired; as a child who read Grimm's tales, inhaling descriptions of the sometimes terrifying  landscape in each story...I pledged then, so many years ago, to live in a similar area.


I pledged, in my romantic adolescent mind, to one day live in a harsh climate, believing, in a very imaginative way, that this was the one of the ways I could face the demons of life.


I had forgotten my youthful pledge, but the Universe sent a message this morning.  Lara's Theme was running through my head, even before I opened my eyes.

This morning, the temperature read -24C. With a North West Wind, it was not long before the inside of my nose became rimmed with frost... Cold is cold, as Goatman's brother says, but I'm here to tell you whatever one thinks is cold...it can get much colder.


But with the words from Lara's theme by Paul Francis Webster..." Somewhere, my love, there will be songs to sing, although the Snow covers the hopes of Spring. Somewhere, a hill blossoms in green and gold, and there are dreams, all that your heart can hold..." racing through my mind, during the morning chores, I remembered my long ago pledge.


With a cup of coffee steaming in my hand, I looked out at the awesome, silent Snow-covered landscape. And I remembered the dreams I had, so many, of living in a place just like here, right where I am.  How amazing.


I already understand, deep in my gut, I am here, in the Cariboo, to lay my inner demons to rest.  There have been numerous messages telling me so; I have largely ignored them. I fill my time, instead, with renos and landscaping, needleworking (an old hobby, becoming new again), and any other thing I can find to hide from what my soul is trying to bring to the forefront.


There are no signs of Spring here; there are no hills blossoming in greens and golds as yet, but this doesn't mean they are not there. The longer I live here, the more I understand about trusting something I cannot, as yet, visualize. The seeds of healing myself are only beginning to germinate.

When the time is right, they will burst into bloom...


In the meantime, I am living where, from earliest memories, I have visualized myself to be. It is proof to me how powerful visualizations are...especially if they have been held close for a lifetime.


Quite suddenly, I find myself in the place of my dreams.  And just because the reality is somewhat different from adolescent imaginings, just because the cold is harsh and Winter is long, does not mean Spring will not arrive.

It does not mean hope is lost.


The Universe doesn't make mistakes. I am here to find some thing of which I am not aware, perhaps.



Patience...ahhh, that old Lady Patience...is the key.

Sunrise in the Mountains

This morning I was greeted by the most impressive Sunrise I have yet to see, here in the Cariboo.  The show began slowly, built up and coloured the World a gorgeous orange-red-pink, the intensity of which changed the colour of the closed drapes.

And when I opened the drapes to see, my mouth opened in amazement. Through the Trees, Sun rising looked much like a huge Fire lighting the horizon. The glorious fingers of Sun licked Tree branches, back lighting them against a deep red Sky.


The message of Hope from Creator lasted only seconds...

It was enough to give me a reminder of renewal and anticipation. It is a new Day; the Sunrise reminds me of intentions and inspiration and gives me Will to follow through.


But the heart stopping beauty of the Message reminded me of Sam Beam's (Iron and Wine) words in his song Upwards Over the Mountain..."So may the Sunrise bring hope where once it was forgotten"...and quite suddenly, an epiphany, if you will...I knew, deep in the Heart of me, that I had, for a bit, forgotten. 


I had forgotten the tremendous uplift Hope gives me and, I suppose, countless others. For what is Life without this intangible feeling that all will be right?


During the last weeks, Hope has risen and fallen.  Answers have been difficult to come by.  Inspiration and creativity have fallen drastically, for me. It is as if I was waiting...for what, though?


During this odd waiting period, I could feel myself falling into the deep pit of Worry. Endlessly, I discussed my problems with myself, focusing without reprieve on the drastic state of things. And dwelling on Anger, fuelled by my seeming helplessness.


And this morning...I understood.  There is no waiting for things to be right.  They already are. As the Stones tell me...Things are exactly the way they should be, at this moment in time. Right now. The future is unknown; the past is just that.


People say the future is so uncertain.  But how do they know? Change can happen quickly...every Day can be taken with anticipation...a Day where aspirations can be fulfilled. A Day filled with uplifting Hope, instead of depressing Despondency.


Sunrise...every day Sun rises. Every Day, I can choose to see it and the Message given...or not. And if I choose to see, feel and even hear Sun's song of Hope...the Day begins with anticipatory excitement, colouring my World with peaceful, strong intentions.


If I choose to see Sun's rising as nothing much...He rises every Day, after all...I'll waste this precious Day, this precious Moment, with cloudy, perturbed thoughts.  Thoughts which can distort the Future. And my thoughts are possibly the only thing I can control.



Sun's message of Hope, now residing deeply within, lends positive reinforcement to what I want my Future to become. It is a work in progress, my Future, and I would prefer to drape it unequivocally with Happiness.
 
And this Morning's Sun rising gave me the impetus to do just that.