Resentments

Sad to say but lately I have been carrying around some resentments.  It's an onerous load and I don't enjoy it.  As the song says "Heavy are the satchels full of anger and false promise.   May we find the strength to put them down."

It does take strength to put down resentments.  I feel so justified in having them.  I didn't deserve what happened.  It wasn't fair.

All this may be true, but it doe me no good to carry anger in my heart.

I stop for a moment  and listen to Spring outside.  The birds are singing to one another and building nests.   The cats ears are twitching, I think they'd like to play with the birds.  The view from my window is a beautiful flowering tree (I don't know what type it is, but it's lovely and pink).  All this wonderment of the world, just waiting for me to notice.

I don't notice the beauty when I am holding anger.  My attention is on the anger.

Also, there is the twelve step program:  it encourages me to stop and see what I have contributed to a situation that invites me to keep anger close.   Now, I really don't want to examine my part.  I want to be the innocent.  I want to be the Good Guy.   I sure don't want to take any responsibility for some of the ugliness.

But if I want to grow, if I don't want to be in the same situation again, I need to see my part.  I can't change if I don't see what needs changing.

Drat!

Crickets & Cats

Even though it is not quite the middle of Feb., Spring has come to my part of the world.  I can tell by the number of dead crickets that have been lovingly left as offerings by grateful felines.  The cats delight in bringing me proof of their expertise in hunting.  They expect to be praised and petted, and they are not disappointed.

I have nothing against crickets.  In fact, I rather like them.  I love listening to their songs at night.  When I come upon one in my yard, I marvel at their beauty, both in color and in design.  The clean arch of their jump as they leap to safer grounds fills me with Awe.  When I find a dead one, I feel sad for the cricket, but glad for the cat.

My life is blessed with 6 wonderful cats: three are golden, two are grey and white, one is a water-colored calico.  All are precious children of the Earth, of God, if you will.  So are the crickets.  They too are precious children of this Earth.  As am I.  As are you.

Beauty is not always something you can put into words, you can only experience it.  The beauty of cricket-song is a blessing for those who stay awake as the darkness falls.  It is comforting.  It says all is right with the world.  

Yes, I am aware that too many crickets can devastate a crop.  To experience beauty is not to be blind to other aspects of it.  I love storms, for instance.  Yet storms can be highly destructive.  But somethings about the wind whipping about, the darkness gathering, the sound of the trees and grass bowing to the power of the storm, all that makes my blood sing.  It calls to something primordial in me.

Cats too, have their destructive side.  They are mighty hunters and for someone like myself, who tries to reverence all forms of life, it can be disconcerting to see a cat bring home a frightened mouse as a gift for me.  All I can do is praise the cat while I try to catch the mouse to set it outside before the cats can get at it again.

Yet when all the cats (and the dogs) are curled up in bed with me, all I can feel is the beauty of them.  All I can hear is the song of their purr.  All I can see is their grace.  

I am blessed by having them in my life, both the cats, and the crickets.

Feeling Sorry for God

Sometimes I feel sorry for God.  I mean, it must be terribly boring to have to listen to the same complains or requests from so many folks.  Myself?  When I talk with God it is usually the same old thing.  I’m no different than anyone else.

Sometimes I try to think of something a little different, just so that it’s worth His/Her time to listen, but I never come up with anything really original.

I figure God gets more complaints than Kudos, which is kinda a shame.  I mean, there’s so much good stuff in the world, but we seldom notice or give credit.

Myself, I love moss.  It’s tiny and compact, and absolutely beautiful.  Every time I see moss, I think of faeries dancing on it.  Yet how often to I remember to thank  God for such beauty?  Almost never.  Shame on me.

Or books.  I do love reading.  And so many authors are so creative.  They take me away to all sorts of marvelous places.  The novels introduce me to people and places I’d never go to on my own.  The non-fiction often inspires me to try something new, an idea, an art tip, a new gardening way, whatever.  Straight History fascinates me too—all the research that goes into it, the people who have gone before.   Yet how often do I thank God for Guttenberg?  Or the creativity of the authors?  Again, almost never.  (even e-books owe their beginnings to Guttenberg)

Frankly, I like my own creativity and the pleasure I get from writing or doing my art.  I ought to thank somebody for that.

So I apologize to God.  For my distractedness in not noticing the good stuff, for my forgetting to compliment Him/Her

I’ll try to do better.