Instead
of orange and brown leaves, drops of rain clothe the tangled branches on the plum tree outside
my front door. Blessed moisture. Long awaited liquid. During the night I heard
the metered drip from a broken seam in the roof gutter near my bedroom window
call cadence while the dark hours passed in review. Once I awoke to the mild
roar of a deluge pounding on my roof. I gave thanks for that roof and its
protection.
Now,
looking at this natural scene, I see there are measured spaces between the
drops on the branches. The only deviation comes where a twig has broken off.
These pearls of water cling there, until a wind or a bird bumps the tree and
scatters water everywhere.
I
am thinking about the value of repetition, of routines too. I have not been one
who liked schedules or measured configurations as I am seeing. I never wanted
to color inside the lines. I wanted to draw or paint my own picture.
In
fact, I’ve been known as a rebel from an early age, looking for different ways
to accomplish the same task. I have mixed different combinations of ingredients
whether it be for casseroles, facial products, color coordination. I have rarely
followed the same recipe twice.
Yet
as I have aged, I have begun to understand there is a value to routine, doing
the same thing in the same way every time. I learned early in my nurse’s
training that I couldn’t ad lib a catheterization. Making a bed was best done a
certain way with the least amount of effort especially with a patient in the
middle of soiled linen. Preparation for a bedside procedure in 1965 demanded
organization because the handy tools did not come packaged in a plastic
container. I had to gather each item from different sterilized pots and bring
them safely to the patient’s room. If a doctor found that I had forgotten
something, his scowl chased me back through the cubicle ward and then the public
ward to the nurses’ station. We weren’t allowed to run either.
SO,
with 50 years of nursing under my belt, thirty-three years of participating in Native
American prayer ceremonies, and 34 years as a Reiki Master/practitioner, I am
definitely seeing the value of established patterns and routines.
In
churches and synagogues, with yoga, qigong, Tai Chi, chanting etc., a certain
set of movements, prayers, sounds … brings us all an opportunity to join our
voice, our energies, our focus and intent towards the same ends.
We
bond in a way with consciousness and yet also within a magical form of non-consciousness,
even if we are miles away from each other, even when doing the same thing at
different times.
Today
is Thanksgiving. We may not all be doing the same thing, eating the same
recipes but there are so many of us who are giving thanks: for our homes or any
form of weather protection, our survival if we have lost everything, our
family, warm coats, and, well, just all of those things which bring us whatever
comfort we can feel. Gratitude for what is right around us is the best thing we can do to gird our loins, so to speak, for whatever is coming next. Giving thanks just takes a deep breath and an awareness of where and who we are. I have a long list tonight.
May
the blessings we can count continue. May the wounds and sorrows, joys and
possibilities be embraced. May we know we are each unique and special. May we
join voices to sing or hum or speak our gratitude for All That Is, All That Has
Been, and All That Can Be.
May
we all be kind to one another and to ourselves and to the wondrous elements of
our world: water, earth, air and fire. May these life-affirming essentials be
allowed to come into Balance.