Rescue

Wikimedia Commons

 

 

 

 

 

Nature has been on the rampage lately. Wildfires, earthquakes, and hurricanes have
kept the weather in the news and prayers in our hearts. Thankfully, all the people I
know in Florida have survived unscathed.

Here’s what I wrote a few days ago after my morning ritual of meditation in the hot
tub:

Rescue

A bee drops in my hot tub,
twirling on its back.
I flick it out with water in my palm.
No sting.

Is it grateful?
No.
Is it not grateful?
No.

Life calls.

 

While Nature is indifferent we are part of it, and what we do has an impact on the
health of all that lives or dies around us. The manatees were stranded when the
ocean got sucked out to sea; countless birds and bees were walloped by wind and
water, and we were helpless to come to their aid.

A single bee, saved from hot water is an act of remembrance, that all species have a
right to life.

What calls you?

(Image credit: Wikimedia Commons)

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13 Responses to Rescue

  1. Lovely.

    My stream calls to me for quiet times. A stream shared with my puppy Shayna and with memories of sharing it with Daniel. But the rest of the time, people — the wide variety of ideas, hopes and worries that each carries within — are what really call to me and drive me forward.

    • Nice to hear from you Sally. I cannot know just how hard it must be to not have Daniel. But I wish you the quiet of your stream and joy in your puppy!

    • Dear Mary, Thank you for your lovely response. I’m so sorry to hear about the loss of your second brother of four. I can only say that having lost one of my brothers, I know what a hole it leaves. The shared memories are so important. Hopefully you can still share some with your two remaining brothers.
      How nice that you met my father. He did indeed teach me about unconditional love. What a gift.

  2. Phyll says:

    What calls to me: animals, art, Nature, beauty, kindness and peace. And, the first credo of all doctors (and, I’ll add, “healers”) is to, “do no harm.” If everyone could adopt this sentiment, what
    a lovely world we could ALL experience and share.

    Here’s a poem I feel inspired to write:

    Little and large
    Ladybug and barge;
    Forests and fields
    Wildflowers and Beetles;
    Sand and sea
    You and me;
    All deserve to be free,
    And live in HARMONY.

  3. Wanda Urbanska says:

    Nothing is too small to make a difference — saving a bee from death by hot tub, reusing a stray paperclip, shunning throwaway, single-use items. Eileen, I love your meditations.

    Saw you quoted this weekend in the New York Times about the sale of your family farm. I am certain you’re learned a lot about letting go and moving forward this past year…

    • Dear Wanda, Glad you saw the quote in the NYT’s. I hope we find a buyer who truly appreciates the beauty of that property.
      Thanks for your kind remarks on my poetry and meditations. One of these days I’ll have a book out!

  4. Hi Eileen, Lovely photo, poem and article… I am “called” by wanting a sense of order in my day; that is to say, a feeling of being in a non-threatening world with nature, security for my family and attaining a general pleasantness that enables me to cope. I have never been in a hot tub and only meditated for a few vy short moments, but I do breathe, stretch, exercise, listen to music, cook, dress and shop, read, make lists tacked around, “stay in touch” with friends, etc.. My dog Nova, who I also, call Novena, swallowed a big queen bee, like the one in your photo, yesterday, on our deck! I said,”Oh, no”… So, I must refrain from being a competent “first responder” in this instance.

    Yet, despite all, I know something is “amiss” in me and I try to rest that awareness…

    I, too, saw the photos of your family house, so beautiful and knew all had spent many happy times there, as an active, large happy family.

    Glad to read your FLA friends are unharmed. My fingers were crossed for my FLA family and friends, too. Have a sunny day! HAPPY AUTUMN.

  5. joan says:

    Lovely Eileen . . . so many years ago I personally realized that life is not a “given” — and it can turn on a dime. , , and, as a complete nature lover, I felt a shower of tears as I watched the men showing up in groups to lift the beached manatees back into the Florida waters. “We are here in this life to help others” was almost a mantra in my family — something we did naturally. I learned early – and well.

    But for those of us who have suddenly experienced life-and-death experiences in a single moment as I did: a ship I was on sank in Antarctica suddenly. Unbelievably, all escaped, floating on rubber rafts to eventual safety in ice-filled waters.. And so we understand the feelings personally of those trapped, not knowing what will be their next moments. Once was not to be enough for us: an enormous rogue wave ripped toward our little ship in the high Arctic. Our ship rolled over onto its side for a forever time — with some disastrous effects to passengers. Those who survived knew we were in a very private fraternity of people who have faced death. We will not be the same.

    We cannot judge why we survived — but each of us knew we had survived for a reason. . . and I now those in dicey situations as those in Florida experience, they will never feel the same. But the camaraderie of people helping people provide the most uplifting moments we will ever have.

    And, to me. those photos should be shown as often as possible. The help we can give others is what life is all about.

    Love to you.

  6. Damon Vickers says:

    beautiful eileen, is all life simply a manifestation of consciousness? articulating itself into one form or another… now on now off this lifetime… now another… if we remove the ego what is really left but the state of being, and maybe that is best as all my thinking and figuring amounts to little, save the state of simply being – present-/ clearly you were. 🙂

  7. Mary says:

    Autumn on the East Coast calls to me. I am looking forward to the freedom of a little time, and a spot in the woods or by the ocean, to write in October. It’s taken me a little while to reach out and post here. Your poetry is beautiful. I was especially taken with your “letting go” post – loosing a loved one like a mobile regaining balance. In January I lost a second of my four older brothers. When I lost my first brother, foreman of the Farm Barn at Greenrock, your father was a benevolent neighbor who’s gentlemanly human-kindness meant a good deal to me. Although I had only one very brief “meeting” your father’s ability to immediately put one at ease and share a sense of love and respect touched my soul. He will continue to be an inspiration to me and to many around the world, in all walks of life. My deepest condolences on the loss of your father. It appears that he taught you to love, and you, as children can do, taught him to love even better. God bless.

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