In Search of Hope

A number of months ago, a few brief moments of joy in my life ended in a whole lot of sadness. Shortly after I discovered that was pregnant, I had a miscarriage. So in recent months, I’ve been on a journey in pursuit of hope and healing. Making the choice to seek out beauty, remain optimistic and to be at peace with reality isn’t the easiest task. We all know how tempting it is to want to hold on to the toxicity of anger or pain. It’s tempting to want to view the world as an unkind and unjust place. Nevertheless, I’ve tried to put my best foot forward and although my experiences have not been without difficulty, I’ve been humbled by the healing that has unfolded through the process.

I’ve been reminded that as Gabrielle Bernstein says – the Universe has my back – whether I care to acknowledge it or not. I’ve also been reminded that when you set the intention to find something that something is searching for you too. Hope has found me in various ways – in the love of my supportive husband, in the beauty of simplicity and most frequently in the wild whispers of the Earth. Each day, Nature reminds me of what hope is, giving me precious gifts like feathers, the magic of my daffodils and strawberries blooming in the middle of winter and the feel of the warm winter sun against my skin.

In an article that I wrote about my miscarriage for wildwoman.com, I said that:

“Wild Earth is a story of hope. She turns endings into new beginnings. New life always returns to places that have been ravaged by violent fires. At winter’s end the Crocus and Lily of the valley push their pretty little heads through the snow. Seeds that have rested in permafrost for 3,000 years can be brought back to life and germinated. Even arid deserts hold wild stories of hope and promise. The Earth shows us how to start over.” (You can read the full article here – The Secret Life of Surrender)

Even though I’ve experienced a loss, my heart is softened by the nuggets of loveliness and hopefulness of life that seems to keep showing up. Every day, the Universe, Goddess and the Earth show me that live goes on and that what is lost is replaced with new life. And so I remain hopeful, blessed and continuing my journey in search of ever greater hope.

daffodil

 

The Moth, The Mountains, The Rivers

On days when my soul craves the healing balm of poetry, I find myself seeking solace in the words of Mary Oliver. Today has been one such day and the words Oliver strung together into the poem – The Moth, the Mountains, the Rivers – seep deep into spaces in need of the soothing embrace of  this sacred poetic language.

 

The Moth, The Mountains, The Rivers

by Mary Oliver

Who can guess the luna’s sadness who lives so

briefly? Who can guess the impatience of stone
longing to be ground down, to be part again of
something livelier? Who can imagine in what
heaviness the rivers remember their original
clarity?

Strange questions, yet I have spent worthwhile
time with them. And I suggest them to you also,
that your spirit grow in curiosity, that your life
be richer than it is, that you bow to the earth as
you feel how it actually is, that we- so cleaver, and
ambitious, and selfish, and unrestrained- are only
one design of the moving, the vivacious many.

African Black Duck

Gliding Gracefully

I am enamoured with moorhen. I love the ease with which they glide across the water. Gracefully and in perfect stillness, they sail effortlessly. All around me the mark of winter’s touch is seen in the dry grass and bare leafless trees. But as they wade through the dry reeds on the water, they bring with them the graceful touch of life. As the gentle breeze brushes against my skin and the fading winter sun brings the comfort of warmth, I find myself thinking of how peaceful it would feel the carry the grace of floating yellowbilled ducks and moorhen into my own movement and in the way that I sail through life’s many experiences – with the same leisurely sense of trust, coupled with a deep sense of purpose at the same time. For the moment, I close my eyes and bask in the essence of what I’ve observed, with the word Grace as a mantra echoing in the quiet spaces within me. Something in me whispers:

“Great Mother Earth, Goddess, Divine Spirit…show me how to witness and invite the flow of grace into my life, into my experiences and into my heart.”

Listening, I hear the dry grass and reeds rustling. And then the knowing sets in. The knowing that grace is found in breathing, in noticing and in being present to the mystery of what is before me in this moment, as well as what is within me.

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