More than Can Be Read In Books

 

I more clearly see an ending to this journey, with each day bringing me closer to a final scene. I want whatever time is left to be meaningful for myself and others. After seven decades on earth with myriad experiences, all inscribed in God´s cosmic records and my memory, I yearn for more wisdom, understanding and insight into life.

At times in the last few months I have had the feeling, What am I doing with my life? What am I to do with my time?  I have been an artist, writer, photographer, traveler, husband, father and friend. All has helped define me. Now, what more? Of course moving with Amy to a little village in Mexico flipped our lives. My art changed and I ask , Where am I? Who am I?

An excerpt from the writings of Bahaú´llah has been as a lantern in the darkness for me for many years: “O My friend, listen with heart and soul to the songs of the spirit, and treasure them as thine own eyes.” – Baha’u’llah, The Seven Valleys.

An urge recently  took hold to go alone on a vision quest, forsaking food and routine in order to get spiritual clarity. There is a a nature reserve called Cuatro Venados, or Four Deer, about 45 minutes from our house and the road there is paved, with little traffic.

We drove and Amy left me alone, agreeing to return on the third day. An old man took my 500 pesos ( about 25.00 USD) for two nights, then showed me uphill to a cabin made of adobe mud bricks and timber. It could sleep 6 people and had a fireplace. Basically a big room with bathroom attached. Windows with curtains on three sides. Other cabins were nearby on the hillside but I was the only one staying there. Very quiet and I soon felt alone. 

Nearby, a short walk down a dusty road and into the woods is a waterfall that is fabulous. It is part of the attraction of the eco-resort. Also on the property are little trails I explored. A creek runs through on its way to the waterfall. Especially I thrilled at the pine trees and greenery all around. At home, everything is dusty and brown from four months of dry season and no rain. 

Curiously, I had no hunger, and if a small craving came I enjoyed quashing it. My energy stayed good, but eventually I tired more easily during walks. The last night I woke and felt very strange including my heart. If I spiraled into something dangerous I was stuck without help. So I ate a bowl of granola and coconut water.

Everything around was speaking to me: the pine trees, birds, temperatures that went from hot to cold, stars in the night sky, silence and nature. I wrote in my journal: Just being, no agenda—The sound of a gurgling brook. Inhaling pine sap that has been warmed by sunlight. Water flowing over land and through the woods, meandering serpentine until a cliff interrupts its course, causing it to cascade through air, splashing on rock, falling more in spray and thunder until collecting in pools⏤only to resume an inexorable journey. I sit on a hillside that is covered deep in pine needles, under pine trees, while listening to the waterfall. The forest is dappled in light. Air is cool and balmy with gentle breezes wafting all around.  

“Nothing do I perceive, but I perceive God within it, God before it and God after it.” – Baha’u’llah

“Sometimes a tree can tell you more than can be read in books.”  ⏤C G Jung

A Metaphor

Shadowman amid ruins, Andalucia, Spain

A metaphor of my life of the last few months might be a traveler who is on a journey with a close

partner and along the way, the partner decides to permanently go in a different direction alone. Suddenly the journeyman feels abandoned in a foreign land, and laments his separation. The landscape becomes tangled and even threatening. He is in a jungle of snares and brambles that cut his flesh and at night he is assailed by ghosts and mosquitos. He does not fear death, but is perplexed at being so anxious of his predicament. Meanwhile, his partner is completely vanished.

The difficulties usurp his appetite so that he does not eat. He wonders at his plight and how his life has changed so drastically. Occasionally sunlight filters through the dense coverage of brambles and vines, and he hears bird songs, but it all seems abstract and without meaning because he is ensnared by sorrow. He notices that his cuts heal, so his body is working . . .

He finds an abandoned house—the occupants left it long ago and it is in shambles. He takes shelter, but it reminds him of loss—the walls are crumbling, the roof caved in, furniture broken.

Abandoned home, Andalucia, Spain

The outer world has no charm. He turns inward to find inspiration when Spirit comes to take his hand and sit with him. He receives grace, and sees everything that has happened is really a gift to bring him to the sacred place of his true self that is beyond time and space. The terrain was all meant for him, the journey ordained to make him master of his destiny. He is shown his inner compass to his destination in the higher realm. The spirits rejoice that the soul, fearful of being lost without help, is knowing his true path and can call on higher power anytime. His troubles have led him to greater freedom and made him more powerful.

The wanderer sets out from the broken home, compass firmly in hand, and listening to spirit, feels jubilant and knows he is well with good fortune ahead. He begins receiving gifts from strangers . . . the terrain becomes unencumbered and beautiful. He finds palaces that are welcoming, and hosts who are happy to greet him. He has many tales to tell of life. A physician examines him thoroughly and announces that he is as fit as a man twenty years younger. 

The traveler is thankful and gives praise to the Creator and spirit for always being with him. He knows he would still be lost if not for the compass and power that comes from invisible guides and allies. He prays never to forget his true life and destiny in Spirit.

My living room. (The big painting sold recently.)

Gardens, Kashmir, India