Two Doves

 

We all knew it was a message of love coming from heaven above. A once in a lifetime display never to be seen again. It’s been nineteen years since it happened but is still mentioned and makes me think how SPIRIT can use all creation to communicate to humans. Moreover, beings in the next world can give us physical signs that write indelible language upon our souls.

Someone recently read my memoir of my daughter Naomi called, A Heart Traced In Sand, Reflections On A Daughter’s Struggle For Life, and he mentioned the event. The story concludes the book. It demonstrates how life is interwoven through many realms; visible and invisible.

Naomi died of cancer in 1999 at age nineteen after a heroic battle to stay in the world she loved. One year later a group of devoted friends gathered at our home to remember her life. A woman who had been Naomi’s teacher brought materials to make a cord that we all could hold. Small pouches holding sacred objects like rose petals and each person’s note to Naomi were tied to the cord. We all went outside to a lawn and garden then stood together in a circle holding the cord and our prayer bags. One by one we read our remembrance and prayer. The sky had been cloudy and now it rained lightly in a mist. This was unusual because we had been in a drought. A dazzling rainbow appeared beside us. When the last person had read, we all stood together in unity. Suddenly two doves appeared directly above our circle, hovered for a second then dove spiraling downward so closely that their wings almost touched. Down they flew with rapidly beating wings and in perfect precision flew upward again, only to spiral down in place and rise again. The beating wings and precision of their spirals was joyous. It was apparent they came to bring a message of love to us. Then they flew away. One young person burst out, exclaiming, “I hope she keeps sending us messages like that, letting us know everything is okay!”

The Clouds

 

When my friend Therese saw the likeness of birds in twilight clouds and showed me the photograph she took, I thought to make a painting. It hung in my gallery for several months. A few days ago a woman from Denver, Colorado became entranced with it and bought it.

Karen had recently moved with her husband to Colorado from the east coast and had left much of her art collection behind, in order to begin fresh. “Our house has been bare because I have not wanted to buy anything unless I really love it."

It pleases me greatly to be able to meet the people who purchase my art. I was able to look into Karen’s eyes and see her excitement. I was there when she took a picture on her phone and sent it to her husband for approval. He replied, “Nice.” She laughed at how when he says “nice” it usually means something much more. Then she looked back at the painting and pointed to a face she saw in the clouds. Therese saw the face too, and eventually so did I.

Pareibiola is a psychological phenomenon that causes people to see or hear a vague or random image or sound as something significant. Some people do this regularly and others don’t. My father admitted he never could see the, “man in the moon.”

I love looking at skies with clouds that shape shift and turn colors. Especially sunsets give me great joy and a sense of awe. I made a photograph of a landscape with clouds forming the shape of a heart over mountains. Even my father, bless his departed soul, would be able to see it.

For more, see: The Geese Are Clouds

Surrounded By Spirits

I am surrounded by spirits, and that is the feeling of the Lord.  —Naomi Boone

I love this simple sentence written in my daughter's journal when she was seventeen. She had learned she was dying of cancer.

She felt the power of angels—emissaries of God, sent to strengthen and guide her.

I am practicing remembering the feeling of the Lord as I prepare to go on another extended journey across continents, leaving everything behind to go into the "flux" state I so love. I will "let go". I thrive with the feeling of falling like the little bird pushed from the safety and familiarity of it's nest. A miraculous and hidden power informs the moment so what is needed occurs—to fly.

SPIRIT can take a flock of birds and direct them to determine Earth's magnetic field so they navigate using true north. During the day time they are guided by the position of the sun. Are they doing this mentally? Birds sometimes fly while sleeping during non-stop trips that can take weeks. No, they are not thinking; SPIRIT moves them to arrive unerringly to their destination.

And so too, I hope to leave the mental arena and go into what I call the zone. Like the falling bird, I go from the familiar into the unknown and rely on trust. Surrounded by spirits and guided by them, barriers fall away and I am no longer separate from my surroundings. In oneness, I enter THE DREAM, where miracles live and occurrences become fantastic.

I leave Santa Fe on November 1. First stop is Washington DC, (where I grew up,) to see my brother Wade and his family. I especially relish spending time with my young niece and nephew who barely know me. After four days I fly to Paris, France and book into a hotel on the left-bank for another four days. Time in the streets and museums, being inspired,  shooting photographs and going with the flow . . . day tripping to Versailles. Next I arrive in my favorite place . . . Venice. For a month. It is easy being creative there . . . making paintings, writing and photographing. Next is Egypt. In Luxor I have Egyptian friends that make a place for me in their family. After that it gets fuzzy: but most likely I will go and find the Masai people who had such a big impact on me. They are in Kenya and Tanzania.

I do not have a return ticket. SPIRIT and THE DREAM will direct me and that is how I like it.

Everything will be okay, because God is with me no matter what.  —Naomi Boone

An Early Awakening

When I was but a toddler, my father would carry me in the early morning to the local bakery. We took a route through the back alleys behind our tenement building in Chicago. It was before my brothers and sister were born. He would hoist me atop his shoulders and I would hold on to his head. At the bakery he put me down and when the door opened, the light, warmth and sweet fragrance poured forth. On the way back one morning, a bird flew into the brick walls nearby. It is so far back in my memory . . . but I distinctly remember the fright of the beautiful winged creature. Was it blind? Or trapped? 

Why did this brief experience have such an impression on me as to last all my life? Certainly, to see a bird fly against a wall or glass, as if blind, is a jarring sight.

Now, six decades later, I drive to work and park my van in a city garage, then take my bike out and ride to my gallery. There are four parking levels. Birds come in the garage, and sometimes they fly up the stairwell and think they have reached daylight at the top level, only to smash into a big panel of glass. Often, feathers are strewn about the concrete floor. Once I found a dead bird and took it home for burial.

Birds represent freedom and are like unto spirit. In many ways they are angelic. So to see one fooled by glass and be trapped or hurt flying into a transparent barrier, reinforces the feeling that physical life is not what it seems—it also holds death. For my childhood eyes, the vision startled me, but also was an early awakening.

Lovebirds

This afternoon I finished an oil painting on panel, and stood back to see if I liked it. The subject appealed to me—two cockatoo birds, sharing a nut between their beaks. The painting came out well enough and I considered it a success. I measure my portraits a success if in the end, the subject seems to speak in some way . . . as if imparting a message. The birds seem alive, and joyful in their camaraderie.
Often when I finish a painting I photograph it and post it to my Facebook page. I posted this picture, and right away, Colleen, my cousin's wife in Atlanta messaged me asking the price. We chatted this way, and she bought the artwork immediately. So, between the time I posted the picture and the time it sold, maybe five minutes elapsed. Colleen said the work had special meaning for her because she had been a zoo docent for 4 years and knew the birds.
My cousin Greg died a few years ago and left Colleen bereft. I call the painting “Lovebirds.” That is what Greg and Colleen were . . . and now, when Colleen sees the painting in her home, she can be reminded of her eternal union with Greg.