Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.
Attributed to Mother Theresa
I have disappointed myself.
Thirty years ago, I would have assumed that by now I would be doing great things, making a big difference in the lives of many beings.
I would have been well advanced in my field and a person of consequence.
But life is full of twists and turns and things don’t always go according to plan.
There are obstacles along the way, and maneuvering around them can force you onto a side path. Sometimes that path strays too far from your original purpose and you end up so far away that you cannot make it back.
You may find yourself in a place that’s unfamiliar and unexpected. For me, it was a realization that I will not get to where I thought I was going.
So I cannot make grand decisions to benefit all. But perhaps I can do little things with a kind heart that will benefit someone. I may not change the world, but in a small way with great love I can do my part.
The journey back to my hometown included a trip to my alma mater, less than an hour away from my parents’ house. Just like much of the Northeastern US, the school has a lot of history that is reflected in its architecture.
Doorways and passages hold a particular interest for me, not only because they can be works of art within themselves but also because they have a symbolism that resonates with me.
A door offers an opportunity to pass through and see what’s on the other side. It may improve our situation or worsen it, but even if it’s the latter, there’s always another door in the not-too-distant future that we can open.
I don’t believe that we ever truly run out of portals to open and thresholds to cross.
I had the pleasure of returning to my hometown in the Northeast of the United States for a long-overdue visit. Flying into the airport, the difference between the landscape there and the sparser chaparral of my current home in Southern California was striking. The abundance of greenery in the form of old growth trees reminded me of what I missed so much about living in Connecticut – walking through forests, real forests, and reveling in being surrounded by the lushness of nature, awash with feelings of serenity and renewal.
Shinrin-yoku is a Japanese term that means “forest bathing”, a form of nature therapy or ecotherapy, the benefits of which have been studied extensively beginning in Japan and South Korea, but now being practiced throughout the world. The concept is simple: slowly walk through a forest and experience it with all your senses.
While the practice is uncomplicated, in our busy world it is easy to forget the importance of spending time in nature and truly being present as we do so, connecting with an ancestral part of us that we usually ignore. There is much to be gained by doing so. Taken from the site Shinrin-Yoku.org,
I can personally attest to this. Simply being in the presence of the trees, walking down a forest path under a majestic green canopy, listening to the wind in the leaves and songs of birds, it is unlike anything that I have experienced in the urban hustle-and-bustle of the Southern California lifestyle. Even in the higher elevations, I do not find what I found during my trip home.
While I cannot easily return to that experience several thousands of miles away, I can make an effort to find the “green” in my everyday life, to pause, reflect on and appreciate the nature around me. And taking a deep breath, I am calm.
Most of the photos I’ve posted that I’ve taken myself were from my cancer treatment, so for this Mother’s Day I wanted to share something unrelated to the disease and filled with natural beauty.
There’s not much time left.
It has been an unusually rainy and cool spring in my corner of the world. Whereas in recent years, by now plants are drying up on the hillsides ready to provide kindling for late summer fires, in 2019, we are still getting rain showers. In fact, we had several today.
As a result, the hills and canyons are multiple shades of green. But it’s not simply the thickness of the green that makes me crane my neck as I drive down the road — wildflowers, encouraged by the rain, are spreading across the landscape. Masses of orange nasturtiums drip down hillsides as if they were poured out from above. They are stunning against the greenery.
But I am most in love with the little yellow flowers that have transformed the canyons into an impressionist painting, where an artist practicing pointillism decided she had too much yellow on her palette and needed to get rid of it somewhere. The effect is breathtaking.
Now, this may not seem like anything remarkable to you, but I am filled with joy to see so much color and beauty in the plantlife, untended by human hands and perhaps guided by something far more divine.
Eventually, summer will take over, the rains will stop and the brown will return. These glorious colors may portend danger as the heat intensifies and the plants become fuel. So I will enjoy them now as a gift to the senses — it is not that these flowers are beautiful to me in spite of blooming only for a short time. They are beautiful because they bloom only for a short time. Happy Mother’s Day!