Crickets and Float Planes

And the sounds we can't hear

Skye

It was the end of another long and busy week. Another. How many do we need exactly before we are no longer surprised that most weeks thrum to the beat of busy? With the energy of hurry still coursing through me, I ran out to do my evening horse routine before the sun began its descent; before the end of another busy day. Remove fly masks. Done. Check the water. Done. Check the hay. Done. There was just one thing left, not to be done, but to be savoured: Scratches and snuggles.

They each get their turn. And they each have their “spot.” Ace; forehead. Jez; shoulder. Skye; butt. Generally, Jez and Ace don't need much before returning to their hay. But Skye, - my bright light of hope and renewal - she usually stays for an extra dose. She will move her body to tell me where exactly she needs it. Swinging her hind end one way, then the other. A little to the left…a little to the right…up, up…over, over…ahhh. 

But on this particular evening, as I moved my hands up and down and all around her back side, she barely responded. What is it that you need? I asked as my fingers kept searching for the sweet spot. But she didn't need anything from me. She just stood there. Beside me. Head relaxed. Eyes soft. Just there. With me. By my side. Still, Silent, Fully present. ‘She just wants to be with me.’ I chuckled to myself. So I lingered a little longer with her. Still. Silent. Fully present.

I could feel the hurry energy begin to slip away from me and seep into the earth. Another busy week. Another busy day. Yet still, always, another chance to let it all go. To begin again. I was about to head back to the house when I remembered I didn’t have to. My boys were preoccupied. They didn’t need me. They didn’t need anything from me. Seizing the rare opportunity to not be needed, I sat down in the grass, closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the crickets. I…just want…to be…with me.  I didn't want to do anything. I didn't want to think about anything. I just wanted to listen. To the sound of late summer. To the sound of stillness. Ahhh, here we go, this is going to be great.

Until another sound joined in. In the distance, growing slowly, the drone of an engine, getting closer. It wasn’t a car or truck. Nor was it a tractor or combine. It was a plane. Not just any plane; a float plane. 

A float plane has a very distinct sound. It’s one I know well. One I knew well. So many memories. Looking down at the rows upon rows of houses, like little monopoly pieces. Counting how many had swimming pools. Little blue dots amongst a sea of brick and concrete. Looking down at the highways, like rivers, stretching everywhere, connecting everything, while the miniature cars floated along them.  Looking over, there in the pilot’s seat, at the one father-figure that didn’t leave. Wants to be with me….wants to be with me. A reminder, that the others didn’t. That they don’t. That they never will. 

Just then another sound joined the chorus; the sound of sniffling. Then, like the float plane, getting closer and closer, the sniffling grew louder and louder as it turned to sobbing. The sobbing, my sobbing, overpowered the plane; the plane that drowned out the crickets; the crickets that sounded like stillness.

Where did this come from? How did such a lovely, peaceful moment get so disrupted so quickly? Why did all of this stuff come up? Why now? I’d been feeling so at peace with it. Beginning to write my memoir in earnest now has given me the space to channel all of this, so that it finally has a loving place to call home; so that it finally has a purpose beyond tormenting me. 

Why now? Because when busy is the beat, our heart goes unheard. Only in stillness can we tend to it. To our own selves. To the parts of us that get ignored as we rush and hurry through yet another week. To the parts of us that also need - love; tenderness; acknowledgment. And only in stillness can we nurture the parts of us that never got it.

Only in silence can we hear the sounds beneath the sounds. The sound of our soul whispering, please, Just. Be. With me. 

I wiped my tears and got up (they’d need me soon). The end of yet another breaking down. Funny, I don’t even remember the last time I cried. About anything, really, but especially all of this. I thought I was “over it.”

How many tears do we need exactly before we are no longer surprised that our hearts thrum to the rhythm of opening and closing and breaking and opening back up again.

That when it comes to healing, there is no end.

Please come and join me for a LIVE meditation next week and listen to the sound of your heart.

Details to follow!

much love,

Carolyn