Ripples

The day started with a downpour. While hesitating to leave the dry space under the eaves to make a run for the car, I was also wishing for a porch swing where I could read and listen to the rain. Crossing a puddle later in the day when little drops were still falling, I had to pause to admire the ripples. One drop of water created a wave of movement that then echoed throughout the puddle. Two drops and the ripples start to touch each other. The raindrops keep coming and the patterns become beautifully complex. I had to pause because it reminded me of the ripples people leave in each other’s lives. We all leave ripples in lives we touch. Whether barely noticeable or momentously life altering, echoes of movement impact us all.

My mind is full tonight of those who have touched my life, with those in the last month especially standing out. It comes out in bits and pieces of circular waves, as images in my mind. A silver ax held behind me by a man in uniform, standing by a casket; how embraced by honor and protection I felt. Little white haired women walking with canes all told me that they hadn’t seen me since I was knee high; their greetings gave me grounding. Reaching behind for a sister’s hand, knowing it would be there; blessed by love in family. Meals, visitors, unexpected travelers, hugs, listeners, paperwork helpers and so many more offer compassion and have made these waves a bit more of a gentle swell to ride. I am still occasionally hit by the movement, knocked about for a moment and trying to regain my balance. Tears sting my eyes and I find myself again and again being ready this seasickness to end. But, the ripples today reminded me of how beautiful the movements of others have been, creating beautiful patterns across my life.  

Patterns of Thought

My head hits the pillow and before I fall asleep, my normal routine is a review of the day and any big events.  I often find myself thinking of things I need to do tomorrow, making a mental list.  Night is when thoughts can get stuck easier, playing over and over in my mind.  Morning is fresh and between the business of getting ready for work and the new day, my thoughts take a decidedly different pattern.  But, it is interesting how morning thoughts and night time thoughts are patterned differently.

Morning thoughts are decidedly more practical and task driven.  Take the dogs out, coffee in the cup, creamer too, get ready for work, and those are the thoughts that are pretty much lined up in my head.  After the coffee clears out the morning cobwebs, thoughts still tend to stay practical.  To do lists, notebooks to jot down things I need to remember to do, and calendars are the order of the day. 

But night time is another structure of thought all together.  As the day winds down, thoughts leave the calendar structure of the day and become more abstract.  It is this time when I find that in the quiet of bed time, my mind can still be whirring and need additional quiet to stop.  It may be a moment during the day, a note from a friend that made me smile.  Thoughts could take song from the sparrows singing in chorus in the bush behind the kitchen.  Memories of family moments, like Fourth of July picnics and Christmas celebrations, can bring a smile as I remember and drift off to sleep.  Dreams of future plans and hopes take shape in thought and reform themselves over and over. 

The do-over wishes sometime creep in; hurts or words that have cut will also make themselves known.  Like a fever that has disappeared during the day, to reassert itself at night, I try not to let those get stuck, though sometimes I am not so successful.  Worries can creep in, taking what should be a time to relax and before I know it I am squirming about, my shoulders tensed up to my chin and sleep makes itself scarce.  Go away little worry, stop poking at me, stop the replay of the words over that do not help!  I was thinking not so much of a specific instance last night, but how vulnerability to these kinds of things seems to increase at night.  

Patterns of thought, morning and night, the patterns change.  

Ribbons of Rhythm

This last Wednesday, I was flying back to the US from Ottawa, Canada. Leaning to my left, I look through the thick glassy like substance of the airplane window out onto Lake Michigan. The water is reflecting the shine of the sun, the ripples in the lake move like invisible ribbons catching the very lip of the water. A swirl forms, moving out, the winding back, to and fro, back and forth over and over again.

Leaning against that stubbly tubular plastic of the airplane, I can feel the memory sink again. Standing in a music room hallway, composed of soundproofing and dark grey carpet, an aging rocker was telling me how all of life can be seen with rhythms and patterns. I remember the ability of this musician; he had a way to understand rhythm in music, the patterns of percussion. But, he also understood that beyond the composition and score of a symphony, the skilled pounding on a drum set, the smoothness of a marimba, life the very world is composed of patterns and rhythms. Some we see easily such as the tides, embracing the shore and then pushing away at expected times. Others require more thought to observe, the structure of a leaf, the way a dog’s fur coat falls into a certain pattern, the swirl of color from a hummingbird, even the internal rhythm of our heart.

There are other less palpable patterns which I can’t see, but instead feel the ribbon swirl around me, pulling me along. It is the rhythm of life, growth and failure, rising and falling, hurting and healing, loving and hating, remember and forget. The thing about the rhythms in my own life is that I can often not see the beribboned pattern until after I am caught up in the eddy. Instead, I seek a center, a buoy which will hold fast to the center and keep me on a concentrated nucleus. Then, the patterns and rhythms, they move around the fixed point, keeping me steady.

I am wondering what the next swirl of the rhythm will hold. As one part ended, another must begin. What that will look like, where it will lead – I don’t know. But, I do know that the crux of the rhythm is something I have already found my stability in.