Tutored in Wisdom

 

Yesterday at my desk at home, futzing with my computer, I glanced out the window. On the peak of our shed at the property line was a large brown animal. Was it a cat? It had pointed ears and turned its head as if to lick its shoulder. But how could a cat have gotten up there with no nearby trees and metal walls too slippery to climb?

 

No, it was an owl, a huge one, in plain sight during the day. Almost a year ago in New Mexico, I dreamed about a mother owl. When I told the spiritual director at Ghost Ranch, she suggested I pay attention to my next owl sighting. When I shared that dream with my own spiritual director, she invited me to notice when owl came up in my dreams again. When I told the dream to a friend who walks a Native American spiritual path, she gifted me owl feathers to pray with. I hadn’t seen or dreamed of an owl since.

 

Here in day light, unprotected by trees, was an owl perched on the highest point directly in front of me. What did it mean? What might it want? I quietly moved to the deck with my phone to take a picture. The moment I touched the button, as I knew in my bones it might, the owl flew—gracefully, massively, steadily—away from me.

 

The photo I have is too blurry to tell there’s even a bird, let alone one of such significance, so why did I take a picture? Why the need to document and share (brag about) this remarkable sighting? If I had a do-over I would just observe and commune with this magnificent creature as long as it allowed me to.

 

I would realize that all it was asking of me was my attention--that my presence is all that Spirit ever requests. I hope someday I will instinctively savor the preciousness of the ordinary and the remarkable.  Thanks be for do-overs. Each day I have the chance to give my undivided, wholehearted attention to the holy, which is always and everywhere perched in plain sight.

 

The Insidious Power of Cinderella

 

Brian and I went to see the new Cinderella movie this weekend.  We weren’t the only couple without children on a Saturday night date to see my favorite fairy tale. When I turned seven I received a Cinderella watch with a pink band and her face on the dial. I proudly wore this first watch for a couple days before it stopped.  My parents returned it and I put the new one on my wrist until it too stopped running.  Someone concluded that my metabolism prevented watches from working (is that even possible?)  so for the next many years the only watches I owned were on pendants or rings. 

I had Cinderella paper dolls and a Cinderella birthday party with the round cake forming her skirt.  When Leslie Ann Warren starred in the musical, I learned every word to the songs.  Something about the scullery maid alone in her “own little corner” resonated deeply.

What’s been the impact of being enamored with Cinderella? During the years I was single, I was a feminist with a satisfying career and no desire to be rescued by a handsome prince. However, I did want a man to love me so much—at first sight if possible—that no one else would do.  I wanted someone to search a kingdom until I was found.  It was 52 years before that happened, before I said yes to a man I knew truly saw and loved me.  When we became engaged, I faced the dilemma of wedding attire. What was proper for a first-time middle-aged bride? After a couple months of hesitation, I tried on wedding dresses, walked away, was rational, consulted with everyone, returned to the store and bought a big full white gown with a little jacket to wear down the aisle to meet my husband/prince.

Today, I think about the money I spent on that gown--cheap by wedding dress standards and yet more than I've ever spent on clothing. Today, that dress hangs in the basement untouched and unvisited. Today I wish instead I had bought a beautiful tailored silk suit or dress I could still wear on special occasions.  But I did not.  Today I can be curious about where my desires originate and discern which ones truly fill my heart.  That's a lesson worth every penny.