Miracle in the Night

It is a little after midnight as I write this.  About an hour ago, I was laying in bed, reading the last page of a book.  I closed the book, satisfied with the ending, and laid in my bed thinking of the story and feeling content and cozy.  Everyone in the house, but me, was asleep.  Silence engulfed me.  Even our neighborhood was unusually quiet for a Friday night.  I was ready to turn off my bedside light and go to sleep, but I couldn't. I sometimes experience insomnia, but that was not the case.  My eyes were drowsy and I was ready for a full night of sleep, but something was nagging me - this inexplicable feeling nudging me to get up and go outside.  Why?  I listened intently, but could not hear any worrisome sound and I could not remember any noise that my mind may have registered unconsciously as something of concern.  I breathed deeply - no smell of smoke or chemicals.   I could not identify a problem or a reason to leave the comfort of my bed, but still I felt compelled to go outside.

I tried to push the feeling aside.  I labeled it illogical, nonsensical, impractical and just plain silly, but it would not go away.  Finally, after ten minutes of unsuccessfully attempting to use logic to justify staying under my warm covers, I got up, through a sweater on over my pajamas, slipped on my sandals and tiptoed through the house so as not to wake up anyone with my silly nighttime prowl.  As slowly and quietly as possible, I opened the front door and ventured out into the dark, breezy coolness of this November night.

There were lights on in the three houses across the street, but no one and nothing stirred.  Other than some light traffic sounds from the busier corridor streets to the north and east of our neighborhood, I heard nothing.  I walked around my car and into the carport.  I looked around where our garbage can, recycling bins and charcoal grill are, but nothing was amiss. The plants that line the chest-high wall that makes up one side of the carport were all in place.  My wind chimes were still hanging in place and, since the nighttime breeze was coming from a different direction, they were silently motionless.

As I stood there feeling very cold and very foolish, I heard the soft grunting sounds that one of my rescue dogs makes.  I have two rescues, a 12 year-old mother and her 9 year-old daughter, who I’ve had for ten years and who live in our fenced backyard and sleep on our back porch.  I looked toward the back of the carport, which is separated from our backyard by a chain link fence, expecting to see mama dog standing there, wagging her tail and making her pig-like grunting sounds. But, even in the cloudy darkness, I could see she was not there.  And, yet, her distinctive guttural noises were very close.  I looked to my right and there she sat just inches from me!  What was she doing outside the fence?  How did she get out?  We have lived in this house for eight years and during the first two, when both dogs were much younger and much more spry, they escaped the backyard three times.  The fence is an old patchwork of different types of fencing and after each escape, we found and repaired another hole or gap we had missed the time before.  For six years, the two dogs had only left the backyard when they were leashed and ready to walk our neighborhood or to go to the vet’s office.

I reached down, petted mama dog and grasped her collar, concerned that she may run off.  Both dogs are skittish and easily frightened by loud noises, strange people and other dogs.  After two of the previous escapes, they ran off, scared and panicked, and were not found until hours later.  I did not want that to happen again.  With mama dog in hand, I turned my concern to daughter dog.  Did she escape too or was she still in the backyard?  Was she off running through the neighborhood or was she somewhere near by?  I called her name softly and she rounded the side of my car and joined her mother at my side.

I was so relieved to have them safely next to me and praised them for staying nearby and not leaving our property.  Since it was too dark to investigate the fence, I led the dogs into our Florida room, gave them dishes of water and made beds for them on the terrazzo floor, where they quickly curled up in search of sleep.  Tomorrow my man and I will find and repair the newest escape route in the fence, but, for now, the two dogs are safe, warm and comfortable in their temporary accommodations.

I cannot explain why I could not sleep or why I was nagged by a feeling that I must go outside.  Maybe an angel was whispering to me.  All I know is that if I had not followed that nudge to get up from my warm bed and go out into the chilly night, my dogs would likely be nowhere to be found come morning.

Perhaps this is not a huge miracle, but, to me, it is an amazing and inexplicable miracle, and I cannot help wondering why this experience came to me tonight.  Was it to urge me to be more aware of and to be more willing to follow my inner nudges and instincts?  Was it to teach me that there is always magic and magical happenings around me?  Was it to emphasize that the Universe/God/Source is always sending us helpful messages?  Was it to tell me that anything is possible and that I should practice more trust?  I believe it was for all these reasons and more.  This week, I was again feeling a little overwhelmed and concerned and Mount Dora and my dreams felt very far away.  Now, I feel like I am covered in magical dust and that anything, ANYTHING is possible.

Life is a Labyrinth

Nearly every month my man and I attend a crystal bowl concert/meditation at a local church.  Crystal bowls, also called singing bowls, are bowls of various sizes, but all larger than a typical dinner bowl, made of quartz crystal.  The quartz crystal is extremely resonant, producing lovely, harmonic sounds that you not only hear, but feel throughout your body.  The size and shape of a bowl determines its pitch.  Most bowls sit on the floor or on stands, but some are handheld, allowing the bowl musician to move around a room bringing the intense sounds close to those in attendance.  Crystal bowl concerts are performed for meditation purposes, to ease stress and to balance chakras.  Being present at a crystal bowl concert is a phenomenal experience.  The sounds are simultaneously soothing and vibrant.



At the concerts we attend, people choose to sit in the church seats or ample space is provided for people to lay down, often on yoga mats or blankets where they can rest, meditate and even sleep.  We both leave the monthly concerts feeling calm, centered and relaxed.  Once or twice a year, the church also has a labyrinth set up in the sanctuary.  The labyrinth is used as a walking meditation in conjunction with the crystal bowl concert.  Tonight’s concert included the labyrinth.

A labyrinth is an intricate design of paths that often flow in a circular pattern eventually leading to a center spot, much like a maze.  A walking meditation labyrinth may be a mat made of some sort of fabric that is placed on a large floor, such as a church sanctuary, or it can be a temporary design made of sand or stones in a courtyard.  People follow the paths of the labyrinth, while meditating or praying, until reaching the center where the participants often kneel or stand silently in prayer or meditation.  Sometimes the participants will follow the path from the center back out to the beginning of the labyrinth.  Tonight, as I followed the path of the labyrinth, I contemplated how those circular paths were so much like life.



I prefer linear paths.  Point A leads to Point B in a nice straight line, no detours, no curves, no surprises.  But, life is not linear.  From time to time, we may feel as if we are moving on a straight line, but rarely does that experience last for long.  Life has a way of taking our straight lines and making them elaborate circles, twisting and turning and coming back around as if starting at the beginning again.  Life is a labyrinth.

As I was walking the circular paths tonight, I noticed that a man who started the labyrinth several minutes ahead of me was often walking on a path just inches from my side and the woman who started the walking meditation just seconds in front of me was often on the other side of the labyrinth, as if she had begun long before me or long after me.  Isn't that the way our lives are?  We start off with people, like a sibling, a friend, a partner or spouse, a classmate or a fellow worker, just a little ahead of us or just slightly behind, but as we travel our paths we appear to go in different directions even when traveling the same route.  We are sometimes side-by-side and sometimes distances apart.  At times we may appear to be on a completely different road and other times we nearly bump into each other along our travels.

I noticed that some of the people walking the labyrinth took small, slow steps, while others walked a little faster.  Some paused often to contemplate, while others never stopped until reaching the center.  In life, I've noticed the same.  I started off on the same path as others in my life, but some us often took lengthy pauses and others seemed to rarely pause for more than a moment. Some moved forward slowly, while others reached their goals more quickly.  Some walk softly, some with more determination and some nearly danced.

But, no matter who walks the labyrinth or the journey of life, we each have a circular path.  No one’s journey is a straight line for very long.  Life takes curves.  We are moving straight ahead toward a goal and then there is a curve - one we may have seen coming or one that  takes us by surprise.  The curve turns us back around until we feel like we are starting over, though we never are because we are always moving forward.  Maybe you experience a curve on your path to a career or an educational goal and you find yourself pausing to have a family, to care for someone in need, to grieve a loss, to deal with an illness or a problem, or just to relax, rejuvenate and regroup.  Eventually, you will get around the curve and start in a straight line again, although the goal you are seeking may have changed during the pause.

Life is fits and starts and slow downs and forward races.  It is steady ahead and watch out around the curve.  It is this way, then that way and then back around again.  But, no matter what, life is always forward motion, even when it feels like its not.

Tonight, I noticed that I often appeared to be further from the center of the labyrinth when I was actually nearest and I sometimes was right by the center, just inches away, but I actually had a long way to go on the path until I would truly reach the center.  Life, too, can trick us with illusions.  Our goal may seem terribly far away when the distance to get there is really short or our goal may seem right there, just in front, inches from our noses when, in actuality, our journey has just begun.

This weekend, Mount Dora felt very far away.  I felt like I may never reach my goal of living there and, truthfully, I may not.  I have no idea where my feet are on that journey.  Maybe I am close or maybe not.  Maybe I will reach that goal of living in Mount Dora or maybe I will head around a curve, slow down and realize I was never actually headed there in the first place.  Maybe Mount Dora with be along my path, but I doubt if it will be the final destination of my path.  I will keep circling around, sometimes, moving slow, sometimes speeding up.  I will take the turns and the pauses and sometimes feel like forward motion has stopped.  Then, I will hit a long, straight stretch and the wind will blow through my hair as I race forward feeling triumphant in my progress.  But, no matter how or where I travel, whether the road is straight or curvy, whether my feet are plodding slowly, dancing lightly or racing with the wind at my back, I will make my journey, as you will also, one step at a time, just one step at a time.