“A strange person is moving in my head.
My heart has become a bird.
Which searches in the sky.
Every part of me goes in different directions.
Is it really so
that the one I love is everywhere?”
Summer is a very good time to experience life in all its delicious fullness. This is especially true if you live in a forested place rather than a dense, high-rise city or a desert. We've had near-record rainfall here in the deep South, and all I can see when I look out from my porch is green, green, green. Green in all its hues and shades; here and there a splash of magenta where crepe myrtle peeps through. Already the summer insects are at full throttle; their rhythmic whirring provides background music to the bird song. In the umbrella tree, four baby brown thrashers poke their beaks into the air. Mom is perched on the edge of the nest, teaching them their trilling song. Life is having a field day here in Alabama; throbbing, singing, winging, whirring, moist and breathing, ever abundant life.
If we want, we, too, can experience this same rejuvenation. We do that by putting ourselves out into the midst of all this greenness, and by listening to nature in the same way we might listen to another human being, or a piece of recorded music. It is almost impossible to be in touch with deep life, life in its primal, archetypal sense, if you are shut up in a building with neon lights and air conditioning. Life does not exist in mechanical environments, nor in computer simulated reality. But life is out here, all around you; all you have to do is open the door and walk out. Take all your senses with you. In my world view, as it was in Rumi's, the One we love is everywhere, just waiting to be found.
In the Spirit,