As above, so below (yes, yes, and yes... )

A "friend" said that to me once; "yes, yes, and yes." It was an answer to my two questions: "do you want to meet at such and such time, and discuss such and such topic?" I didn't get at the time that I was being flirted with. I did about six months later, vastly too late. Now I'm flirting with the world.

I try not to miss great opportunities as much these days, and part of my strategy for doing so is to say yes... to everything.

At the same time, another, different kind of friend, said to me a few years back, (he was an Albertan and I'm a Maritmer (sad, I know)) "stow your oars and hoist your sails."

All we have to do is stop resisting, and 'let' it happen.

I drew a little picture of an owl in my journal the other day, and wrote next to it, from a crowded house song that was going through my head - "everytime you call - I fall at your feet."

The world is like an owl, a Hunter - coming to kill us and our ideas of ourselves, a night-dweller bringing us dreams we didn't know about, like in Mary Oliver's poem, if we can just let ourselves go, say yes to its deliverance. Every time, lately, that life has called, I have let my previous notions of where I was going, and what I was doing, fall at its feet, by saying yes. Yes, owl. And yes again.

I think we're often afraid of it because it means no to something else, and we're clinging to that something else. We're clinging to our oars. It gives us a sense of control. Lay back and relax, have a margarita, let life give you it's gifts...

Say Yes to the light...

Coming down out of the freezing sky
with its depths of light,
like an angel, or a Buddha with wings,
it was beautiful, and accurate,
striking the snow and whatever was there
with a force that left the imprint
of the tips of its wings — five feet apart —
 

so I thought:
maybe death isn't darkness, after all,
but so much light wrapping itself around us —