The Egret Returns

This article appeared in the January issue of my newsletter Spreading Sunshine. (To subscribe, log onto www.lauriesmith.com.) A few days after that article was written, the egret visitor returned. Here is the full story. Enjoy! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As I walked out of my bedroom, I could scarcely believe my eyes. There, on the other side of the sliding glass door was a huge egret, stretching her snowy white neck and looking back at me. In my shock, I expected her to startle and fly away. Instead, she just stared back at me through the thin little sheet of glass, just a few feet away.

She came on a day when I was looking for answers. Silent prayers had left my mind—questions about life, about love, about where my life was heading. The egret seemed like an answer from beyond, a message, a whisper in reply to what I hadn’t even realized I was thinking, let alone considered if anyone had been listening.

Perhaps the timing of her arrival was a coincidence, any connection a result of my imagination working overtime, or even wistful thinking. Even so, I couldn’t help but feel as if somehow I had received an answer, a reminder, if nothing else, that everyday magic happens, and that somehow there is a weaving together between my own, simple life and the workings of the divine.

We stayed there for more than a half hour, that egret and I, gazing at each other through the glass. We started our time together started almost as meditation, me too shocked to move, aware of each breath as I stayed frozen in space, desperate not to scare this miracle away. She too stayed frozen, the way animals do when they are trying to assess whether they are at risk of becoming prey, or having an otherwise ordinary day. At one moment, she crept closer, balancing gracefully along the railing of the balcony, first on one foot than the other, making her way closer to the glass, as if to get a better view.

Gradually, as if in a dance of getting-to-know you, we laid aside our guards. I slowly shifted in position to get more comfortable, then walked into the next room to tell my husband of our visitor. She began preening her feathers, as if in the comfort of a good friend with whom she could just be herself.

When she finally flew away, with the onset of sunset, I said a silent prayer of thanks for the time we had together. I wished her well. I thought that was the last I would see of her, and was grateful.

Two days later, while I was making dinner, she arrived again, almost like a good friend checking in. I was just thinking it would be time for some space clearing in our apartment. Time to shake out the cobwebs, get rid of some last lingering clutter left over from the move, time to do a deep clean. Suddenly, out of my peripheral vision, I saw something fluttering and white. She came like an “Amen,” a confirmation that I was on the right path, suddenly appearing just like before. This time she stayed much longer, at least an hour, if not nearly two, watching me closely through the glass the whole time, again keeping vigil.

As I prepared the meal, every movement was aware of her, there, a few feet away, like a dear friend who shows up when you need it most with a good story and a chat, to help time pass.

In her presence, every moment became sacred, the act of cooking shifted from drudgery, to an act of gratitude. Like an hour-long prayer of thank you, I worked away, while inwardly bowing to her as if she were a guru. When she finally faced west, again at sunset, and took flight, I couldn’t help but wish that we would meet again.

Here Comes The Sun

It had been a rainy day, the kind of rain where the water comes down sideways and all you want to do is cuddle up inside and stay warm. We lit a fire and spent most of the day hanging out together as a family. I curled up in a big chair with my laptop; my husband and son played together on the floor close by; the cat strategically positioned herself near anyone willing to scratch her ears.

Finally, late in the day, we put on our raincoats and ventured out in the weather to visit friends in San Francisco. As we drove toward the city, we couldn’t help but notice the bright skies.

“I can’t believe it’s clear here!” I marveled.

Suddenly, a sunbeam broke through the clouds, its light flickering off the bay.

“There has to be a rainbow somewhere,” my husband mused.

As if on cue, the most extraordinary rainbow appeared, its colors shining so bright it seemed as if we could reach out and touch it. The brighter the sun grew, the more brilliant the rainbow became, hanging in the air in front of the city skyline like a vision in a 3-D movie.

“Look at the colors,” our two-year old son chatted away in the backseat.

As we drove over the Golden Gate Bridge, we had front row seats as this glorious rainbow stretched a full 180 degrees, half a circle over the water, continually growing brighter and brighter.

As we finally paid the bridge toll and drove away (attempting to snap a few photos through the windshield), we had changed. The weather had shifted, and so had our perspectives. The day was no longer dismal; it was miraculous.

Something Moved

I was angry, really angry. I wanted to say I felt frustrated, but to be perfectly honest, it really did feel much more like anger. My first impulse was to ask myself, “Why?” I wanted to analyze, understand the emotion, as if justifying it would somehow make it better.

The first “reason” that came to mind was all the things I had on my to-do list, along with the usual self criticism for not yet having done them. Reason number two was technical difficulties I had been having with my computer, like 20 emails in my outbox that had inexplicably disappeared, destination unknown.

In my usual tenacity to “get to the bottom” of the feeling, I even checked Plants & Plants, an astrology newsletter. Apparently, because of the movement of the stars that day, we all would be feeling “dissonance, a feeling of frustration, agitation and annoyance.” Unfortunately, none of those perfectly rational explanations made me feel any better. I still felt angry.

Anger turned inward is depression, someone had once told me. And that was definitely not something I was up for that day. Already I was started to feel sluggish, a lack of productivity taking its hold. Who knew where else the emotion might lead?

I knew the anger was trying to tell me something, something I couldn’t figure out by reading or thinking about it. I needed to give into it. I needed to move. My first impulse was to do something destructive, like perhaps hurl my laptop off the balcony. Fortunately, I passed on that idea and just closed it for the day.

A funny thing happened when I did that. I picked up a pen. And I wrote and wrote and wrote. Anger helped me to write about four blog entries in what felt like mere minutes.

Then my anger moved me to other pursuits. I picked up toys. I picked up the vacuum. I picked up a rag. I mopped, dusted and cleaned. I wiped down baseboards. Sometimes, I threw things like papers into a heap, laundry into a pile. Sometimes I shouted things, like my opinion about all the troubles in the world. (My son was, after all, asleep. It was “Mommy Time!”).

The more I moved, the more I actually started to enjoy the joyful freedom of “being mad.” It felt so good to move, so good to do something productive with all that energy. By the time my son awoke from his nap, the house looked a whole lot better. Better yet, his Mommy was in a much better mood.

The good thing about anger is that, when we can ride its wave, and use its energy to con-struct, rather than de-struct, it can make magic. The next day, a series of synchronicities happened that left me scratching my head in wonder. First, a friend offered to introduce me to someone he knew who he thought might be a good connection for me from the holistic spiritual world.

Then another friend stopped by and asked me if she could read my not-yet-published book. “Why yes, I think I have a copy here somewhere,” I said, sheepishly going into my closet where I had left it angrily in a heap, one of the casualties of my flurry of energy from the day before. Later, someone else asked about some workshops I had taught and offered to introduce me to someone he knew.

It was as if, by allowing anger to move through me, I assisted in allowing a whole series of divine coincidences waiting in a line to move on through. It was almost as if someone was saying, “Oh, so you’re really serious about all those goals you said you’ve been wanting to achieve. We weren’t sure…You see, you just weren’t, uh, well, you weren’t MOVING that much.”

So here’s my new strategy for anger: Move, move, move. When we feel angry, something just wants to move. Throw things out. Clean things up. Break out of a pattern. Exercise. Move your furniture. Make way, and let it come on through. You might be surprised what moves in your life when you do.