Swaying Trees & Finding Lift

On my way back home from a trip to the storage space (with a dear friend), I sat in a very slow-moving line of cars on the off-ramp. Happily, this afforded me an uninterrupted view of a cluster of tall, slender eucalyptus trees that were swaying in the wind that kicked up this evening. They did not all sway in the same direction, but rather in a graceful harmony with the wind that I would not otherwise "see." This sight of swaying trees relaxed me deeply, as it always does. I have a very strong memory of being calmed while watching an entire grove of swaying treetops from the solarium window of a hospital where my mom was having brain surgery. There is a palpable yielding and dancing, even in a more violent wind than today's.

At the same time, I watched a handful of crows that seemed to be flying against the wind. Although their work looked hard, with lots of flapping just to stay in place, it seemed that their intent was to find lift and to then turn sharply and be blown across the sky. It looked like a game. The crows made me think of kites, which have to be pulled against the wind in order to rise. There are so many ways to travel.

I wonder sometimes about the ways in which the invisible is made visible: the curlicues of air currents that are seen through the movement of smoke rising from an extinguished candle flame, the water currents as seen through the movement of seaweed. At a church in San Francisco a while back, I watched as delicate rods of glass hanging from the ceiling suddenly popped into view as they were hit by light, in this case something invisible acting upon the presumably -- but not previously -- visible. How is love like this? Do we pull each other into relief through our love? How is it that the energy between people is so discernible? Is it rendered visible by all of the micro- and macro- observable changes, or do we feel it directly somehow? Two quotes:

"Service is love made visible." - Stephen Colbert

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye." - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (in "The Little Prince")

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On an unrelated theme (is there such a thing?), it occurred to me that people might wonder how much stuff I actually have, and why it's taking me so long to pack it. I do have a lot of stuff, having been amply endowed with pack-ratism by both sides of my family. I am also, I suppose, a sentimental person. Much of my stuff are things that others might part with in a heartbeat: art and craft supplies, sketchpads full of drawings, nature treasures (branches, rocks, seed pods, small dessicated animals and road-killed skimmer reptiles, interesting cans and buttons, evocative pieces of rusted metal, old letters and journals. (Yikes! I just had the same experience I'd had years ago when I told my family history to a psychiatrist and suddenly saw myself through that person's professional eyes. I am now seeing myself through the imagined eyes of my readers. Scary.) Some of my stuff is what people more typically keep: art, books, CDs, useful and/or special clothing. Some of the stuff was from friends and family members, and some of it was directly acquired or made by me. Are you getting a visual here?

The collection itself, however, does not explain the time it is taking me to pack it. What is taking time are three challenges of my own creation. These are the sorting through in order to toss or donate, the experiencing/appreciating of items as I go through them, and the identifying of recipients in the event that I don't return to the US. The first is often easy but time consuming. The second and third typically invite a whole host of emotions, memories and associations. The third also has the central goal of making things easier for the person or people who will have to deal with my belongings if I don't return, so I take it seriously. Elements two and three are where it gets really rich. Who would like this? Would anyone else ever want a dessicated little mouse and a rattler's tail in a Mexican reliquary box? What group could use these supplies? Oh, another item from my cats -- and there's a whisker! Damn, the parallels between their old-age healthcare needs and those of my mom are so striking. I miss them all. Oh gosh, the family items -- no one wanted these other than me, but people wanted them to stay in the family. At what point does one -- do I -- simply let go? Simply? For me, unfortunately not -- yet. But I do continue to push against this resistance, and perhaps I'll find some lift.