The Little Things

So here's how the day started: I opened the fridge door to take out a one liter pitcher of homemade iced tea and. . . . dropped it. In the fridge. From the top shelf. Small picturesque waterfalls of brown liquid trickled down onto all the food below. I’d planned to take some tea back to bed and start writing there, in a leisurely way. Which is exactly what I did, leaving the fridge as it was. An hour later I went into the kitchen to embrace the opportunity to clean my refrigerator. (Ha!) As I opened the door and felt the cold tea dribbling onto the floor soak into my socks (happily black, not white) I flipped on a cd by Mary Chapin-Carpenter. She sang, "Some days you're the windshield, some days you're the bug. . " And I started to laugh. Of course, there are many things that are much more serious than kitchen spills. I recently spent time with people who were reeling (and still are) from the sudden and completely unanticipated death of a woman who was wife, mother, sister, friend, colleague and inspiration to many. One of the enormous privileges of living where I do, is that very few days are about life and death. A few are, and- as we would say in the shamanic teachings I’ve learned and shared- when death comes we have a chance to make it an ally. It is the reminder of impermanence. It is that which puts spilled tea and wet socks and most other things into perspective. My fridge and kitchen floor are cleaner than they’ve been in months. The sun is shining, and the children in the park next to my balcony are squealing and laughing as they run around as children do. Life is good. I am grateful. ~Oriah "Mountain Dreamer " House I love this photo- makes me smile. Like this little guy we are small and beautiful, and although sometimes solitary, always connected.Thank you Karen Davis at .Open Door Dreaming.