Yesterday I went with Max’s first grade class to see the play Heidi.

It was a lovely show at a local children’s theater. The characters sang lovely and sweet songs. The goats were puppets. We practically sat on the stage.

And I found myself, sobbing through the whole thing.

Sobbing, not out of sadness but because something about this sweet story resonated deep in my heart. Sobbing, because it spoke to something sweet and tender that has been lurking about under the surface bubbling up from deep inside. Sobbing because it spoke to me in ways that were unexpected and clear and brilliant and bright–as bright as a mountain top meadow on a spring day.

Its such an archetypal story. The orphan girl who finds herself in difficult situation after difficult situation who heals the world just by being herself. The story of the transformative power of love. Told even here in this child-like simplistic way it turned me inside out. Maybe it was because it was portrayed so simply that it hit me so strong. Love, presence, simply being–all these things heal. We work so hard to change the world, but sometimes all we need to do is be still, be us and breath into our love however small and broken it may be.

I am in a funny place these days. My friend Jen would describe it as being a new baby bird fallen out of the nest. The universe is catching me in big wide arms and I feel safe, but I feel so new and the world feels so big and full of wonder. Something magical and ordinary is at work here. It is happening as I do the dishes and clean the house, as I drive endless loops from the rink to karate to home to playdates. It happens as I do my work, make the meals, take my shower. It is happening so quietly.

Its been hard to write about this process, this gradual awakening again and again to the magic in the world. Its been even harder to talk about it. Friends comment on my quiet or my dreamy state and I don’t know what to say. Where can I even begin. Things are shifting and rearranging themselves in my heart in very subtle ways. I can’t pin down a pivotal moment, or turning points where things suddenly became clear, but I am noticing in very small moments where big huge shifts in perspective have occurred. I have jumped into a river here and I am being swept along fiercely, swiftly. I am trusting the movement here and enjoying the ride, gazing at awe at all I see along the way. It is so much and I have no language yet to describe it, nor do I have or even want the distance to describe it.

At times I feel I have hiked up a mountain and am rooted firmly at its summit–my arms stretched out to take in the world below, my head thrown back into the wind, my face to the warmth of the sun. It is beautiful up here. There is not a sound other than the wind. It is quiet, and a little bit lonely, but I feel I am exactly where I need to be.

This blog has grown quiet. I come by now and again to clear out the spammed comments caught in moderation–the ones from Russian and Chinese IP addresses trying to sell us all porn or drugs for impotence. I wonder if anyone else ever comes by here anymore–especially now that I have so little to say. I decide it doesn’t matter. I will show up when I can. You will show up when you can. We can be quiet together or quiet alone.

In the meantime I will hike these mountains and ride these rivers. I will pause every now and again to reflect and I will turn to write then. We will meet perhaps on one of these meadows and talk about it all, about being orphaned and finding home and about the transformative power of love.

4 Responses to “News from the Mountaintop”

  1. Leenie Says:

    I’m here 🙂

  2. Elizabeth Harper Says:

    I’m here too whenever you are. 🙂

  3. Trish Says:

    Meg, Meg, Meg,

    I always pop in to see what you’ve written. Jen introduced me to you and continue I will to show up. What’s your prescription for the dreamy state? I would like to try that.

    Quiet and reflective is a good state to embrace.

    As Leenie and Elizabeth said, we are here for you.

    Love, Trish
    patriciadolan@comcast.net

  4. Karen Maezen Miller Says:

    together=alone