I read a story recently in which the narrator described how she had been taught something so very wise.   As a young girl her father wished to show her how to hear the essence of souls; how to listen past the words voiced to know what was being told.   The narrator further shared how one day her father saw her practicing what she felt he was trying to teach.  She was putting her head against someone’s chest to listen to their heartbeats.

A single word, heart, yet it means so many things.  It is our physical source, and it is our soul centering.   It is that which resides in our brain, our chest, and our stomach too.  And it is what we follow in what we desire to do.   It is a rhythm that is most often smooth yet can be erratic periodically.    It trusts the flow of life yet can experience uncertainty.  It is a sound we hear of another’s and the sound of ours we hear when we are sitting quietly.   It is what whispers yes, no, this, not that when we listen to our feelings.

It is what can beat strong, and stronger still as we elevate its rate.  It is what can propel us forward in hope and in faith.   It is what can plug and struggle to flow.  It is what can feel broken and empty of will to forward go.   It is what moves us naturally every moment of every day we live.  It is what moves us exactly where we are meant to be every moment we exist.   It beats without words to tell it to do so.  When following its authenticity, it always knows.    Interwoven with the air and water to survive, it cannot beat without connectivity.   The air above joined with the earth below for harmony.   Interwoven with mind and body, the power of three.   Fire in the soul begetting love of all things.

It is that which expands as we grow from baby to adult in age.  It enlarges to match the size of our body’s frame.  It is that which enlarges as we open to those we meet.   In each moment we experience we decide to keep expanding it or let it shrink.   It has no limits in what it can do to support our body’s desire in how our body wants to move.  It has no limits in its ability to love if abundant love is what we choose.

There is one difference in its physicality from its soul.    We can give it away in one respect, and in the other we can’t let it go.   In some instances, we can donate our heart after our breath rests for life.   We can give of our love unconditionally never stopping if we make that our choice.   Of course, life teaches us best through opposites and it teaches us to see more than we initially see.    Life teaches us to dance and stretch between giving and keeping our heart under lock and key.   It teaches us to look again at gifts we received.

My gift was in the form of fur and four legs when I was six, seven, or maybe eight.   It was a gift from my father, a special package on an ordinary day.   It occurred to me as I was reflecting on the narrator’s story; my ability to listen to hearts is something my father also gave me.   I’m certain my father saw me put my ear to Peppi’s chest frequently; she would tell me much though she couldn’t verbally speak.    Some of my father’s best friends were also those with four legs and a fur coat.  I smile to think just how much he knew before I did what I would need most.

Perhaps each time our heart beats it places a stitch into that moment, and then to the next.  And invisible to us is a linked thread.  Peppi taught me to listen in quietness to the thump thump thump within both her and I.   Hers one of the first rhythms I started to harmonize with mine.   The rhythms I hear now threaded from that day on the porch when a long nose and eyes greeted me.  When my father gave me the gift of hearing heartbeats.

If you think of the rhythm of your heart, how does it beat?  Is it smooth and even?  Or is it erratic or the sound stifled with you holding the key?    Is its rhythm something you trust in how it flows?  Or is it something you try to hold back or control?   Do you ever sit quietly and listen for how it is unique?  Or do you surround yourself with noise and continuous activity?   Have you paused recently to put your head against the chest of another to hear what they speak?   Is there opportunity for you to hear the additional rhythm of someone else’s heartbeat?    Do you have opportunity to revisit something given to you to see with new eyes?  Is there something you now realize was a treasure beyond price?

Perhaps every one of us were taught when we were little how to listen to what is spoken in what someone doesn’t speak.   What do you hear when you listen closely?

It’s not the only one treasured and saved.  There are others such as the one of Grandma and him in their “younger” days.   Yet, true to how life brings the messages needed at the right time, it was this picture nearing day twenty-four I would find.   The traditional of an advent calendar contained surprises behind each door; each one special and from the heart, though this one became more.

His heart belonged to his family, to his farm, to his neighbors, and his community.   His heart also belonged to souls with four legs and paws for feet.   He lived his life in faith, with compassion, and of servitude.   Gently partnering with Mother Nature to grow crops, gardens, and flowers he also knew.   Creativity as builder, simplicity is life’s abundancy.  A man of few words, most remembered at his celebration of life for how he was ever smiling.

I don’t remember lengthy conversations where he imparted his wisdom about life’s ebbs and flows on to me.  But as I look at this picture, I know he was significantly responsible for teaching me there is powerful communication through heartbeats.   Just as I had heard gratitude and simplicity from the tree and ornaments on Christmas Eve when nine months old, my love for dogs and compassion for others from Grandpa I would come to know.

We never got to finish his life story, blank pages not meant to be filled as legacy.   Instead, his story is in our memories, letters Grandma wrote on behalf of both of them, pictures such as these.   I reflect on life stories I have written for others – how years one lives fit into a few hundred written words as the essence of one’s life.   The more years one lives, the less words are needed to describe.    A person may have walked millions of steps while their time on Earth, but their footprints they leave the same.  Though the size of their steps will have grown through the years, their soul foundation unchanged.

If you were allowed only one photograph for people to view, what would that picture be to reflect the essence of you?  Do you have one already taken that speaks of your heart’s priorities?  Is there something you would add or edit before letting others see?   If you weren’t aware and someone took a picture of you sitting with someone, or doing something, that makes your heart sing, what words would they use to describe you from their memories?   Is there a word missing from their list, if you were to imagine what they would say?  Is there growth in the size of your footstep that you would like to make, a positive change?

Among its many messages this picture has for me, elevating a priority on simplicity it speaks.    I read words the other day about things stored in closets and totes out of sight does not mean clutter free.  What better way to also honor Grandpa for his servitude than donating.

And, as I hug Ginger I smile feeling myself on a porch, or better yet, sitting in silence next to Grandpa listening.

Thump, thump, thump…the rhythm of love’s heart beats.

Hello my dear Roo.   Is this our prologue to book two?

Threaded; The Flow of Life or perhaps The Threads that Bind.   Or maybe modeled after the quote by Ram Dass about how we are walking with each other that I could call My Honored Walks Home.  Or Messengers and Angels I am Honored to Know.

I feel like I have been soaring on wings next to you.   The extraordinary miracle of each moment coming into view.  Like these beautiful out-stretched wings that danced above me today, I too have been looking down over the most breathtaking array.   I am standing next to the most powerful Maestro who is showing me how the orchestration has been taking place.   I am looking at where the thread has interwoven, the stitching connecting across space.

Where should we start showing the weaving that has taken place?   Given that the thread has been through our entire lives, there isn’t a beginning per say.  You are right dear Roo, let’s start with introducing two very special friends.   How my path has so beautifully intersected with both of them.     Should I start with sharing how they both have the most infectious smiles.  I am certain they could light up the world if the power went out for a while.    One loves dragon flies, moths, making others laugh, and baseball.  The other gravitates to hummingbirds, amethyst stones, and loves family most of all.

One I met in 2013.  One I met two years later, in 2015.   Both pillars of strength, each in their own way.   Both destined to use their warrior spirits to inspire faith.   One desired to give others freedom; that wish would come to be.  The other was beginning a journey knowing a greater purpose was unfolding.  The purpose already starting to be fulfilled, the vow a reality.  How both will touch many more lives only just beginning.

Neither knew each other until a few short weeks ago.  I had the honor of introducing them believing a friendship would unfold.

Roo, before we describe the beauty of their friendship, should we talk about the other threads that interweave?   Should we talk about the orchestrated moments that connect one to the next perfectly.    I know I won’t begin to capture all the giving and the receiving that has taken place, the threads of paying it forward in so many ways.   The beauty of giving is that we receive far more back, enabling us to give greater each next time.  And that, my dear Roo, is how the stitches seam us together, a breathtaking pattern that binds.

There is the orchestrated moment in May of 2014, four months before it was your time to leave.  The special friend I met in 2013 was teaching me to hear and see; I was learning that messengers communicate through space, if our heart is open to believe.   Of course, as we know from our book, because of the gift from this special friend my heart was ready to hear and see how you would always be by my side; I was open to learning that death is another state of being together, not goodbye.

Good point Roo, I should probably clarify.   My special friend an angel above, while by my side.  My special friend decided partners we could be; I could help him give others freedom as he helped me write words that could lead others to peace.   Whether a soul nearing their final days or a family in grief.   I didn’t realize just how much my special friend was helping me find the right words until recently.

Another orchestrated moment that would lead to the joining of two special friends.  Another orchestrated moment that has begun a far-reaching thread.   Three days before your time to go, I gave a card to someone barely known.   A friendship blossomed and grew, each of us guiding each other to live our authentic truth.  The card had a hummingbird symbol that would grow in its meaning in more than one way.  First it led to two pictures framed.   One picture on the wall of my new friend in celebration of her birthday.  The other on the wall of my special friend in celebration of her strength.   For it was now 2016 and my special friend had received her life changing news.   A walk with Cancer was about to ensue.   She knew why she had been given this disease; she would help others with Cancer because of her story.

As my special friend continued her warrior fight, my newfound friend was also by her side.   A triangle of support across the time zones and stars, each connected heart to heart.   The hummingbird becoming more meaningful when appearing at just the right time.  When my special friend wondered about life after Earth, the hummingbird appeared as a sign.  The hummingbird and my newfound friend leading my special friend to me for a journey of writing stories.  Weekly we began meeting so I could write letters for her two sons – her words on paper to keep.    My special friend hopes to read these letters to her six-year-old and three-year-old sons when they are twenty-six and twenty-three.   Her unconditional love for them is they will know her heart if it becomes her time to leave.

And now I get to the moment when my two special friends met.   It was during one of our weekly calls, my special friend starting to fear death.   Roo, as you know, she was starting to read our book but I knew she was yearning for more.   The orchestrated moment appeared, the opening of the right door.   I was able to share the ways my other special friend communicates across space.   More than once story highlighted how loved ones don’t go away.

Fast forward to May 18, and my special friend was not able to meet.   Text messages of “hugs” and “love yous” and “we’ll catch up next week”.   Getting ready for work, I decided to talk with my other special friend, asking what were some of his most favorite tunes.   A few minutes later I was reminded of a CD in the other room.   Tucked away in a closet not listened to for a year or maybe two, the whisper nudged “take it with you”.    Almost forgotten as I got to the jeep, the whisper nudged “go back in and get the CD”.   Back into the house, out of the closet, and back into the jeep, the music began playing its rock and roll beat.   About five songs into the CD, I was reminded of my special friend and my question of what his favorite song might be.  In an instant, I could feel his closeness to the left of me.  The next song began to play bringing my other special friend to my right.   And then the next orchestrated moment came into sight.

My special friend above was smiling that most radiant smile as he held out his hand.   My other special friend was smiling her beautiful smile as I began to understand the upcoming plan.  My special friend above was once again going to live his wish to help someone be free.  He would be guiding my other special friend as she prepared her release.

It is five days later and I am on our morning run, your little sis and I.   The play button begins singing the song from last week in my mind.   Knowing my special friend above is with me, I ask for his additional sign that our run he is joining.   Just like you have always responded my dear Roo every time I asked for you, my special friend does too.  A moth nearly kisses my eye as it flies by.   I whisper Hello my special friend, so good to have you by my side.

Near four hours later the moments leading up to “now” reveal their plan.  My special friend is now unconscious and soon will be taking that outstretched hand.   It will be two days later, approximately two-and-a-half hours after our scheduled time to meet.   It is May 25 when my friend decides her time to leave.

One special friend has just helped the other cross over in peace; one providing freedom for the other to be free.

My dear Roo, I know the threads that have been woven are only the start to a pattern just taking shape.   Our book was one beginning to teach hope and faith.   I will also be honoring my special friend’s vow as to why her disease.   I know you will help me find a way to use our gifts to make her story matter for others on their cancer journey.    And of course, I know our other special friend will be helping expand the thread that binds us all as one ultimately.  With his outstretched hand, he will whisper “it is great here, come follow me”.    And then he will begin teaching them how to help Earth hear and see.

Namaste’ my two special friends.  Namaste’ my dear Roo.    All my love to the moon.

I am not certain it is you we have watched for weeks.  But something within whispers it is with your two babes I see.    Through cold and warm, through sun and rain.   I think it was only once we saw you move from your place.   Blending in, lying flat.  Making sure you were not noticed where you were at.   Your mate for life always near your side, acting as decoy many a time.   Sometimes he would be in the road which would scare me, his mission to divert our eyes so you couldn’t be seen.

Once I had the honor of seeing your gentle handling.  A slow motion of your head, your neck, your loving beak.   I am not sure if you were turning them or just giving them a reassuring touch.  Following your instinct, a mother’s great love.   True to us humans who sometimes get anxious with time, I had a moment or two when I worried if there would be new life.   Steadfast and at one with the rhythm of nature you knew better that me.   Trust, patience, faith the key.   Guided by your authenticity and a mom’s unconditional heart, you nurtured that nest until new life could start.  

One day we drove by and you were no longer there laying low on your nest.  My hope and my trust that with little ones you and your soul mate had left.   A day or two later at the edge of the yard were two very tiny peeps close beside two adult geese.   My heart feels it is you, so I will express my gratitude.   Thank you for sharing with me your family.   A wonderful family to be proud of indeed.   I can see in your slow walk you are keeping watch that they remain safe.   It is that same maternal care when they were still sheltered within their eggs.    

Namaste’ my dear goose on this holiday eve.   Happy Mother’s Day to you, mom to two precious geese.    I am reflecting on what may be reasons you captured my heart as you did.  How you no longer nesting became something I missed.   Intrigued by the way you would blend into your nest when people drove by.  Feeling connected to your quietness as a reminder of my abbey time.   Your unconditional love symbolic of the life, and the love, I too have received.  My mom nurturing like you, unconditional in her love for her family.   And your trust, patience, and rhythm with time a reminder of Nature’s steady embrace.    From sunrise to sunset and back to sunrise you stayed in place.   You relied on what you knew instinctively.    A lesson for us humans in trusting what our inner voice speaks.   

“Cycles of our lives”, “communal”, “self-less” include descriptions of your gifts as goose.   I don’t think I realized a sense of community was part of you, nor being selfless to your flocked group.   Now I smile further my dear goose for I think I’ve gained clarity.   You have been symbolic of my master’s class where I have been learning about community, belonging, and humility.    Further, you have been a reminder of new beginnings.      A messenger by my side to keep me remembering; I can trust that all I learned in this master’s class will not fade or leave. 

Namaste’ dear Hawk sitting in the tree.  I know you are there for more than guarding me.   You know I love you with all my heart and I am so very grateful you have crossed my path today.  But I also care about this family and I would like you to let them be on their way.   I have drawn upon your power and I thank you for appearing at the perfect time.   Can you now turn your head away and let these geese go by?  

Thank YOU, dear Hawk, for honoring my wish that you not harm these two little babes.   And yes, momma goose, your little ones are still safe.  You have had my back so to speak for these past few weeks.  Your symbolism in so many ways speaking volumes to me.  Please accept the request I made to Hawk as a small token of gratitude.   Thank you, very special mother goose, for being you.

A carriage ride guided by a driver one might label “carefree”.  Introductions to a street sweeper, a published poet with impeded speech.      The street sweeper who did not find words easy to voice was touching hearts with his weaved words of choice.  The driver with an Engineering degree opting instead to chauffeur strangers during vacation retreats.  

The street sweeper once high on a corporate ladder, now a broom he leads.  The driver with a message “each day fully seize”.   The street sweeper with a smile that doesn’t hold any trace of defeat.  The driver with a gentle reminder “each person has a story – often unseen”.

Would I have noticed this street sweeper if a driver hadn’t shared what at face value I couldn’t see?   Or would I have passed by the street without even glancing?   Would I have given this sweet soul near the time I have given him since?   If he had said “hello” would I have quickly smiled, returned a “hello”, yet not been moved to write this?  

A thud against a window pane can send me running immediately; my hope that an extended hand will help a friend regain its wings.  Soft words the encouragement, or sometimes no words need to be said; warmth and a steady hold enough for it to catch its breath.   “Namaste little one, you are okay”; then a watch for the rise and fall of the chest to slow and the eyes to begin to awake.  

I can notice one so slight who will soon fade into an indistinguishable flock of many in the sky.    Do we give the same attention to a stranger, to a passerby?    I can hold a feathered friend in my palm and feel I have just received a gift in the moments shared.  Do we give encounters with strangers the same care?  Is there a loud knock against a window, metaphorically, that we do not heed?  A non-assuming person who has something to teach? 

The story of this gentleman with a broom still largely a mystery; what turn of events led him to tending to this street?   I anticipate it is intertwined with tragedy of some kind, a fork in the road where the human spirit temporarily died.  But I also perceive that just as my little winged friend caught its breath to fly more, this gentleman found a strength and will at his core.  Just as this winged friend has a purpose to continue to sing that we benefit from its melody, this gentleman too has a purpose that includes sharing his heart through his poetry.  

Each person has a story, more often than not one we may never see.  And yet, it is often the quietest ones who have the most to teach.    Perhaps there is opportunity to listen more than we do.   Like hearing the story from a gentle soul and the push of his broom.

Have you noticed a stranger today?  And if so, in exactly what way?  Did you go through the motions of “how are you?”  Or did you pause to see if their eyes and tone matched in “Fine.  And you?”  Did you appreciate something about them, how they impacted people across their path?  Or were you in a hurry and had no time for chit chat?  If they were in a role to service people’s needs, did you think about saying “thank you for being you”?  Or did your subconscious automatically think “it’s their job, what they are paid to do.”

She complimented my bracelet as she handed me change.  “Where did you get it?” her inquisitive face.   A “thank you” and “a friend gave this to me”.  Met with “I wish I had a friend like that”, she said only half-jokingly.  I continued on my way to eat; on her way to take care of more strangers in need.  A friendly greeting, a warm smile; continually she would go the extra mile.

And then the Universal nudge, a written note a must.   Pen to paper, appreciation expressed and a message “keep being as you are.  People are lucky to have their paths cross with you as they come and go from afar”.  Signed “a friend” given to her as I went in my way.  I don’t know the full impact but I anticipate it made both of our days.

A kindred soul in the sharing of curly hair that relishes humidity   Her natural joy the early morning greeting   An energy that didn’t have room for wasting any moments not living every day; infectious her joking and bubbly traits.

Anorher note, appreciation and “keep bring you”.  Signed a kindred curly-haired spirit grateful for what you do.  I can still hear her echoes in my mind and stamped within my soul.  Her surprise and gratefulnss as she exclaimed loudly “oh my goodness, a passenger just gave me a note”.

The impact immediately felt, that joy of receiving when the heart whispers “that felt good” with no other expectations from it.  Well, maybe that isn’t entirely true; maybe I do hope for more to take place   I hope that a single gesture pays forward a gesture I may never see.  That many a life is positively touched among people I may never meet.  Kindness does not cost, yet it is one of the richest gifts we can give away.  Who might you be able to touch today?