This Fragile Earth iii

The ground - the world over - weeps, seeps and shakes.

Oh Turkey. . . _/\_  Thailand. _/\_ Bangkok. 

Closer to home, on the news tonight we learned that engineers hoping to be able to tack and brace Christchurch cathedral have concluded it will need to be dismantled, pared back to basics and rebuilt - 'a marriage between the old and the new'. Remarkably - triumphantly - part of Christchurch's CBD is to be opened to the public for trading tomorrow; the first time since the earthquake struck the city on 22 February. I am humbled by the community's tenacity and courage.

Oil from the stricken Rena is still seeping into the ocean off the coast of Tauranga. Too tongue-tied to write about this when the container ship ran aground on the Astrolabe reef in the Bay of Plenty a week or ten days ago, I turned to my drawing board instead. . . Pamela of Shroedinger's Tabby wrote a moving tribute to the sea birds impacted by this environmental disaster. 

And the sea? How it murmurs. How it murmurs. . . 

Charcoal & Pastel on Paper - CB - October 2011

Forgive me my absence; I'm not sure where or what I'm up to as far as blogging goes these days. There's so much going on here, work- and other- wise. . . I do hope you are all well and finding your way(s) forward during these ordinary, extraordinary days. L, C xo

Nurture

A friend directed me to this YouTube video this morning; I received it as a blessing. How remarkable, this baby bird's trust and the young man's tender, matter-of-fact patience - his patient, matter-of-fact tenderness. Each of these elements brings something to bear on both young man and bird, affects the exchange they are having, influences the moments' unfolding. We witness the ways in which a tiny bird's trust affirms a young man's instinct to nurture which in turn emboldens the bird and facilitates its growth. The young man is calm, unhurried. He pays attention, makes very little fuss. It is not long before the hummingbird takes to the air, discovering what it knew all along; it was born to hover, to feed on the nectar of flowers. It was born to flourish and fly. 

Young man and bird are engaged in a conversation that is at once pragmatic and intimate, prosaic and profound, plain and poetic.

Watch carefully the nature of their exchange. . . Each encounter they have is preceded by eye-to-eye contact. It seems to me they aren't so much looking at each other as looking to each other. Each time they connect in this way, bird and man seem mutually dazzled and fortified. 

Forgive me if I'm anthropomorphizing here, but this endearing double portrait speaks to me of the importance of connecting and of being present to the moment in whichever ways we can. There is so much ache in the world right now. So much ache.  This baby bird had a ragged beginning, but  - oh, see - how the young man's tenderness and nurture ensured it would triumph. We, too, were born to burgeon. Day by day, we practice faithfulness; we turn up and take our place. Standing in the heart - at times a brutal, bloody, bewildering place - we walk both familiar and unexpected landscapes together, hands extended in a gesture of welcome and inclusion, as the young man's are to the hummingbird. 

Love to you all, dear friends - and, dear T., especially to you. You are not alone. We are none of us alone. 
Kia Kaha xo