Yet there have been glimpses of connection interspersed throughout disconnection. Two mornings I made myself hike somewhere other than my neighborhood. I was cranky and cold due to the suddenly cooler weather, yet within minutes of walking among the trees of Radnor Lake, peace descended or opened inside me. I determined it wasn't solely an inner or outer thing but a dance between inner and outer.
Likewise, one evening, I walked across the street to visit with a neighbor on her front porch something I rarely do especially as days grow shorter. Judy is a gem. She offered me chocolate and caught me up on the neighborhood in my time away. Once again I felt connected.
As is not surprising with Mercury the planet ruling communication is in retrograde, the internet on my desktop was out for nearly two weeks. Yesterday a technician arrived to see if he could determine the problem. Instead of the problem being outside my home as the phone assistants insisted, Terry, we'll call him, determined the problem was actually my modem. He replaced the modem and stuck around to ensure everything was up and runnning. This morning, I decided to call and say 'thank you' much to Terry's surprise. The first words out of his mouth when he heard it was me was, "What's wrong? Is it not working again?" So accustomed to hearing complaints, he couldn't quite grasp I was sincerely expresssing my thanks.
These simple events, hiking in nature, visiting a neighbor, calling someone to express appreciation, took little time and cost nothing. Yet in each situation I was acutely aware of feeling connected within and without.
Last night just before sunset, I arrived in the country for the weekend. I anticipated seeing not the view or my home, but my little garden left untended for nearly three weeks. The first thing I did upon arriving was check on the eggplants and watermelon I had left growing on the vine. They along with tiny ripe tomatoes greeted me. I popped a cherry tomato in my mouth. An, the taste. A handful later became my dinner.
Upon settling in, I determined that after weeks of not writing I wanted to share this. I turned on my laptop only to find the internet not working. I rebooted numerous times as well as tinkered with the internet connection without any luck. Mercury was having a field day with me.
The final time I tried to go on line, I realized my computer screen held an option that read: Diagnose the problem. Funny, I've never noticed that prior. I clicked on "Diagnose" knowing my expertise is so minimal in this regards that I probably wouldn't be able to 'fix' the problem. You can imagine my smile as I read: "Turn the wi-fi button located at the front of the laptop."
I'm not sure I even knew I had a wi-fi button. This was perfect. My inability to 'connnect' was due to my own not knowing I was turned off and had the personal capacity to switch to 'on.' How often do we go about life not realizing we've the option of turning 'on'? How often do we not realize the power is in our hands? The power to not only switch my wi-fi button on, but the power to tend the earth, prepare food, heal ourselves and others, write this story, lay down our weapons and send loving energy around the planet and throughout the spheres.
The power is in my hands, yet if I'm unaware of a simple button literally before me how can I expect greater levels of awareness? Maybe it starts simply with being aware of now.
As I reflect on my disconnect this prior week, the times in which I felt connection were related to turning 'on' my awareness. These times involved getting out of the container of small self that dwells on, for me at least, my to-do list. I am 'on' when I'm in nature, when I visit a neighbor or smell the ripening pears in my cold, dark garage nearly ready for fall creations. I am 'on' when I take time to really notice summer's last geranium or the little lizard outside the door. Through awareness and my senses, I turn on.
This is the Good News. At any moment, we can flip our inner switch and turn on to life. The power, our life is in our hands.
-Dawn, The Good News Muse, firstname.lastname@example.org