Cactus wren song

It's beautiful, when a cactus wren sings, though the first time it meets one's ears, it sounds coarse and agitated. But it is a song of joy, celebrating life, pronouncing the wren's presence and expressing hope for a courtship. Or simply because it is day time.

Though I fancy myself one who does not take those simple phenomena for granted, a fair number of easy life lessons slip my attention until I have to painfully double back and reevaluate the evidence.

This is life in the aftermath, following what feels emotionally similar to a divorce, where I assess all the things that identify my philosophy, my goals, and my adulthood. It's funny how afraid I was to transcend over to the single side of this ordeal; everything I did was flagged with how I might convey or share it with someone who was busying himself with anything that did not involve me, and I was desperate not to know a life without him in it. I felt as though that bald exposure to the world, without this sense of protection, would leave me completely vulnerable and incapable of existing.

I feel less resentment, as I should, because forgiveness is clearly the only task left to complete. Still, nothing compels me to engage in any contact or even to see his face. That he could move on with his life, that he already had moved on before I had the courage to, and that he could still be operating his life in the same irresponsible, emotionally damaged fashion is simply more than I can tolerate. I want no part of his life if I am not part of his life. And furthermore, I am better off without him; had I only understood this sooner!

Then came a stretch when I needed validation. I was broken, long neglected and undesired. I was quickly replaced. So I put myself in plain view and got what I was looking for: attention. It wasn't always from the ideal source, nor did it satisfy any other social requirements, but I had such deep wounds that the only balm was a warm embrace and some calculated blandishments.

Six months later, just a matter of weeks after I limped away from the battle ground, I am finally learning who I am again. I have my priorities more in line, I have a quiet sanctuary where I may retreat each night, and I am present in my adult matters. No hiding, no shrugging and hoping for the least possible consequence, and certainly no accepting mediocrity. I am a strong woman and I bled and cried and fought my way to this place and I will not accept passive ignorance or self-centeredness. I surround myself with strong, fearless, capable people who support me and do not cut me down out of insecurity or weak personal communication skills. I seek spiritual growth and I connect to the living things by which I am surrounded and to whom I am indebted. I talk to God. I acknowledge the profundity of the spiraling galaxy we orbit around that is visible nearly EVERY NIGHT in the desert (light pollution permitting). I take seriously the task of enlightening my science students with a reverence and an understanding of the vast network of interconnected shifts and lives and chemicals and physics. Life is truly beautiful, and I believe this with my whole being and I strive to keep it in the front of my mind so that it surely influences my behavior and my choices and my thoughts and my gratitude.

And I thank creatures like the artless cactus wren, whose unpretentious song fills the springtime air and reminds me to live by my truths and mind those valuable lessons.

Amen.