Favorite Experience Recorded in My Journal

.

spidermums

.

I loved riding along the California coast

… and enjoying the plants, so different from those of the desert and of the Midwest.

Five years before the events of this story Hubby had decided we would move back to the Midwest, and separation from folks who had given me support had been costly to my spiritual health.  Hubby felt that if I spent a couple of weeks back at the retreat on the coast I would be renewed.

He didn’t understand how I had changed in those five years.  He didn’t know that I no longer belonged in any sacred place because I would sully the vibrations.  He didn’t know, and he insisted that I go, and now it was the day of the flight.

It was a holy season, and I had enjoyed taking my time choosing flowers for it.  They were pale yellow daisies and soft white spider mums.  They were beautiful in my meditation room, arranged pure and simply with no greenery; and this morning, when I went in, my heart leaped seeing them.  My little mind knew that they must be a sign that I belonged here–not on the coast.

When Hubby led me outside I turned and saw what seemed to be a miracle nestled to the right of the door.  A couple of years before I had planted a two-foot circle of yellow daffodils there, and this day they were at the peak of their bloom but, this year, there were also wild blue and white jump-ups which had migrated over and crowded in among them and were also blooming zealously.   It was from heaven; certainly another sign that this was where I belonged, and I was miserable because of the desecration I was being forced to commit.

But  here I was, taking my beloved slow route up the coast.  The ocean and the exotic plants were there – right there — but the exultation that I thought I would never lose at seeing them was gone.

Finally I was standing at the gate, staring– and crying.  When I finally pushed it open I saw, nestled to the right of the door, a circle, about two feet across, of yellow daffodils with blue and white jump-ups crowded among them.  My mind, not quite overwhelmed, said, “How odd that such plants would be in this place. What a very strange coincidence.”

.

JOHNNYJUMPUP

.

I checked in, set my bag in front of my room and hurried to the darkened little chapel where I saw, spotlighted on the altar, an arrangement of pale yellow daisies and soft white spider mums, a pure and simple arrangement with no greenery; and my heart leaped at seeing them.

.

Post script:  I have been unable to find a pic of jump-ups like these wild Ozark ones.  I was gifted the ones in our yard by a lady who was trying to stay the extinction of several wild flowers.  Those and their carbon copies in California are the only ones I’ve seen.

PEACE … Nelladell

.

.

Advertisements

THE BOUQUET OF FLOWERS

.

SONY DSC

.

I’m telling you about the affair.

My single meeting with the man was clean and bright……and burned me down.
This car I was driving was one of a line of “fifty-dollar jobbies,” vehicles so decrepit that I know the long solo trip was necessary, though the reason for undertaking the adventure is now hidden behind the events of the affair.

I was still a couple of hours from home, and had decided to take a dirt road for a few miles. I don’t know what reason my mind gave for this decision. It wasn’t a shortcut and it didn’t dodge any traffic. I certainly knew no one there.  There is no logical explanation for me being on that barely-traveled lane with a car that suddenly wouldn’t run and with darkness coming on too fast.

I vaguely wondered what experience was awaiting me while I stood gazing at the dimming empty land which, in that moment, seemed vast.

Actually, the wait wasn’t too long, and the man who stopped happened to have a well-stocked toolbox in the trunk of his car. He took a while to get my car running, then advised me to follow him to his home, where he had the proper whatever-was-needed (memory fails on this, and it’s not in my notations) to make him feel that I would have a safer trip home. I did follow him to his home, which was near a log cabin which, in turn, was near the railroad tracks.

After I drank his iced tea while he again worked under the hood he disappeared into his house, and when he returned he gave me a folded paper with his phone number so I could call him if I had trouble on the rest of my trip.

Then he handed me a bouquet of flowers.
.
*******************************************
.
The first thing I did when I drove into our yard was to reach into my bag for the telephone number.  It wasn’t there, and a long search didn’t turn it up.  It didn’t seem to be anywhere.
Hubby, then a mechanic, was favorably impressed when he saw the new whatever-it-was under the hood.When I drove back to thank the strange man for his selfless act I couldn’t find the log cabin and I couldn’t find anyone who knew of a log cabin.
.
*************************************
.
But — I had the flowers.
.
PEACE : Nelladell

.

.

%d bloggers like this: