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 The last few Wild Strawberries in the Meadow of my Childhood 

I wrote the Papa Trilogy about my father’s teenage war experience before the Buffalo mass shooting, before the shooting in Southern California, before the Texas school shooting. Three hate crimes within a few days. So much tragedy, so much grief. So much discouragement, chaos, and yet we need to march on for equal human rights for all. And dream up a world with new priorities. 


Spending time in the garden, its wildness and natural chaos bring perspective. In this kingdom, time slows and expands. I weed, kneel and harvest the last wild strawberries. Crouched low, at eye level with the small plants. My cheeks close to earth to glimpse the hidden treasures underneath the foliage. From finger tips the berries land straight in my mouth. Sweetness. All around me, red poppies and pink, lavender & deep purple sweet peas tilting their heads smiling at me kindly. Inviting me into their realm, faces turned toward the sun – all is aliveness inspiring purpose, focus and abandon. Yellow, red and orange nasturtiums, forget-me-nots, scarlet pimpernel, oregano, wild oats, all chime in. Bees of many kinds – including this year’s huge fat bumblebees – are buzzing from one invitation to the next, delirious. 

  

Flowering, greening, breathing. Quiet inside, I listen to the vibrations… each has its melody, hum, and rhythm. Together it all turns into a symphony. This special area of the garden entrances me, and I metamorphose, being inevitably woven into the fragrant web of wild beings. What artistry, what poetry! Leaving behind my human-ness, forgetting my two legged-ness, my ideas. I am all ears… at times humming along, spontaneously adding my own aliveness. Here “she” resides: Die Wiese meiner Kindheit – the meadow of my childhood. The meadow I longingly dream about, wondering if “she” could be found again. Here I am free, among equals, with abandon, in harmony.  


Perhaps this meadow is a Field of Awareness, a State of Mind

…and the shootings are another State of Mind that American culture is in the grip of, entranced... 

–– only when we become lucid can we chose ––


As a collective, could we dream lucidly and make the choice to wake from the old nightmare of military weapons, war and destruction? Soon enough, death will find each of us anyway. So, let's commit to precious Life!

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