Emily Dickinson wrote:
“Angels in the early morning / May be seen the dew among, / Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying: / Do the buds to them belong?”
And this from Livingston’s African journal, written in the three years between 1853 and 1856.
“The trees abound, and so does honey. This is evidence of a great number of flowers - though of few varieties. Some would deserve a place in our flower shows, but are born to blush unseen except by the angels.”
Maybe they are born for only that reason, to be cherished by the angels.
So here it is, mid afternoon, and my computer screen is blank. This is my nightmare. I have a general idea of what I’d like to do tonight for the show, but it’s not coming together exactly the way I wanted it to. So, I’ve decided to write my blog instead and give my nightmare free flight…
I’m usually ahead by a week or so with ideas for where I want the program to go, but I wait until the day of the actual program to put it together, so that when I present it on the air, it will be fresh in my mind. On days like today, when the screen is still blank at this time of the day, my heart rate increases slightly. There might even be a drop of perspiration on my brow, as I once again realize that the clock never stops for me, doesn’t even pause for a split second to allow me to take a breath.
I can take a break, go out for some fresh air by the pond, feed the fish, maybe play with the dog, make a few phone calls, read a chapter in a novel I’m currently caught in, to try to get my ‘Muse’ back, but the digital clock on my computer in my home office and the other one on the wall keeps ticking away, reminding me that time is running out.
I’ve found there is a certain cut-off point, a time on that same clock when I must put an idea, that isn’t quite panning out, to bed for another day, and go in a completely different direction.
My day is often filled with distractions. No sooner do I get into the right frame of mind developing an idea for the show, and the phone rings. It’s a telemarketer trying to ply his or her trade. The doorbell rings and it’s someone also trying to sell me something. The dog barks every time the mail person from Canada Post drops another flyer or bill into the mailbox. I go upstairs from my basement office to see if it’s a salesperson at the door. The dog almost seems to smile at me, as if she’s saying, “See what a wonderful watchdog I am!” Our ‘watchdog’, by the way, is a Schnoodle - part Schnauzer, part Poodle, and her bark is definitely worse than her bite. She barks every time someone passes by walking a dog. I think she barks to remind me that she’d like to go for a walk, just like the one that she alerted me to. Sometimes I do take her for that walk, hoping my ‘Muse’ will magically re-appear somewhere along the way. You might be surprised where and when the inspiration hits. Some of my best programs have come together in my mind while walking the dog, riding my bike, running errands, mowing the lawn, attending to the needs of the pond or the swimming pool, taking my son to his hockey practice or a game, listening to the banter at the dinner table.
So, I took a break from writing this blog and decided to get some fresh air, hoping that the change of scenery would entice the ‘Muse’ to return. I ended up sitting in a chair on our front walk. It’s been a quiet afternoon with a fairly gusty breeze to rustle the changing leaves. I was reminded of that wonderful line from Christina Georgina Rossetti, as I watched the trees on our street let loose a fall of coloured leaves.
“Who has seen the wind? / Neither you nor I:/ But when the trees bow down their heads,/ The wind is passing by. “
I was also reminded of another thought that I’ve entertained on the program. The wind passing by is nothing more spectacular than angels on the move. Wherever they were going this afternoon, they seemed to be in a hurry. Maybe they were off to see a flower that has bloomed for their eyes only….
While I was there, basking in the warm late summer sun, listening to the wind in the leaves, and playing with ones on the road, lost in this reverie, that I finally noticed a hummingbird hovering in the air above our flower garden, watching me intently. I was unaware that this little creature of the air was within arm’s reach, but no sooner did I meet its determined gaze, then it was up and over our house, off in search of another source of nectar.
“The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind. The paired butterflies are already yellow with August…” (an excerpt from a centuries old poem by Li T’Ai Po, translated by Ezra Pound.)
In one of my shows this summer, I mentioned a Red Admiral butterfly that seemed to favour the flowers my wife planted. I see butterflies all the time in the gardens, but this one piqued my interest. I knew it was the same one that returned day after day, because it had a flaw on one of its wings. A piece was missing. How it got damaged, I will never know. Some larger creature may have tried to take a bite out of it, or it could have been caught on something, leaving a part of its wing behind. It returned to our garden for days on end, and I actually began anticipating its visits. Again, from many centuries in the past, Chang Tzu said, “I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man.”
I haven’t seen the little Red Admiral in a while, and I wonder if its brief life is now over. Rabindranath Tagore wrote, “The butterfly counts not months but moments and has time enough.” I don’t imagine that Red Admiral lacked for any inspiration over its short life…
It also reminded me of one of my favourite poems. It is called A Yellow Pansy by Helen Gray Cone, that I found in an English collection, A Victorian Posy: A Treasury of Verse and Prose scented by Pehaligon’s, edited by Sheila Pickles, published in 1994 by Harmony Books, a division of Crown.
“To the wall of the old green garden / A butterfly quivering came; / His wings on the sombre lichens / Played like a yellow flame.
He looked at the grey geraniums, / And the sleepy four o’clocks; / He looked at the low lanes bordered / With the glossy-growing box.
He longed for the peace and the silence, / And the shadows that lengthened there, / And his wee wild heart was weary / Of skimming the endless air.
And now in the old green garden, / I know not how it came, / A single pansy is blooming, / Bright as a yellow flame.
And whenever a gay gust passes, / It quivers as if with pain, / For the butterfly-soul that is in it, / Longs for the winds again!”
In that brief instant, of being caught unaware by this most delicate of Nature’s wild birds, all these thoughts came rushing to me, as if on one of those strong gusts of wind. The next time I’m looking at a blank screen, I will always try to remember a poem written in Hindi by Ravindra Kumar Karnari. It was posted on the internet. This is called “And A Meadowlark Sang“
“The child whispered, ’God speak to me’ /And a meadowlark sang…/The child did not hear…
So the child yelled, ‘God, speak to me!’ / And the thunder rolled across the sky…/ But the child did not listen…
The child looked around and said, ‘God, let me see you’ and a Star shone brightly / But the child did not see…
And the child shouted, / ’God, show me a miracle!’ / And a life was born, but the child did not know.
So the child cried out in despair, / ‘Touch me God, and let me know you are here!’ / Whereupon God reached down and touched the child….
But the child brushed the butterfly away and walked away unknowingly…”
My ‘Muse’ returned today….It came disguised as a hummingbird….
Don Jackson
Isn’t it funny how so often when we turn our minds “off” and just sit and observe and allow life to happen that we find what we had been looking for that had seemed so elusive?
- NancyLooking forward to the show tonight!
just wanted to say-that not being able to listen to your show at night -often enough or to completion–your blog is awesome and inspiring-was so excited this morning to see a new entry-being able to read-and re- read your words and thoughts is –in a way-even better than listening!!sometimes we listen and your thoughts bring our own thoughts into mind and then we miss the next segment–i have listened to you for years–thankyou for all the soothing moments and enjoyable times-
- gailI have to say, reading your words here on the screen is amazing, because I can hear your voice saying them. I have been a listener for a long time now, I am 27 years old and I remember being much younger and being ’stuck’ listening to CHFI because my parents wanted to listen to it. The only time I would stop complaining is when you show came on. Even as a young kid 13/14 years old I was awed at you ability to talk about a topic and play a song that entirely matched you words, it is truely remarkable. I have often wondered what your inspirations were and where you would find the passages you have read to us over the years and have always been able to find some message from almost all the shows I have listened to. I guess all this rambling comes down to one thing, Thank you. Thank you for the show, thank you for the words, thank you for the moments you have inspired. Thank you
- Arif MajidAh, the infamous blue heron! We, too, have a pond with goldfish and an enormous Japanese Koi, and every fall we have to cover our pond with the plastic mesh. Like you, we tried using the decoy heron, but unless you’re diligent in moving the decoy every day, it doesn’t work. But I’m sure you will agree, that it’s all worthwhile, and is payment for the months of enjoyment we get from just sitting, watching and listening to the mating calls of the bull frogs in the spring, the dragon flies drinking and flitting around the lily pads, to the gentle babbling sound of the waterfall during the summer. When I see the heron, I know it’s a sure sign of the arrival of fall, and the winter months to come. Such is life. “…………… There is a season, turn, turn, turn, and a time for every purpose under heaven”. (Sang, I believe, by Mary Hopkins, back in the early 1970’s?).
- Leah Padfield<strong>Jack…</strong>
- JackCool post. 100% great content everytime. Thanks for sharing….