Bird Droppings March 31 – April 1, 2025

Eating some leftover green beans, ham, and potatoes and thinking about the circle of life

I made a huge crock pot of green beans, ham, and potatoes last evening and had plenty of leftovers. One of my favorite childhood memories is of meals with the family. I’m sitting at my computer, working on my Bird Droppings and an article for a Foxfire publication, and eating some of it. Several factors have led me to write today. I am a student of Carl Jung; in terms of my psychological philosophy, I am more in tune with him than, say, Freud. I see events intertwining and taking us to the next event. As I have been working on citations for my dissertation and verifying page numbers from several references, last week I ended up re-reading Dr. Michael Garrett’s book, Walking in the Wind, again yesterday. 

“You have noticed that everything an Indian does is in a circle, and that is because the power of the world always works in circles, and everything tries to be round.” Black Elk, Oglala Lakota Medicine Man

If you think a bit too soon, all you will see are circles. Hurricanes and tornadoes move in circles. Birds build their nests in circles. The more philosophical meaning could be that we look at life; we are born and then embark on a journey that culminates in death, completing the circle. In the past six days or so, several friends from high school have passed on. Each had a life journey, touching many people and friends.

I mowed my front yard the other day, trying to stay ahead of the forecasted rain on Sunday and Monday. I have a large selection of music on my Apple Music through my iPhone and hearing aids. My middle son had suggested a group, Mandolin Orange, and I have become a fan. My iPhone, however, has recently started suggesting similar music in the same genre after an album finishes. So here I am, mowing, listening to my music, and it changes – still the same, so I keep mowing. A song by Jason Isabelle is playing. Honestly, I can say I do not know him. The song title is unusual, “If We Were Vampires.” The chorus hit me hard. I cut off the mower and went to my front porch to sit and listen again without the mower running. I had to look up the lyrics. Perhaps it was reading about a friend passing just before I started cutting grass. It might have been thinking about my wife, Pat, whom I married forty-five years ago; I’m not sure, but I was crying.

“It’s knowing that this can’t go on forever; likely, one of us will have to spend some days alone.

Perhaps we’ll spend forty years together, but one day I’ll be gone, or one day you’ll be gone. Jason Isabell

Words to a song can impact us, perhaps opening up memories and forgotten pieces of our lives. The intellect and the artist in us intertwine, intersect, and blend our soul’s avenues. I read more in Walking on the Wind and finished mowing with this song stuck in my head. We live life so flippantly and waste precious moments. I thought back to friends I’ve lost over the years and my father and father-in-law, whose birthdays are coming up. I thought of my mother when she lost my father nearly fifteen years back, and then my mother’s passing. I shared with my granddaughter that I miss my writing spiders; they will be coming out soon as they get bigger. I am writing today with several dream catchers around me, reminding me of the web of life. We each merely strand on the web. I thought of the concept of synchronicity, as described by Carl Jung. I took my wife’s car to get washed and filled up with gas this morning. As I pulled off the ramp, a red-tailed hawk swooped by me. Ten seconds sooner or later, and I would have missed it.

“Wellness is harmony in spirit, mind, and body.” Carol Locust, Eastern Band of Cherokee, Harvard Educational Review

I read this line from Dr. Garrett’s book, which Carol Locust wrote. It sounds so simple, but it connected with the lyrics from Jason Isabelle’s song. Dr. Garett stressed that we need balance in our lives. I somehow seem to be drawn back to a yellow sticky note left on my computer screen over twenty-five years ago by my sixteen-year-old son. He was a big fan of Aerosmith, and the words he wrote were from a song on one of their albums. A young man had been severely injured in a car accident; he was close to all of us. I spent the night by his bedside, watching the monitors and holding his hand. Come morning, he was declared brain dead; he had always said he would be an organ donor and was taken for surgery to save other lives. I was hit hard that night, having three teenagers at home myself. I drove home from the hospital and sat down at my computer to find a yellow sticky note.

“Life is about the journey, not the destination.” Steven Tyler, Aerosmith

These threads intertwine as I sit here writing. Savor the moments and time we have. I have a digital photo album next to my desk, and a spider web appeared on the screen as I looked over it. A writing spider, amazing how life and our journeys interconnect. My dear friends, please keep all those in harm’s way in your hearts and minds and always give thanks. namaste.

My family and friends, I do not say this lightly,

Mitakuye Oyasin

(We are all related)

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