Redemption Song

6th day in Ohio. It's raining today. We had tornados last night. There's a little wooden bench out by itself on the end of the promontory by the docks--no shade, but it's nice to sit on in the evenings and watch the swallows chase the bugs. There's a heron that has a nest on the rocks. He's always been there--ever since I can remember. I guess he couldn't possibly be the same heron...but maybe. I don't know anything about herons--how long they live. Jay would know. He knows all sorts of things about animals. I miss Jay.
One day, when I first started sitting, I was up here. I was in college. 17. And I had just heard of Bob Marley and learned the words to Redemption Song. I decided to meditate on the promontory. My grandmother owned the lake house then--she was still alive--and she kept very tight control over things--so I snuck a pillow and a towel outside early in the morning before she woke up. New to sitting, my thoughts wandered easily (they still wander easily), and I started thinking about the song.
"Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our mind....all I ever had, redemption song.."and I started thinking about redemption and how redemption was salvation found after forgiveness--it gave you back to life, to the present, I started thinking and following my thoughts all the way through. But it seemed that redemption and returning, to the breath to life were the only essential things. The thought hit me like a gasp, and my eyes opened fully and at that moment, the heron spread its wings and took flight across the water in the grey dawn, and it seemed that all the world was in its wings right then and that there was nothing more to know. Who was the heron? Who was I?
And last night, there was the heron again.
Over the years, I have formulated my own set of internal tarot cards--a deeply personal major arcana--a code the world sends me to let me know what's really going on. Messengers. Owls tell me someone's lying to me. Turkey buzzards confer their blessings (everyone misunderstands turkey buzzards). And herons always tell me the one I love is true.
He knew I was coming as I walked up. But he doesn't bother flying off anymore at my approach. He knows me well and will stay perched as long I don't do anything different. So I sat there and watched the swallows diving. The heron stayed perfectly still and so did I. The wind started picking up and the waves became grey and high with white caps. I suddenly noticed the yellow, leaden color of the sky and that the tops of the trees were whipping back and forth like feather dusters--and, more ominously--the swallows had disappeared. The heron still stood there, though, neck extended--one eye on me--I heard something break free--something metal, from the sound of it--and go clattering across the docks. I decided it was time to go inside, but I somehow wanted to make it okay with the heron, wanted a sign from him it was okay to leave. But you know, he's a bird, and he probably doesn't understand the weight of mystical responsibility he bears in terms of my own personal mythology, and he just wasn't complying. He seemed in fact to be more interested in looking for easy fishing due to wind and approaching storm etc.
Even the zen birds are opportunists.
I decided to save my own skin and go back to the house. Where every one of my fat polish cousins had called and left us voice messages warning us about the tornados in our area.
That's my 1/2 hour. Well more than that, because my father kept coming onto the porch and interrupting with vacation ideas for me. Christ, you can't finish a thought in this family. I know, I know. I sound like an ass, but if you'd grown up with these people, you'd know. They want to own every piece of you. Ah, if only everything and everyone would comply! The universal psychosis...
Later.