My heart belongs to poetry, to recollection, to narrative, to word-love and to life itself, unconditionally.
Naturally, this weekend there were two events in Amherst, Massachusetts I would have loved to attend. At Emily Dickinson’s Homestead a poetry reading marathon with reader’s bearing numbers and sitting in a circle, reading from 7 am until 11 pm all of Emily’s poems.
Last April my children and I visited Emily Dickinson's home, so we knew how unique this place is and with an event such as this one, with all those poetry lovers gathered?
It sounds like heaven.
Across town at University of Massachusetts, Amherst, a group of historians celebrating twenty-five years of public history posted quotes, insights and questions on Twitter. I read along with them, joining the conversation at times, wishing beyond wishing I could be there.
Sure, I was attending a poetry critique group here in Bakersfield and yes, I would be visiting our local history museum in the afternoon, but to me it just didn’t feel nearly as elegant as Emily and a whole tribe of passionate historians – shoulder to shoulder, conversation to conversation, wide-eyes in recognition sharing story after story.
I went from wistful to envious to grouchy to muttering and staring-only-at-my-toes mad as I walked toward my house three thousand or so miles from Amherst, Massachusetts.
Between grumbles I heard a bird call, ringing through my anger. It served as a maternal finger, raising my chin, urging me “Look up!”
So, I did.
I looked up.
I never saw the bird, but I heard its full throated, lusty song.
“A traveling bird!” I said, now smiling.
One thing that I love about Bakersfield is its gracious hospitality for traveling birds.
I did some research and I believe this little singer is the Rose Breasted Grosbeak whose song was described on a bird-call website as “similar to a Robin singing Opera.”
This description made me laugh, again.
Suddenly I remembered why I was here, present, grounded and listening exactly where I am, whether that is in Amherst or Dana Point or Bakersfield or Los Angeles or New York City or sitting in the heart of a Sequoia tree’s roots.
When we pay attention and are in love with life unconditionally, reassurance and wonder find us no matter where our feet walk.
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