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I think the first example, with the coyote looking at me, was clear enough. In fact, the communication was a direct answer to the question bouncing about in my cranium at the time, "Does the universe communicate with us on a personal level?"But what was the communication in the added comment that I, with an organ transplant, met, in a most unlikely place, a woman who worked in an organ donation program? It was actually a punctuation mark on my conclusion in the article I had just barely written, that the universe DOES communicate with us in personal mysterious ways, even though they are often, and I think usually, so personal that we can't express them to others. Thus there are many people amongst us who "know" something about the universe on a very deep level, but it simply isn't possible to put that knowledge into words, oftentimes, for anyone else-or if it were, others couldn't believe us anyway. The universe IS that personal. (BTW Chrissy and I had a screaming run down together.)
The person who picked me up hitching, a long-haired intelligent young man from Maryland, worked with kids in a group home. Before we got to the Kucinich conversation, he told me he took that job so he could work nights, grow his hair long (something of a Bob Marley look), and ski in the day, in spite of the low pay. He didn't particularly care to work with kids in the beginning, but now he was quite attached to many of them. I told him I did a bit of the same thing, after coming from Long Island years ago, working as a security guard at night so I could write and ski, even though it was low pay. (I neglected to tell him that I tucked my pony tail under my security guard hat--and I must say it was entertaining seeing people's reactions to me in the Burn's guard outfit, and then in my normal state of being--talk about respect vs. disrespect for fellow humans!).
Also, I rode the bus up with a guy who does medical software, a former nurse, whose ears picked up when I told him why I liked nurses so much, after having twenty-five of them wait on me hand and foot the summer before last. And he described the beauty of his "alpine touring" skis and bindings, which magically combined the best of cross-country and downhill skiing, and made my ears pick up almost like a rabbit's.
Mind you, all this immediately after going forward with an extremely personal article I had some doubts about putting to print in public. Furthermore, all three of these nurturing, caring people were doing with their lives precisely what Mr. Bush lied to the world that he wanted to do: Win hearts and minds. (As an elementary school teacher and a writer with a heart transplant, you would be correct in thinking that I'm partial to these kinds of folks--and would truly LOVE to have one for president, wink, wink).
So, as I see it, there were at least three punctuation marks to the general idea that the universe IS a personal place, in spite of the dark cold vastnesses of space and terrifying fusion reactors called stars, black holes, deadly radiation, etc., and the utter uniqueness and beauty of Planet Earth (upon which we humans can't wake up enough to stop killing each other).
Regarding tuning your cosmic antennae, what I meant was simply quieting down your mind a bit and paying attention to what the universe might be trying to tell you, or the direction it might be trying to nudge you in. It's never quite crystal clear what's down the road, or even if you're 100% sure you're getting the right message (at least for me), but the idea is that one needs to have some sort of faith, even if it's a shaky one, that the place we're in really is a good place. Exactly what David Brower told me when I had the good fortune to talk with him so many years ago. In the worst of circumstances, I try to remind myself that one never really knows what's around the next bend, in this magical place called Earth.
And my final thought on yesterday's diary and this, the message that the universe is quite clearly sending to you through me: Be SURE to become an organ donor, today while you're thinking about it, and encourage others to do the same. Call your hospital for details, assuming this whole thing makes one shred of sense to you, and if you care to have people like me around. There are a dreadful number of suffering humans out there who you might one day pass the torch of life on to.
Right, Chrissy?
