As a child, I was fascinated by tadpoles. And I wasn’t alone.
Freely roaming the neighborhood during summer months, we kids would gather in my neighbor’s frog enclosure to search for new life. When tadpoles first appeared in the manmade pond, we peered into the murky water.
Like curious child scientists, we observed the natural evolutionary process of this ancient species.
Between neighborhood games of sheep and wolf, picking berries from the garden, and sleeping under the stars, we tracked the tadpoles’ progress. Spending quality time on our bellies became an integral part of our playtime.
We were delighted by the alchemical process when tiny legs appeared.
As small arms grew and tails shortened, we knew to check the surrounding banks to ensure gradual slopes of dirt and rocks for the froglets to make their way onto land.
Beyond observerIng, we became participants in creating an environment to support progress.
The froglets had to navigate their way out of water in order to live and breathe on land. The water, which sourced early development, became deadly if they were unable to make the transition.
This unfolding mystery trained us as naturalists and strengthened our connection to the rhythms of nature.
Just the presence of enthusiastic playmates with curious minds and a sense of wonder for a complex ecosystem resulting from millions of years of evolution.
Looking back upon my tadpole research, I recognize the valuable modeling of how to live in an ever changing world.
Complex personal, societal, and global challenges requires us, like the tadpole, to grow legs, learn to breathe through change, climb out of our comfort zone, and skillfully navigate new terrain. The combination of outer turmoil and inner evolutionary pulsing invites the potential to adapt skillfully. As adults, we rely upon learned experience, cognitive problem solving, and well honed defense mechanisms to move through adversity.
Yet, the inner curious child scientist suggests a different approach.
Letting go the mind, we might breathe deeply, drop into (onto) our belly, and reconnect with the rhythm of our essential nature. Relaxed and open, we’re free to gaze into the murky situation. Seeking subtle clues which offer a broader understanding of the potential for transformation. From this vantage point, we may recognize that we are swimming in the evolutionary stream of life.
What began millions of years ago is unfolding through us, inviting the next phase of becoming.
What was once perceived as a problem may be welcomed as a necessary phase of our own evolution. Broadening our vision, we recognize that so many others, seen and unseen, have prepared the environment for our growth and cleared the way for our move into new territory.
Welcoming support makes sense as no one travels alone on the journey of life.
Swim. Climb. Leap.
My love affair with tadpoles taught me how every phase of development has value. That it is important to look beneath the surface, engage a sense of childlike wonder, and enlist playmates to make life’s journey more enjoyable.
This story also appears in Natural Awakenings Magazine, South Jersey and Philadelphia additions.
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
Researchers suggest that early childhood years are fundamental in developing positive environmental attitudes and a commitment to caring for the Earth. With time playing in parks, forests, and playgrounds, children have the opportunity to reduce stress, engage in creative play, and explore the natural world. Research has found physical and psychological benefits including increased cooperation, verbal expression, and social comfort entering play with other.
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
Three months ago, I unexpectedly entered into a relationship with a horse.
I met Zor during a visit to Liberty Stables in Florida, where I had gone to spend time with a friend’s horses. I had no particular expectations. I have no background with horses, no training, and no experience in equine-assisted therapy. I simply met this magnificent Friesian, and something quietly familiar unfolded between us.
I fell in love.
The women who arrive in my classes, retreats, and therapy sessions are sincerely looking for healing, expansion, clarity, or sometimes just a little room to breathe.
They are thoughtful women, deeply engaged with the people and work they love. Rarely do they arrive because they want another spiritual philosophy. Most are carrying something much more ordinary.
A life that has become full. Beautiful in many ways, but crowded.
About twenty-five years ago, I was driving with a colleague to a local conference. As we approached the hotel entrance, I noticed an open parking spot near the front door.
“There’s a spot,” I said, pointing to the right. He drove past it.
A few seconds later, another one appeared. He drove past that one, too. Then I pointed to a third. “There’s a spot.” Without the slightest hesitation, Dan replied, “I’ll leave that for someone else.” And he calmly parked much farther away. As we walked to the entrance, I asked about that statement.
During the Seeding the Light Gathering, I had the privilege of hosting Pascual and Jose Tomas in our home.
They feel like family as this was their second visit to New Jersey. We’ve also spent a week together in Damanhur and the Temples of Humankind in Italy. I’ve sat in many ceremonies with Pascual in Peru’s Sacred Valley. His flute playing often carried me up mountain trails in the thin air and hot sun.
I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.
All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.
The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears. Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.
I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.
Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her. Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.
