Sunday, March 4, 2012

Welcome to the Lily Pad

Why a lily pad?


I like the image. It came to me in a near-dreaming state: a tiny little frog sits in the center of a pad in the center of a pond, which is the center of a lush community of living things. Unseen birds sing from the tops of trees, dragonflies buzz along the surface of the water, reeds dance to the rhythm of a gentle breeze.


There's something reassuring about that image. Out on the pad, you can see in all directions, surrounded by nature and alive things, held up on the surface of the water by something sturdy and reliable, something connected to the depths. Out on the pad, you're in the middle of it all - the rattle and hum of something bigger than yourself. An ecosystem. A community of fellow dwellers, some known and some unknown. You have a place in the grander scheme of things.


And yet, there's something existential about the image, too; that sense of isolation and floating that can make you question whether you're headed any place in particular or whether, without benefit of the lily pad, you'd just be treading water - arms and legs pumping below the surface, your self too focused on staying afloat to notice, let alone enjoy, your surroundings. Who or what sees you when you're out there alone? And are you alone at all? And what does it mean to be seen, or not, anyway?


I expect this blog will be a bit like that. A periodic musing on what lives or hides or thrives below the surface; what's outside the realm of my tiny little pad that's worth noticing, connecting with, learning from. It will be based on the questions that I'm living with at this stage in my life, such as:


How I am connected to any of it, to all of it? 
What is my direction? Does it change with the strength of the wind, or activity below the surface, or am I sitting still? 
What sparks my movement and to what do I return?  
What if I left the comfort and familiarity of the pad I know for another? 
What other options have I not even considered?


And with any luck, once in awhile, someone else out on the pond - or in it, over it, along the edges of it - will share their thoughts in return.

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