Update on Wisdom

laurie beth jones wisdom is quicker to move than any motion

Shelly asked me to write a blog this week providing “an update on Wisdom.”  I so treasure these assignments and challenges from her, as of course it causes me to not only think more, but sit down and write about it.

So, the first thing I did was check Wisdom’s social media accounts, including Instagram, Twitter, LinkedIn, and YouTube.  Hmmm.  Not much there.  Well, She’s older than all of us, so maybe she is still using Facebook.  Hmmm.  Nope.  She is quicker to move than any motion so maybe She’s adopted Snapchat, or Slack.  Zip.  Nada.  Who is her agent anyway?

Maybe She’s cutting a deal with Netflix, or Hulu, or Amazon.  Silence.  Maybe She’s had to sign a Non Disclosure agreement, so She can’t tell everything She knows.  

I am now so perplexed that I am literally sitting with my face in my hands, looking out the window.  I wonder if maybe, since the morning shadows are getting shorter, it might be getting closer to lunch time.

And then, shhhh, suddenly there She is.  I see her.  She is hovering right outside the window above my desk.  She looks straight at me.  I marvel at the iridescence shimmering all over her body.  I know she has wings but I cannot see them. She is, instead, and somehow, a suddenly still AND constantly whirring blur of motion.  

What is she saying to me right now?  My minds snaps to attention.  I  remember our next door neighbor Kim who died suddenly at the age of 36.  She has a 3 year old and a five year old daughter, and she appeared like this to me in the kitchen window moments after I learned of her death.  

It was if she was saying “Remember my daughters.  Please play with them from time to time.  They also love Pizza, and will dance for you like crazy if you play “This Girl is On Fire” from Alicia Keys.”

My mind races to my friend Catherine—who told me clearly that once you start feeding hummingbirds your cannot just walk away.  Their very lives may depend on your stability and constancy of care—especially in winter.

I think then of the poet Mary Oliver, who wrote.  “Tell me, what are you going to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Her “All-ness” is still hovering here at my window.  I can almost see her heart pulsing in her chest.  One thousand two hundred and sixty beats per minute, even at rest.  So faster than that it is beating now, that tiny, so powerful heart of hers.  She stares intently at me.

I see a flash of my mother in her, saying “Paint what you love, and make life yours.”

I feel a sudden intake of breath, and then she is gone.  The Message, and the Messenger is gone.  

I didn’t even have time to grab my camera.  I look at the crumbs of toast on my plate and realize that will not feed her—nor entice her to return to me.

Wisdom often appears at will, and will meet only those who feed her the life giving nectar she deserves.  In my case, today, all that I had was the ability to meet her with eyes that see.

I wonder how  Shelly will feel when instead of a blog I just dash off a note:  “I saw a hummingbird, and not only saw her.  I heard her.”  Will that be acceptable for an update on Wisdom?  I hope so.  Because that’s all I have. 

And as I hit SEND my own heart is beating faster.  So I know She was here.