A sign!

After pontificating on signs and whether I should stay in Cairns, within hours of posting The Omens I found this:

     It was imprinted with the contours of the adjacent bitumen road and brittle as if it had weathered the seasons.  It lay on the grass by the path (the path!) as if begging me to notice.

     What does it mean?

     Just before I left TI I was chatting to my dear friend, D who is most familiar with Buddhism.  I declared that I am not sufficiently evolved spiritually to dabble in Buddhism because I have made endless attempts to explore the religion, but nothing resonates.  I have wondered whether it is a dislike of maroon clothing that is subconsciously preventing me from embracing what should be a fulfilling and enlightening spiritual path.  

     Why can’t I be a Buddhist and wear blue robes and have long hair? But robes aren't the answer.  The card says so.
     Yep. Forget prayer beads. I’ve lost every set of rosaries I’ve had since my first when I started school in 1974. They were exquisite.  Real pearls and silver.  Or so I thought at that tender age.

     So I have interpreted finding this card as a sign.  I need to serve others.  Not that I haven’t been serving Tony and the kids since I stopped full-time work in 2006 and turned down offers of work since, 'to be a mum.'   

     Maybe I need to serve other others.

     I am starting in Kibbim’s class as a parent helper this week.  That’s a start.

     I am helping Mum with the foster dogs she is caring for even though one of them urinated on Kibbim’s homework last Tuesday night. 

     “Sorry, Miss, the dog widdled on my homework.”

     Somehow I don't think trying to rehabilitate neglected dogs from the Torres Strait is 'the path'.
     I really am trying really hard to be a better mother, that is, trying to mother 'with awareness' (see, I can do Buddhism) which means engaging with the kids and not just being physically present when the kids are home from school.  

     Maybe this card has some other significance.  
     It might be a sign.  Of what, though?

     I recall an incident over a decade ago.  I had done a painting of a scene from a property D (my Buddhist friend) had owned, but had reluctantly sold.  The scene was the sun breaking through the canopy of the rainforest and reflecting on the babbling waters of the creek.  It had been her favourite place on the property where she meditated.  I wanted D to have something to remind her of that special place.

     She was teary eyed when I delivered the framed painting.  She couldn’t wait to hang it and engaged a tradesman fix a special hook to ensure it was secure.

Not long after, the hook dislodged from its casing, the painting fell and the glass smashed into a thousand pieces.

What did this mean?

     A mutual friend was discussing the significance of the fall.  It was a metaphor for her not wanting to sell, or for making a bad decision to sell or she was resisting the sale and needed to let go.  Many other theories of spiritual significance were brainstormed.

     “Or,” said this friend, “it could mean what my wife reckons?”

     “What’s that?” asked D and I, certain to learn the one true reason for the painting’s damage.

     “Absolutely nothing,” said the friend, “except the painting was too heavy for the hook.”