Lessons from My Ho'oponopono Cleaning Bird

We've had some vicious storms here in Arizona the last few days -- high winds, damaged homes, flooding, road closures, large event tents sailing away and landing on freeways, and some drownings. Not to mention all the snow in Flagstaff and Sedona. It's nowhere near the suffering in Haiti, but enough to get people's attention.

In the midst of it all, a little bird taught me some Ho'oponopono.

During the swirling rain and winds the other night, I went outside to wrestle with my dancing patio furniture. It needed a safer place, closer to the house. While out there, I happened to look up at the patio light . . . . where perched in all its fine fluffery and gawky-long tail was my friend, the Roadrunner.

S/he (I don't know which) visits often, but usually flies away when I come out. This time s/he looked as if sitting on a nest -- which are usually made of sticks and such in a tree or shrub. Sometimes they even include worn-out rattlesnake skins. If s/he had made one, I surely hadn't seen it.

But my patio light is in a protected, peaceful, less-windy spot, near the top of the covered porch. Out of the rain, too.

Very slowly, I moved closer to see if what I thought I saw, was "really" there. It didn't seem possible, and yet it was. His/her legs and feet nestled inside the light fixture, with long tail jutting upright against the house. His/her eyes were open and shiny, gazing down at me from above. No sound, only that serene gaze.

Every few seconds, the wind would intensify -- raising feathers or blowing back its head crest. It was definitely a headwind, only my friend wasn't flying.

It had to be uncomfortable. Yet even while his/her feathers blew every which way, this Roadrunner's presence appeared completely unruffled.

I've been Ho'oponopono cleaning with Haiti and her needs, and cleaning with these storms I'm describing here too. Still, this Roadrunner seemed to know a lot more about doing this during inclement times than I do. When painful things happen, I'm more likely to be mentally running back and forth like s/he usually does.

This time, there was none of that. I simply told her "I love you. You're welcome as long as you want to stay." The night was loud and frightening . . . and yet she stayed put.

Early the next morning, the rain slowed down and the wind quieted. Out I crept to check on my friend . . . who was still there, asleep. Not long after, s/he roused and fluttered off.

I climbed up on a ladder and peeped inside the light fixture -- could there be eggs?

No eggs, and definitely no nest. What my friend had sat in all night long was the equivalent of you or me perched precipitously on top of a toilet with our arms and legs inside, rather than out. If we had long tails, they'd have been crammed upright against the raised lid while wind and sideways rain blasts pelted us.

Could YOU do that? More importantly, could you do it without grumbling? I don't know if I could. My Roadrunner friend taught me volumes that night, just by being a silent sentinel. S/he showed me how to practice, yet again.

Mabel Katz is offering another of her teleseminar calls in a few days . . . you can listen, ask questions, and learn about Ho'oponopono from wherever you are. Join us, please -- especially if you're perched in a precarious place in life! In addition, Mabel is creating a Ho'oponopono MasterMind Coaching Series which still has some openings. Interested? You can learn more about that, here.

Peace begins with me,
Pam