Here’s the story of what happened to me Sunday at our annual Vancouver Edgar Cayce Group picnic.
First of all, instead of postponing the event, a couple of us performed some remarkable proactive sunny weather creation on a day forecast to be filled with periodic rain. But that’s not the story.
It’s become my custom, on this annual picnic, to go for a jog from Locarno through Jericho beaches around the lagoon, through the trees and back to our picnic site.
On several occasions our summer picnic date has coincided with the annual Brock House celebration at the far east side of Jericho beach. Yesterday was one of those days and it was my happy privilege, once again, to attend their party right at the halfway point in my jog. I thoroughly enjoyed the many displays, Bavarian dancers, and the surreal sounding band around the back playing a sort of slow motion, drunken-sounding dixieland. It was wonderful but – that’s not the story.
The most remarkable thing happened as I was jogging across the long diagonal of a field as I neared our picnic site on return; 3 or 4 swallows swooped around me and glided with me as I jogged. I stuck my arms out airplane-style as I ran; a virtually 60 yr. old man running along with his arms out as if he were a 7 yr. old boy in a school yard. The small group of swallows (don’t know the total number – never looked back) stayed with me beautifully, acrobatically, happily, flying beside me performing areal stunts all around as I ran along, arms out, feeling with them intense love and joy and happiness powerfully pumping from my heart and lungs. I don’t know if the swallows had recognized the simple arm gesture as an undertaking to become one with them or whether they could somehow sensed the elation that I felt as I flew across the field with them but it was one of those memories that you never forget.
That’s the story.