The Cicada’s Song

          This summer hasn't been very kind to the Meyer family.  It began with a funeral.  Then two family members had surgery, and two had trips to the emergency room.  We haven’t been able to schedule a vacation yet, because we’re still dealing with recuperations and doctors’ appointments.  So last week, at the height of it all, I decided that I needed some mini-vacations:  I decided to begin my day by praying the Rosary on an early morning walk.  I love to walk and pray the Rosary.  It gives me time to think and to place my concerns before God.  It also rousts my carcass, which is typically parked at a desk all day long. 

August mornings in New Jersey are usually cool and clear, and that’s great walking weather.  I sometimes pass a neighbor or two during the walk, but most of the time my walks are solitary and quiet . . . except for the cicadas.  August is also the month for cicadas in New Jersey.  Some people love them, others hate them.  I love them.  I mention the cicadas because that’s the first thing I noticed when I started taking my morning walks.  My initial reaction to the whirr of the cicadas was to bemoan how quickly the summer was passing.  But the cicada song soon lulled me into a very peaceful state.  The sound brings back so many wonderful August memories for me – trips to my grandfather’s cabin in the Poconos; family vacations; strolling the grounds of a Buddhist monastery in Japan; the birth of my first child. 

More importantly, cicadas remind me to live in the moment.  Cicadas live most of their lives underground, and their lives above ground last only about 6 to 8 weeks.  And how do they spend that time?  Singing.  Cicadas don’t lament years spent underground or the fact that their time above ground will be so short.  They don’t worry about when they’re going to die.  They just sing!  What a great way to live – singing. 

Though my family has faced many challenges this summer, we've also received countless blessings: the care of great doctors and nurses; the support of family and friends; and the return to good health.  I could spend my day complaining about the challenges, or I could spend my day being grateful for the blessings received.  It’s my choice.  So at least for August, I chose to follow the cicadas’ example.  I choose to sing!

In the cicada's song

There's no sign that can foretell

How soon it must die.

Bashō Matsuo (1644-1694)