Shining Spirit

Life is made up of two kinds of people.

There are those who grumble that the path is much too steep, the ground is frightfully uneven, those rocks are slippery, the humidity is too high, and, who knows, I might get stung by a bee!

And there are those who feel an invitation to the mystery waiting over the crest of the hill, wonder what demons or delights might be on the other side, then give in to a curious compulsion to find out.   Are they always glad they climbed the hill?  No, of course not.  But once in awhile, often enough to keep wonder alive, I stand on a place where sky meets earth and see jagged mountains as I’ve never seen them before, or a sloping valley filled with bright yellow flowers swaying in a gentle breeze sliding down the ravine, or glimpses of young deer grazing on sweet meadow grass, or the melody of a winding stream that could neither be seen nor heard from below.  And when that happens I know that the climb, slippery rocks and all, was worth it.

I hope I will always experience life as one who is impertinently inquisitive.

I hope I will always have the courage required to risk the finding.

I hope my joy in discovery will never surrender to a casual complacency that destroys the soul of wonder.

I hope I will live to my last day with the good sense to realize that when my anticipation is disappointed at the top of the hill, I can smile and whisper to myself:  “Maybe over the next one.”

I’ve heard that people sometimes pay hundreds of dollars, maybe more, to learn the art of flower arranging. That is, indeed, an expression of artistic beauty.

I got a lesson for free the other day when I walked along a mountain path in the Santa Catalina mountains.

The decaying log, resting gently on a very large gray boulder, provided a nurturing bed for delicate green shoots nestled together in the log’s jagged brokenness.  The earth has such a wonderful knack for using things returning for the benefit of things emerging.  An animal dies in the forest and provides life for other creatures searching for food.  The decaying log returns to the earth and deposits minerals and life giving resources for other forms about to emerge into the light.  But before she goes, before she is no more in her present form, the log becomes an exquisite vase for little shoots of new life which, in their fulness of time, will continue the sacred cycle.

So, may we walk upon the earth gently knowing that beneath our feet are many gifts bestowed by others.

May we thank the earth for her life receiving and life giving by caring for her wounds and protecting her vulnerabilities.

May we be aware that each of us has come from the care and nourishment of pioneers, pilgrims, and precious loved ones… and that we are privileged to bless the lives of those who walk behind us.

May we always find time to appreciate the earth’s galleries of beauty and wonder as we move along our paths.

May sacred seeing and generous gratitude be our companions.

May it be so.