Shining Spirit

Scattered among all the days of responsibilities
and rationality are exquisite moments when
priorities pale in the revealing of the obvious,
the taken for granted.

I look at the contours of your hand, a life story
told by lines that trace years of sacrifice,
memories in the flesh marks of selfless
giving, a simple band of commitment, now
worn by time but cherished for so long.
And I know.

The look of wonder in your eyes when the
late afternoon sun electrifies the mountains,
a recognition of the glowing sacredness
painted in burning orange and soft purple.
And I understand.

The deep concern in your face when illness
stalks a loved one or pain invades the life
of a friend or mercy is denied the helpless,
charity betrayed by greed.
And I realize.

Your unfailing kindness to the unkind,
acceptance of others who aggravate or
annoy, the ease of your “hello”, the
fullness of your presence even in
momentary encounters.
And I recognize.

In these remarkable moments, briefly
focused, graciously given, I am embraced
by the unmistakable Presence of Love.

And I am grateful.

A faint whisper floats in the enveloping darkness,
“Morning comes.  Light is arriving.”

The words are gentle and soft,
the texture of cloud or fine mist after
a summer rain.  More than announcement,
the alluring words proclaim sacred benediction
as Night dons his black cloak, looks once more
upon Sleep’s handiwork, then moves toward
the faint appearing of Light.

Darkness to light.  Sleep to waking.
I am awed by the hope of transformation:
violence to peace, fear to trust,
shallow reality to deep consciousness.

I dream that all words spoken in the dawning day
will be reconciling, that hands extended
to all creatures will bear gifts of grace,
that caring hearts will recognize sacredness
borne in all beings.

On the edge of sleep and waking,
the thin place between two worlds,
I sense a gentle tug on the warm covers,
a signal that life awaits.
“Rise, child.  Light calls your name.”

My wake up alarm, the announcement
of another day’s arriving, is the sound of
shuffling steps along the tile hallway.
Slippered feet sliding across the
hard stone surface.  Little steps in
the darkness, cautious but relentless.
A sound like sandpaper on hard wood or
whispers of steam escaping from the radiator.

Abruptly the shuffling ceases,
silence consumes the sleeping house.
I know what’s coming next.  Lie still,
maybe she’ll leave me alone.  Tense,
teasing moments pass.  Then from
the blackness, a cold wet nose
nudges against my unwelcoming hand.

I feign sleep but with no success.
Two large brown eyes are mere inches
away, staring.  Steely laser beams
riveted on my forehead.  I wait.
The eyes wait.  I roll to the other
side of the bed.  The lasers shuffle
after me and lock on again.  I surrender.
Throwing back the covers,
I reluctantly set my feet on the cold floor
and we shuffle off into the day together.

Good morning, Maggie.
Good dog.

I rest tonight in confident hope

That dawn will announce new
life throughout creation.

That all worry and fearful thoughts
will be surrendered to the sound
of Love’s heart beating in the
darkness.

That the last vision before sleep will
be the nearness of Love remembered
in the faces of those I cherish.

That all prayers whispered as night
descends will be gathered into the
Sacred Spirit pulsing through the
universe.

That night will silently slip away
as morning light softens the
edges of her black cape.

I welcome darkness, old friend,
who gently tucks me into the
embrace of the Mystery beyond
explanation or understanding.

I sleep in trust to awake
in gratitude.

In the new day, may I see the Artist’s hand in
the most common sights.

May I find rest in still waters, my soul’s
restoring by the grace of Love.

May quiet ripples sing to my heart.  May
I know peace, and in the knowing, impart
it freely.

May it be so.

Today I have lots of things to do,
important things, scheduled things
and with my first cup of morning
coffee, I ponder all my priorities.

Not now, Maggie, I’m pondering.

My black dog can be rather demanding
in the morning.  I fill her food dish,
do the ritual walk, wrap her pills in
a piece of cheese, and she still wants
her ears scratched.

Not now, Maggie, I’m reviewing my
responsibilities.

And yet she persists.  Sitting at my feet
while I calculate time and distance
between appointments, her dark brown
eyes won’t let go of my face.  Her head
droops like an ignored child.  She waits.

Ok, lay down by the chair and I’ll give you
one hand for two minutes.

Her floppy ears are soft and warm, and it
doesn’t take long for her to slip off into
sleep, drawing deep breathes, snoring
contentedly.  I watch her broad chest
move up and down, strong muscles
relax in sheer enjoyment.  Only
yesterday, it seems, I could hold
her in one hand.  Now, ten years later,
she rises more slowly and doesn’t
run with the same bursting energy.

For about twenty minutes, I scratch
and she sleeps.  Pure peace.  It takes
a few more moments for me to realize
what is happening.  My appointment
book falls to the floor and with it the
requirements of my day.  It stays
there, pages askew, as I absorb
the moment.

I scratch, she sleeps.  And we
are both the better for it.

One beautiful day, when the sky was blue,
and birds were lifting their songs,
I said to myself “Can this be true?
We’ve finally done what we set out to do!
We’ve made ourselves Great again!

We’ve rid all the streets of people who looked
like they didn’t belong in our town.
Their language, too strange.  Their attitudes shook
the foundations outlined in our little red book.
These different ones had to get out!

Our Greatness was shaped in another way, too.
We only permit certain thoughts.
We never allow what some would construe
as a thoughtful opinion or personal view.
We are Great!  And we all think alike.

When anyone comes to our Great little town
and asks for permission to stay
we question their motives and if there are found
any different opinions, we mark them all down.
We won’t let our Greatness be stained!

We’re open to all and we won’t make a fuss
if you plan your new residence here.
Just fill out the form and remember you must
show positive proof that you are just like us.
Bank records and votes cast will do.

Oh, it’s Great to be Great!  Remarkably Great!
Let’s hear it for Greatness Again!
The rest of the world’s in a pitiful state
but what’s that to us, we’ve a lock on our gate.
We don’t need that riffraff in here!

The message we bring and the steps that we take
are very well planned and designed.
Our goal is quite clear.  Please make no mistake.
The system is our to fully remake
as long as the people don’t care.”

God is the Space between notes in a Beethoven symphony
the Reality filling soundless moments between ticks of the clock
the Interval linking all heart beats from first to last
the Quiet joining each recurring echo of coyotes singing in the canyon
the Moment between lightening’s flash and thunder’s rumble
the Split Second separating Einstein’s “ah ha”
the Distance between every star in every galaxy known and yet to be known
the Electrical Snap linking the impulses from my brain to my hands
God: the unseen Adhesive of life

God is the dark Silence at the bottom of the deepest ocean
the rhythmical Whisper of a respirator in a hospital room
the first Gurgle from the mouth of a newborn in her mother’s arms
the Roar of engines as the rocket lifts off into fathomless space
the Fragrance of apple pie cooling on the kitchen table
the Music of rain dancing on a tin roof
God:  the intrinsic Voice of life

It was a curious sound floating by my ear,
almost unnoticed.  Faint.  Intermittent.
Gone.  Back again but not for long.
Whirring.

A delicate honeybee, wings fanning the air,
contending with death, unsuccessfully,
burrowed in the gray hallway carpet.
Captive of stucco walls and screen doors.
No place for a bee.  Death trap.
Too many days without sweet pollen and
shifting breezes.

No resistance to human touch.
No objection to resting in the palm of a hand.
No complaint about nestling under the fig vines in
the back yard.  The soil is deliciously warm.
The air fresh.

Death will come sooner or later.  No options.
No deals.  Reality.

So how to die.  Swallowed by a ravenous
vacuum cleaner?  Tossed in the garbage from
the old silver dustpan?  Scooped up in the
coarse fiber of a disposable paper towel?
Indignity.

Better to dissolve into the earth.  Better
to return to molecules and ancient memory.
Better to die into life than into death.
Much better.

Give me a place where the earth is
warm, where rain and sunshine
combine to create.  Give me the earth.
Give me again the place from which I came.
Give me the soil of my soul.

I will know that place and it will know me.
We will embrace for a short time and then I
will be off to a new star.

A short prayer for the beginning of each day —

Jesus Christ

Face of God

Song of Love’s creation

Live fully in my life I pray

Speak to my heart throughout the day

Console me when I lose my way

Jesus Christ

Face of God

Song of Love’s creation