Listen, God is singing through the Elms, first as thunder, then as wind, then as trembling leaves and limb.
I wish there was a well where we could gather at the beginning of each new day,
to greet one another and consolidate our desire for holiness.
Even if our eyes are sleepy and no matter what we were dreaming minutes before
we could meet with our empty cups and fill ourselves with life;
we could drink deeply and splash our faces,
we could start out fresh
to do our best.
If you counted all the street corners in the world from the beginning of street corners per space times time, on how may street corners would you most likely meet the buddha?
They were handed down from my father’s father
and worn everyday
and slept in for fear of them being stolen in the night.
Actually, there was nothing to hand down except the thought
of a boot.
Crunching gravel and snow in winter and in spring
and tromping through mud in summer,
or slipping over fallen red, orange and yellow leaves in the
month before Halloween.
Walking on, ’round the circut of houses, I thought, “Its not far now,
it’s not far from here.”
I could see the green siding of the house from down the street, but no matter
how close I got, it was still not the right time/space zone
to call it home. The house was always under construction.
So I must trust in the wind,
the unpredictible wind.
It has not been easy for me to adjust after the attunement. I can tell that old fears are being dislodged and moved out of my system so the discomfort I feel is worth going through to clear the way. But it has been rough!
When thoughts are the problem and they are rolling around like fog in my thoughtscape it is a scary place. I feel like I’m losing my mind, and it’s true; I am losing my mind.
I’m putting on the new mind, but not till the old is gone.
When Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, Lazarus was still covered in wrappings from the burial. The people who witnessed the resurrection had to help Lazarus out of the burial wrap.
I’ve needed people I can trust to help me out of my burial clothes. I panick if I can’t get them off fast enough.
Suddenly nothing fits
And even the sacred mantras
Sound empty sung on dry,
Unsmiling lips.
It’s like waking up in a land made unfamiliar
By too many years of taking it for granted.
asingingtree 