January 9, 2013

Notes from a lunch hour

Posted in Stalking Beauty, Thoughts and Reflections at 1:07 pm by

I’m craving a certain kind of spiritual reading, but I don’t know exactly what. Or perhaps I’m craving the doing that such reading would describe. I often find that reading about something is a seductive replacement for actually doing it.

So what is that doing? Or…that being?

The quiet of an old garden on this mild, cloud-shadowed January day, stone walls and steps dark with dampness and moss. The trees leafless bare against the gray-patterned white sky, stirring almost imperceptibly in the breeze. Listening, in the silence, with the ears of the heart. With the ears of the ka.

I close my eyes and listen, sitting here at my office desk, half finished meatloaf to one side of me, half finished manuscript to the other. Low waves of Presence lap against me, curl down along my arms, tumbling riffles rolling over one another.

I breathe to share my breath with Her.

I touch my heart, seeking to hold it still, receptive, not generating fantasies or straining after unheard whispers, but simply…open.

And in the silence, I hear, low and strong as thunder, warm as the cloud-hidden sun, resonating at the base of my skull:


Divine affirmation, holy touch, mother’s comfort, a soft hiss through eager teeth. The word of all possibility. The world falling away before the cliff’s edge in all its sharp-edged beauty, aglitter in the dawn.

O Mother, You walk near me today.

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