The Answer is...........

There is a ponderous question I answer with every thought, every to do, every breath and word spoken. Every meeting or action I take or do not answers the question. No one is exempt. Do I truly, really believe that my life matters? That my happiness, my fulfillment, my joy and worth are so precious to Life, God, the Divine, that I was created uniquely at this moment and time to experience? My answer is what I whisper every moment into the eyes of Life Divine.

Thrice Asked

Alternating my  eyes, Kindle font at its largest, and the blurred dancing words read:

“A basket full of bread sits on your head but you beg for crusts from door to door. Up to your knees in the stream’s water and you seek a drink from this person and that.  Would that you could know yourself for a time! Would that you could see a sign of your own beautiful face. … If you could only see your own beauty-for you are greater than the sun! Why are you withered and shriveled in this prison of dust? Why not become fresh from the gentleness of the heart’s spring? Why not laugh like a rose? Why not spread perfume?" ~Rumi

I will not write with the voice of “we.”  I will ask only myself.  I believe in the key. I believe in the keyhole etched to fit the key. I believe in the door knob that turns when the emptiness of the keyhole is filled with that which was carved out. I believe in the door.  So why is it so hard to place hand upon knob and insert the key? I know so many other doors, their handles and doorknobs worn with the imprint of my palms.  Is the act reserved only for others, the great, the inspired, the beautiful, learned and perhaps holy? Or is it the fear of the unknown, untested, and what if, that makes me distrustful of the uncertainty and blurriness?  Leaving me to doubt the angel beckoning, ‘come through the door and believe.’

“Would that you could know yourself….. see a sign of your own beautiful face….Why not? Why not? Why not?” Three times he asks, three times I reply……………….

Beyond the Garden

I cherish my plants. The bamboo and little cypress and bonsai trees and the plants outside that greet me each morning.  As I tended the bamboo I heard the whisper ‘Beyond the garden.’  I left the house shortly afterwards and sat on a rock sitting 10,000 feet above the earth pondering the whisper.

Gardens are to be cherished.  But at some point, for me, they become a metaphor of life.  I carve out a little piece of my full spirit, make a garden, and call it me.  The gardens we create let us feel needed, we tend them, they can even make us feel important, even let us feel in control and the tiny piece can even bring joy.  But I am not called to live in a carved out garden, a sliver of myself.  Called to go beyond the garden and fully awaken my expansive soul. Perhaps that is why nature calls so longingly and strong.

‘Look and see! Cherish your gardens, your niches in life, but they are only reminders of how much awaits, how big your spirit is and your heart. Cherish and tend your gardens, honor, compassion, and gentleness.  But they are not you as you were meant to be.  Do not be satisfied with one plant one piece of yourself you call your own when all of this, all of you is waiting for you to answer the call. Beyond the garden my child. My little one, beyond the garden the bounty of your full self awaits. Step out, step out and embrace the calling in your heart. Beyond the garden. Beyond the garden my child, You await.’  

Standing on top of the rock I realized if anything in the world breathed the quintessence of the will to live it is nature.  Stretching my arms out, face to the wind,  I shouted “Alive. Live. A Life. Life. Life lived.”   

Walking the path back to the car, still breathing the wind, the ever present doubt whispered, ‘Dark days will still overwhelm you, you know.’  Stopping I placed my hand on a tree and whispered back, ‘Perhaps.  But I have stepped beyond the garden and hung onto the wind.’

Mindfulness without the "but"

I run hot water into the metal coffee thermos so the fresh coffee will be hot.  I do not put more than one filter in the basket, out of greed or fear of grounds.  Nor do I tear the filter into a little piece in fear I will run out and must make each one last in case there are no more.  I press the On button with no thought that the coffee may not be there.  I pour the coffee into the cup and doubt not that the cup will accept the pouring.  Mindfulness with a but….

Sweet Hands of Life, if I fear not scarcity, lack, and release all doubt with my morning coffee…help me to brew and pour this day in the same way.