What’s nice about being human/spirit is that no matter how much I delve, dive and dig into the endless ground of humanness, I can turn and POOF! there’s the spirit standing in the pre-dawn light.  Tall and huge, wide and strong, any tree reminds me that there is more here than meets the eye.  And what meets the eye and body and feeling and touch and smell and sound is spirit infused into matter.

That’s what matters, after all.  To see the spirit in what matters, in the stuff of me, the trip of time and flow of blood.

Every morning the dawn happens–whether snuggled eyes tight behind the clouds or brilliant flashy throws of pink scarves across the eastern sky.  It is not really that the sun rises, but that finally we turn our faces to the light.  After sleepless or dreamless or restless nights of the soul, we can always turn the face of our hearts to the warming love of Her gaze.

I need not search for you, Dear One, you are as close as the skin to my bones.