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.

You should’ve gotten up early and taken a walk.  You love taking walks early in the morning.

I was tired.

But you would’ve loved the walk.  And it would be good for you to get SOME kind of exercise.

Shut up.

Really.

I know, I know, I know.  What is it about ANY kind of carbo that beats up on me?!

Not good for you–you don’t process it like you used to.

Damnitall.  It’s hard to avoid burger buns and a french fry now and again.

Yup.  And how do you feel now?

Whatever.

Well those walks just help adjust your attitude–which really needs shifting!

Yeah.  I know.  Lots of little changes get to me too.

I know.  There is that which is changeless inside.  Let’s breathe together deep and long.  Let’s hold hands today and when you are cranky, I will just let you be.  You are never lost, always safe, even if you struggle with the Way, you are safe on the Path with Me.

Safe on the Way with You.

That’s right.  Safe and dear and sweet and clear and love and laugh and now and then. As it was in the beginning, now and ever after loved.

I throw myself on the Path of Heaven.

My heart is open to the Way of Your Love.  Whisper to me the deeper forest paths of loving You.

Build with me as You will.  Have Your Way with me.  Inspire me with the power, light and ease to surf on every briefest second of this treasured life.

Relieve me of the hypnotic bondage of the tiny frantic human self and let it giggle and flitter like the hidden wrens chirping in a briar bush; let me enjoy the day without wrestling it.

For yours is the power and the glory and the most precious center of me.

Nice thing about humans is that we can restart our day at any time.  Review and revise feelings and attitudes.  Make new choices.  However, we’re also subjected to the illusion that we are controlled by everything outside–and inside of us! 

Back and forth–the weather holds us back, my boss didn’t like the idea, we can’t control the economy, my kids won’t cooperate.  Astounding barriers bump us from all sides!

Choice, however, reminds me that I can make a turn at any point.  I can take a breath, look out the window and be on that branch out there with the wind gently moving my heart.  I can allow the cool gray sky to nurture the firery energy inside me.  I can let the silence soothe my bones to stillness.

I may play volleyball with my body–excitement, anxiety, heart pounding, frantic–and I can set my sails to catch the wind of Her Word.  I move only along the Way of Her love.

Sometimes I just get tired.  This is a human talking, after all.  The spirit is alive, bright, open, warm and full inside me.  But the body feels worn.

Nothing is wrong.  All is what it is.  Don’t add anxiety to the feeling.  I feel what I feel and then something changes.

I’m amazed at how religion gets so stuck in right/wrong, yes/no, duality.  Even the new age stuff–if you have a reality you don’t like–well it’s your own fault.  Interesting to add guilt to hard times.

Christ, Buddha, Martin Luther King, Billy Graham, and the Dalai Lama all had hard times.  They sure don’t get accused of doing something “wrong”, or not praying enough.

We’re human.  Human things happen to humans.  A perfect human makes a good mistake every day.  A good mistake is one where I see what I stepped in and don’t need to track it through the home of me.  And I have a better idea where to step next time.

But there is always more manure on the earth–that, after all, is what humans are made out of–dust of the earth. 

Now that is a wonderful thought–that I am as lovely and valuable and deep and full and blessed as the dirt of this most amazing planet.

Dear God,

In my next life, I think I’d like to be a bird.  I’ve always wanted to be an elephant again–they are so huge and loving and have such a good loud noise!  But lately I’m getting fond of the bird’s life.

I could be an eagle and hang out near the bridge that I drive over these days–black body, like a royal sentinel, white head tipping back and forth, spying through the lake waters to the fish darting beneath and below.  Or perhaps I could be a marsh wren–a tiny chubby bird fluttering from bush branch to another with a huge insistent clacking voice.

Or maybe I could be an osprey, spreading up my full wings, spanning my open heart, soaring over the marsh waters in glory.

Yeah, that would be nice.

And Dear One, thank you for being the feathers on my wings, the wind in my hair, the love in my heart.

Well, my prayer is for peace that surpasses understanding.  But maybe it’s my understanding of peace that is messed up.  Maybe my craving for no chaos, no confusion, freedom from doubt or discontent–maybe that’s the mess up on my part.  Maybe living with a body filled with peace is something different than what I seek.

Maybe just breathing through the day and watching the trees–now that would be peace for me.  Sitting and watching the sun (or the rain) move through the light of this tiny planet twirling and swirling.  That would be enough for me.

But perhaps that is truly the same as clicking the keys, buying plane tickets, listening to someone cough unceasingly, cold fingers, late for work, interruptions, moving, packing, meetings–maybe all that is like watching the wind waving at the branches and listening to the raindrops on the roof outside my bedroom window.

Wouldn’t that be a nice peace?

4/25 – Buried here.  Rooted here deep and unmoving into Gaia’s soul. Safe.

12/8 – Keep the quiet.  Make a stand.  You are beutiful in all weather.  You are loved and love–that is all the protection needed.  (from the Trees)

11/21 – The lilac tree is bare.  Branches like grief wave to me.  Salt water tears would be invisible to an ocean crab.  A non-dawn day.  Two hay bales.  Hey.  Affection and love is a cleaving energy–once the bowl is broken, the water flows.

Birds eating berries.  Sparrows scatter as I pass and cried when together at the thought of it.  Flowers are blooming still.

No parking but for the birds.

Remembering love on earth is touching the cheek of the Divine One.

A friend says she’s discontent with organized religion of all types–even the “believe in what you will” kind of churches.  She really wishes that we could all just talk about how we can make our lives better and help the world be better.

What is better, I wonder?  I see the religions define this to the dismay of many others in the community.  Is the fight for the unborn better?  Especially when they are then brought up in horrifying conditions?  Is the insistence upon a specific dogma–even if it means our “salvation” really improving the world when you have to kill people to impress upon them the urgency?  Not really sure.

For me today it is opening my heart so the Light inside of it can shine out.  It is feeling the real warmth in every cell of my body that declares the soft tingling of the Divine One at my neck, whispering sweet nothings in my ear.  This, truly, is better.