"The world is holy. We are holy. All life is holy. Daily prayers are delivered on the lips of breaking waves, the whisperings of grasses, the shimmering of leaves." (Terry Tempest Williams)
Michael has a picture on the computer desk here. It is my first encounter with the Pacific Ocean, back in the early 90's. I am standing on the typical Northern California 'beach', its gravelly dark rock and foaming surf at my feet, grey skies overhead, and pasture land and LA 1 behind me. I'm a very small part of the photo, which was obviously taken from a distance, and the whole scene sums up our relationship with the magnificence of Nature and her gifts. With the entire ocean at my feet, I am standing with binoculars, looking off into the distance for ???? How could anything be more than what I am already being offered in that moment on that spot? Why am I looking 'through a glass darkly,' as St. Paul says, adjusting a lens that is constantly out-of-focus, straining to see more, when the graces are whispering at my feet?
For the first time this summer, it was sunny and warm enough to walk the beach here, and every step was a journey and a Saga unto itself. Each smooth rock called for the attention it deserved as divine creation. I am fascinated with the tiny white crab scurrying sideways and burying itself in sand perfectly sculpted with the tide's artistry. A mother and her two little girls strolled along at vacation pace, poking feet into tiny holes and squealing with the cold water of the buried clams' geysers. We were the only ones on the beach, and other than their laughter, the noise was all Nature.
To my chanted "Om," the 'amen' of universal Oneness, the gentle surf responded with a soft gurgling 'shanti,' the peace of Sanskrit, the oldest language in the world. I wasn't walking alone; we never are, but sometimes it's more available for us to sense a Presence that is always waiting to be found...in the next beat of the eagle's wing, in the next murmur - or roar - of the surf, in the next phone call or encounter with a loved one. And we, with our 'binoculars,' stand instead looking into the distance for a future moment of happiness or a past experience of pleasure, while the great "I AM" softly cloaks us with mystery and wonder.
On a prayer-walk in Rathtrevor yesterday morning, as the path meandered out of the dark forest and up towards the water, a movement caught my attention. Standing about 30 feet from me on the edge of the clearing was a two-point buck, silhouetted by the old growth cedars and a rising sun. We watched each other quietly, his velvet antlers at attention, each muscle in his lean body tensed, ready to bolt if necessary. As I talked softly to him, he began to walk with the ease and fluidity of an animal in its element, total grace in motion. He came towards me for another 10 feet, then disappeared onto a mostly invisible trail, swallowed by the shadows in the cool woods. He may as well have stepped into another dimension.
When the buck appeared, it startled me from praying for the recently deceased father of my sister-in-law, and for her family. It reminded me that the rituals of our traditional faith arise in such moments, and the Psalm (42?) rose spontaneously within: "As the deer thirsts for the running water, so my soul thirsts for you, Oh my God." A loving Creator has placed puzzle pieces along the way, offering little hints that the world IS holy, even in grief, and we, especially in those moments, carry the pieces for each other.
We had a lovely week while Michael was here, enjoying the cold rainy weather (me), catching up on some reading (him), and hiking our favorite trail on Hornby Island. We even got to take in the colorful Farmer's Market on Salt Spring Island, he got to hit a few buckets of golf balls, and we attended a wonderful performance of South Pacific down in Chemainus with our dear friends, Gordon and Carrol. Michael comes alive in Gordon's presence the way we do when someone has seen our inner essence, and holds the space for us to be our best. As I teared-up hugging Carrol, the events of the last year came flooding back, with the knowledge that this very safe friend understood. I know it was healing for both of us to be with them.
Michael has since returned to Louisiana, and calls regularly, mostly to tell me that it's very very hot in Louisiana. He is working, visiting with family and looking forward to the next phase of our summer, the wedding. No sooner will he get back than we'll be off to Lopez and Orcas Island to make a few arrangements for the event. Our friends from Colorado will be here soon after we return from the San Juans, and then we travel again to Lopez, to take on our next roles in life: in-laws. When I look at Stephanie, though, and think of introductions in the future, I hear myself calling her my 'daughter-in-love,' because it seems that's how she's entering the sanctuary of our family. It is already a blessed summer.
For now, I'm enjoying the luxury of early morning encounters with heaven-on-earth, the genteel ways of our little community, playing in the garden, wondering at the holiness all around, and listening to the grace of the ever-present Om, Shanti.
YAY GOD
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