Above and Below

Two recurring dreams from childhood have surfaced this week – the tornado dream and the swimming dream. In one I'm trying to save others and in the other, myself. The good news is that I slept long enough to dream. Still, I wake before the birds and wait. Nothing needs to be done on time anymore, so you linger. Abide? The heat kicks on around 6 a.m. which makes me think the daffodils will be stiff with frost or worse. At first light, an almost shy snow begins to fall, as if to say, “wait, is this right?”

It is. What can never end, draws attention in and upward. Beneath it all, shared sameness rings like the truest, purest bell. Spiritual vision is coming into focus, beloved. It can be satisfying and fun to climb the mountain but why climb when we can move it?

The onlooker of the river sees their reflection in light of what is above and below. Glittering sun illumines water to reveal the perfection of forgiveness. Can you see what I see? Trees and stars and sky and Us.

Snow flutters off and on while sunlight flirts with staying awhile. It's so much colder than it looks. The azalea bush begins to bud, readying her pink lips for the party. I am shaped for what is above and below. I am made to meet half way – to complete the bridge – to fall apart at the seams in order to invite the world. How spring would not have it any other way.