Not Falling, Not Taking Flight

Nestled into verdant lanes, a small rabbit taller than the June corn nibbles away as if I wasn't even there to witness her breakfast.

This morning's long walk into the sun felt a little like swimming in hot water. The air's thickness mandated gulps of air and a certain vigilance in wiping sweat from my stinging eyes. Lately a meditation forms in the walking – a rendezvous with mystical depths that I will do almost anything to keep.

Cottonwood seeds float like stray swan feathers, not quite falling but not quite taking flight either. Coffee grounds like grit in my teeth. In these moments, alone and walking east into a pulsing sun, the gestalt of what I cannot know or see clearly burns away entirely. Cage doors dissolve to reveal that loving you means loving me and loving God and without a hint of doubt understanding the all encompassing reciprocity of love.

Summer means bare shoulders revealing the maps necessary for kissing the scarred lashes left by pious priests. I smile at the thought of this as my sweat catches the heat of the sun and glistens in a slick sheen.

Later, writing in the three season room, a sudden crack of thunder causes me to jump and clutch my hand to my heart. An unusual darkness takes over the afternoon and eventually gives way to a driving rain. Earth smells rise and the dank fish tang of the big lake wafts through the screen doors. Maybe it is when we are in water over heads or are being consumed by the rising tide that things become so utterly clear. It's possible, you know.

That which is essential never enforces itself and in this way, I am listening to the longing. Perhaps it is not about who they or I understand myself to be. Rather, it is better to wonder who is it that God understands me to be.

Whose unmediated presence stirs the murky depths also calls my name in such a way that I might want to reach the surface. We ascend, beloved; there is no choice in that.