April 22, 2012

Less wind, more sun today, bright and cool and lovely.  Sitting here in the quiet, I was suddenly startled by a mourning dove flying into the window, clutching the thin metal strip that divides it, and looking about as panicked as I was.  So loud a bang in such quiet, so unexpected, then it fluttered a second, falling, then righted itself and flew out of sight across the window.  That gray shadow of a bird sings such a mournful song, always wondering "who who" and never finding the answer,sounding like an owl lost in the day, wondering who left it.  The bicyclers are out this morning, that's the third time I've seen their bright colors flash past the corner, they must be doing some kind of rally and this is a quiet neighborhood, pretty to ride through.  The lady with the two big dogs just jogged past, she always looks so full of energy, but not nearly as energetic as her dogs who can hardly contain themselves on the leashes, but strain and look back at her as if wondering why she can't keep up <smile>
Sunday, and the day for the blessing or gratitude or both.

Light

In the first morning of the world created,
on the skin of water reflected,
is the spread of a sun,
and the sun, like God, is a power
you cannot see.
Only what it lights on,
only what it touches with warmth,
and yet it always has a shadow at its feet.

Then there is the sea, the sheer weight of it,
but the lightness of its creatures,
some silver as they leap above it,
and those at the bottom
making their own light
in what would of been
night infinite, as if the sea carries no
shadows at its feet.

Then there is the light of the wood decaying
out by the stagnant pond,
where the eyes of the prey nearby,
shine in the dark, betrayed
when the deer stares one last time
to see the hunter still follows
out in the shadow of living trees.

And bodies of men at war, they say,
give off light.
One I knew fished the sea
and told me of the silver fishes falling
from the mouth of the netted one.
As if in the last breath
perhaps we give back all the swallowed,
all the taken in, and it is light, after all,
first and last, we live for, die for.
We fly toward it
like those who return from it say.

But for now, for here, we fly without will
toward it, drink a glass of it,
see it through green leaves.
There, walk toward it.
Lift it, it has no weight.
Carry it, breathe it, cherish it.

You want to know why God is far away
and we are only shadows at his feet?
Tell me, how long does it take a moth
to reach the moon?

 Linda Hogan

It's the light I see every morning, or the lack of light if it's that early, or the sliding presence of light just beginning to arrive, that heart-stopping blue before.  It never occurred to me that you can't really see light, only what it touches, you think you do but if you could it would so dazzle us that we would not see anything else, and shadows such a part of light, the brighter the light the deeper the shadow.  "Whoever does truth comes into the light" one of my favorite verses from the bible.  That all those who strive for truth, who do good, come to the light.  Sunlight is indiscriminate, it shines on everyone just like God's light, sinner and saint alike, that we may all shine and come to recognize that light.  This is a morning that is easy to be grateful for light in all its forms, God light, sunlight, knowledge, passion, love, gratitude, every virtue, easy to see the world would be a much darker place if so many people did not move toward the light, cherish it, breathe it, carry it.  In the deepest dark there is a glimmer of light, and we move toward it, we crave it, we need it.  So this morning, in this blessing of brightness, I am glad to come to such light, to see it touching everything and making the world bright.