(journal entry a few days ago)
I bring in frankincense to these sacred dark early mornings as a gift to myself,
as a way to open up a path to something unseen and divine outside of and within me.
It is a conduit: all that smoke rising up in curls and crooked pathways. Infusing the air, but also the soul, with
a sense of excitement even amidst a deepening calm.
Settling to roots.
Open to a miracle.
And nothing shy of pure abiding in the unknown of the next second.
A reminder to Now: to be without agenda, only with presence.
Over and over.
One breath to the next.
This is how we can do it—this life with its precarious instability that we mistakenly see as “stability”; but then we
protest beg whine cry
when life does what it naturally is wont to do by its very nature and physics of aliveness:
We call it “change” and we make it utterly solid:
steel, cement—locked and impenetrable.
But even if we softened our idea about change to
“solid as a rock”
we’d be better for it—for at least rocks have the spark within (thanks, Charles Simic)
and the divinity of being natural (not human-constructed).
So here I sit as my pen flows my lifeblood onto the page.
And I am made more whole this morning. Again.
(Orig. posted in Nov 2017)