Sometimes We Get Glimpses

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Photo by Timothy Abraham on Unsplash

I was riding my bike down a long country road, my head full of some problem that was weighing upon my mind. I peddled mile after mile lost in the turning wheels of my mind, barely noticing the way the wheels of my bike were in motion and yet some part of them always touching the earth. Just then three brilliant yellow goldfinches flew across my path, so close I felt a puff of air from their fluttering wings. It was like waking from a dream, the sky was clear and cornflower blue. There were spirals of newly harvested hay dotted across the fields, glowing in the late afternoon sun, looking like a herd of large round gentle creatures. The light was golden, the way it gets when the earth has tilted on its axis and the fall solstice is near. And in that moment I was filled with joy and utter gratitude. It was more than joy, it was transcendence, a feeling of communion and connection, the Light in me holding hands with the Light that came into the world long before the sun and the moon. This was the way my soul actually sees the world, aspires to live in the world, hopes to manifest in the world. And yet, it slips away, I fall asleep and I forget.

I am grateful that this incident was not a singular moment. I have felt it when an orchestra swelled and then calmed, when a poet spoke a line so true everyone had to stop breathing for a beat, when I picked up a smooth stone by the lake, when my old dog pressed her head into my sternum, when I pulled up a huge sweet potato from the womb of the garden, when I was just looking out the window at the morning pond, when chanting with monks at an Abbey in Kentucky, again and again and again when I singing, when walking on a path I’ve walked thousands of times, when watching my infant daughter sleep, when my dear friend passed from this mystery into the next, when our voices echoed across the canyon, and when I arrived home and the porch light was still on and shining in the dark. Yes, and there are more. There are always more.

Which makes me wonder, and at times believe that our moments of transcendence are not the dream, but perhaps our own true state. Perhaps being lost in the turning wheels of what really doesn’t matter is actually when we are sleepwalking—asleep until three extraordinary golden finches cross my path and invite me into the here and now.

I imagine if I were a realized Bodhi or actualized saint or completely enlightened being I would be in that flow state all the time, but then I suppose I would need to figure out how to pick up the groceries or walk the dog or scratch my nose or pay the bills. And so, mere mortal that I am, I’ll just keep looking out the window, I’ll try to stay open, and to always be grateful whenever I wake from the dream and step once again into the holy now.

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Practice

Write down, in one sentance each, three different moments when you experienced awe or wonder or deep connection. Try to use descriptive language.

After you have written down the three moments, speak them aloud. Savor them for the gift they are and the miracle they remain.

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Question

If you feel like it, put in the comment section one of your sentences. No need to explain it. I’m i’m hoping to see is a collection of our moments, a kind of reciting of the beautiful, a litany of what reminds we are connected.

Music Always Music

This is an older song written many years ago, but it was about moments of love, of wonder, of gratitude. It’s called “Sparrow” and was included in a compliation called Kindred Spirits. It seemed a good song to include with this post.

One Inch Photos

I guess I do have a fascination with spirals of hay.

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