Is it fading memory or past inobservance? I don’t remember ever awakening to this amazing, picture perfect view right outside my window. Did I not turn to the west upon awakening in the past? Or is there a new window—a wall moved just a foot or two? I think not, because the room is perfectly symmetrical as it is. How can I miss something so simple and so amazingly beautiful? Something that is right before my very eyes?
I think we must do it all the time. The missing, I mean. Some say we cannot go looking for the sacred. Is that true? If we do not open our hearts, eyes or minds, how will we know it is there? And what of those times when we desperately want to see God and yet we feel or see nothing? A dark night of the soul, if you will.
There it is—the paradox of being. We must see to believe, but in the looking we miss what is simply there. Hmmmm. Is that what I meant to say? In looking for my words do they fail to come? Is something lost in the translation from heart to head? Yet I must put pen to paper for something to tangibly emerge. Or must I?
“Let it be,” says the still small voice. “Be” that simple tiny small word that is so huge. Let it be. Be still and know. Be still. Be.
How will I choose to “be” today? How will you?