WORDS LIKE LIGHT

Thursday, June 24, 2021

WINGS

            Quite often, life feels heavy to me, like it’s a load that I have to lift and carry, but the truth is that it’s as soft as birds’ wings, and is able to glide and give me remarkable rides. Today, Delycia and I will be floating again in kayaks on the Wood River, and I’ll bet we’ll feel as light – and lighthearted – as life itself is. Any sense of heaviness will be left on the riverbank, and we’ll drift along the river’s surface as freely as life itself flutters from hour to hour and day to day. I don’t mean to suggest that life doesn’t feel burdensome at times, especially when fears weigh me down, but that sense of burden actually derives from my own thoughts, and I can always simply set those weighty thoughts down and feel my inborn freedom again – the wings of my inner spirit – and soon I’ll be hovering above those fears and seeing them for the powerless nobodies they are.  I will love watching the birds soaring smoothly above the river today, and I’m sure it will help me better understand how life itself is a glorious glider. Each moment today will move smoothly and carry me along, and if I stay alert, I will feel the lightness and buoyancy of it all. Even if distress makes an appearance, as it often does, life can lift me lightly up so I can see the vastness of everything and the relative smallness – the tinyness – of my distressful  thoughts.  In that way, whatever problem that seems to be there will easily work its way free and fly away with a wave.   

            To all of us, life can seem horrendous and burdensome, but today, as I float on the friendly river, I hope I can feel the floating ability of life’s wings, and let my little sense of self be lifted up into the limitless spaces of here and now.  

QUESTIONS THE EARTH ASKS US 

Are you tired of me?
Do my miracles seems stale now?
Do you not hear 
my harps in the trees and fields?
Do you not see 
the wings of snow white doves?
Do you not know 
my pure, sweet love? 
Have you forgotten the flower 
that leaned toward you last summer,
and the sunlight that likes 
the way you walk and talk,
and the thousand sacred minutes 
of each day? 
Does nothing come into your heart 
from my hands? 
Have you waved your hands 
goodbye?