The gifts of spirit do not always come draped as the unexpected or the synchronistic. They do not always come as sudden healing or realization. No, the miraculous and divine frequently come as the ordinary and the mundane. When we are busy marching about according to the demands of identity and ego, we pass them by unwittingly. Our eyes are often blind to simple miracles such as a patch of sun, a day of rest, and a month of quiet stability. We often discard these precious, unfathomable jewels.
The frequent calls to be grateful are appeals to sight. Let us have sight enough to recognize the Beloved as He lives in a boulder, a tree, a singing bird, and the scampering child. Let us not dismiss the patch of sun on the cold day as meaningless or coincidental. Walking along with a chill in our bones, the patch of sun is an offering to sit and warm ourselves alongside the Beloved for a moment. Words are unnecessary when we accept those moments outside of time.
All the talk about mindfulness is about keeping our eyes open. Let us not rush about in some imagined race. Both opportunity and rest cascade from unknown outer spaces, the tumbling rain of grace. We must recognize both the hour to work and the hour to rest, we must celebrate both spring and autumn. Whatever season comes, the practice of mindfulness is to step wholly and gladly into it.
There are always storms on the horizon, my friends. We are always cycling in and out of physical health. Wealth, health, relationships, and all the rest arise and subside. There is no victory or defeat in such waves. The victory lies in flowing and fluidity. It is a calm mind and present consciousness.
The tide goes out, and all the worlds rest in companionable sitting. The reddish dawn spills as the tide comes in, and all the worlds feel the breath of the Beloved on their cheeks.
What wealth I found on the shore today! A patch of sun, a day of rest, and profound thankfulness.