Going about my day, venturing in and out of my little hut of stone and wood, I interact with projects and clients and family. I find moments of stillness and silence. I catch myself immersed in floods of mental flotsam and jetsam. I am mindful in varying degrees.
In all of that, though, my eyes look straight ahead or down. Rarely are my eyes lifted to the waving treetops. When I do remember to look up, the cathedral ceiling of sky whispers to me of falling upward. If I do, the useless baggage drops away and all fear leaves my bones.
In some John Travolta movie, there was a moment when one actor told the other – look at how the trees move, like a mother rocking her child. And, when I remember to look, the trees are my mother and I am rocked. Just as I rock my infant daughter, just as the Beloved cradles His Children, the trees rock us.
It’s not easy to remember to look up at the waving treetops. Harder still is it to both remember and fall into the immensity of empty sky. The difficulty lies not in the world – the trees and sky are always there, always remembering us. The difficulty lay in the outspread Child who, facing downward, clings fiercely to his imaginary ground lest he be thrown into immensity. Turning from a sovereign being into a rocked Child is one step. To abandon all grounds and tumble carelessly, free of gravity, is the next.
It’s likely, as I abandon my post and retreat into the rhythms of a full household during the weekend, that I will forget the waving treetops. Who among us does not forget the mystery and grace? Only the ones who have tumbled skyward until the ground was completely out of sight, lost as a speck in eternity. Such abandon and Love is not something that can be caught with fishing nets by our egos and grasping. Let us not make a goal of infinity, for goals block boundlessness. Instead, a simple little phrase will do as we put down our tool belts and occupational schedules.
Just this: Look up!