Tuesday, July 10, 2012

The beloved and her grace garden

Just before the sun rose this morning, a now-familiar call came from the garden. "Oh, friend, I am here. Wake up! Come play with me." I was sure I was dreaming. But that scent, that song, that fluttering in the heart; I knew. She is at it again, the Beloved and her irresistible invitation. Would I fall for her again? No, not this time! Before I knew it, I was in her field; it was half-dark, half-light, shadows and colors everywhere. I waited. I felt so vulnerable, so exposed; she always has her way with me.

Okay, I said, you can have me, all of me this time; you win (secretly knowing I could as usual hold some of me back). Each minute that passed, her sweetness was revealed in luminous form—the birds, the purples in the sky like I’ve never seen, the smell of the rose bush, the touch of the morning dew on my feet. I know she’s here, there around the side of the bird bath!

She whispers, “Meet me next to the honeysuckle vines.” Okay! But she never arrives. The sun is rising now, just me and the birds and the roses and the purples, totally vulnerable, raw, wide-open, with a tinge of sadness. There is a mystery here, things are never, ever, ever what they seem. And out of this willingness to risk *everything* for love, for intimacy, for communion, for union— in that allowing *everything* to matter all the way through—a precious one-of-a-kind sweetest nectar fills the heart, fills this precious human body cell by cell. I could die in this moment. I am complete… but, alas, the tea pot is boiling, the chai is ready. It would appear that, by some unknown grace, another day will be given.