Monday, July 2, 2012

Vulnerability at sunrise


There’s a certain vulnerability when the sun is rising that is unlike any other. How could I possibly be given one more day, to see these colors, to hear the bird who arrived at the feeder, to smell the purple wildflower that blossomed only yesterday? In one sweet open moment, sometimes it's difficult to tell whether the colors, the sounds, the smells are occurring inside the body, or outside. It's almost confusing, the depth of intimacy. It is so vivid, so alive, so touching, a tinge of sadness at the preciousness of it all; it almost aches with the pain of such unguardedness. These sweet friends know everything about me, have ventured all the way inside the cells of my heart; I am fully exposed to them, and they to I.  


All of these unique forms, presenting themselves to be beheld—“look at me!” “see me!” “hold me!” “enter into communion here, friend!,” each offering a never-before-seen grace-doorway into a mystery beyond words. Each with a slightly different signature and invitation, yet somehow each illumined from within by that love that keeps the tides on time and the stars from falling out of the sky. Another Monday, it would seem, but there is no way this has ever happened before… or ever will again.