Friday, October 5, 2012
The first snow at sunrise... and the scattering of the secret essence of grace
The first snow at sunrise. How is it that just one more day is given? How can the heart hold so much grace, be so exposed, so naked, so vulnerable, so raw, so sensitive, completely unprotected from the movement of love? Somehow the heart has found its way to the outside of the skin, no longer safe and protected and secure, but only utterly unbearably available to be a way-station for grace and her vision. Even a quiet blowing of the wind or the song of a bird or the glimmer of the sun can feel like too much, entering too intimately into the unguarded center of being. How to withstand such grace?
It seems the love-yogi must always be willing to feel that raw sadness within every sensual encounter with the sacredness of this world, allowing everyone and everything all the way in, allowing each to matter so deeply; yet the yogi is also so alone.