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. The state of aloneness is such an open, spiritually alive situation. Here, in this love, anything is possible; somehow we have been broken-open by life, standing face-to-face with the infinite. Somehow through aloneness we allow ourselves to be touched so deeply, for everything to matter so personally. How can the heart withstand much more?

In the unknown wildfires of love, where all concepts have been reduced to a luminous heap of grace-ashes, anything can happen. When there is no longer any ground or confirmation left for the separate self, love is then able to use these eyes to see, these ears to hear, and this body to touch, bestowing us as vehicles of grace to scatter its secret essence in all directions. And then in an instant we might see that we are closer to the sweetness of life than we ever thought possible.