Enter And Listen [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

A Haiku for You

A forest critter,

Gnome, Leprechaun or Spirit,

Tree Dweller, Heart Door.

Sometimes I want to believe in magic. I want to think there is an angel at my side. I want to sit in the certainty of Rumi, knowing without doubt that the entire universe, the whole of infinity, is tipping in my favor.

Sometimes I want to know what tomorrow will bring. No surprises. I want to know that the good people will win over the rage-mongers and truth-spinners. Just like in the movies. I want to know that perseverance will inevitably meet ideal circumstance and all will be well in the end. I want to be at the other end of the week so I can tell the story of what happened, the story of stamina and fortitude fulfilled.

Sometimes I want to know that the eagle flying by at just the right moment or the hovering hawk or the owl hooting outside my window at midnight is bringing me a message: we’ve got your back. Fear not. Take another step. From our height we can see the meadow, the sun and tall grasses. We can feel the hope, breathe the calm.

Sometimes when she spies a heart-shape and kneels to capture it for her collection, I want the gentle spirit, the gnome or sprite living in the tree or residing in the leaf shaped like the symbol, to make themself visible to us and affirm that there is meaning in the mystery, that in this life there is more sense than we can possibly imagine. There is reason. A reason. Yet, I already know what it would avow if it allowed us to see it: the meaning of the mystery is always found right where we knew it would be, where we know it to be: in the heart. Our vast open hearts. We do not need to seek it or wish for it. We need only enter and listen – more than just sometimes.

read Kerri’s blog about HEART DOOR

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Show Me The Gold!

739. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

Walking down Queen Anne hill I came upon a man dressed in a green tutu, a sleeveless green low cut blouse, shamrock slathered green knee-high socks, and red high top Chuck Taylors. I said, “Girlfriend, you look lovely.” He said in a surprisingly deep base voice, “Why thank you. Do you really like it?” I replied, “You are my favorite.” He seemed pleased with my compliment.

That was my first clue that it was St. Patrick’s Day. As I continued down the hill I wondered what St. Patrick would think of his celebration. What would a 5th century bishop of Ireland do in the midst of a fun run and pub crawl? I hope he would toss off his miter hat and join the fun. That’s what I would do if I were transported through time; I’d work hard to pick up the local customs. Things need not make sense.

As I crossed the grounds of the Seattle Center, passing by the international fountain I saw more wondrous combinations of green on gender. And green on green! I felt as if I was on the back lot of a film studio (and, come to think of it, life often seems like that to me). I heard a little girl shout with glee, “Momma! I saw a little green man!” Her clearly exhausted mother said with weary expression, “Yes, dear. I saw him, too.” Her brother whispered to no one, “I saw him first.” On any other day, a bona fide Leprechaun would stir enthusiasm even in the most hardened adult; on St. Patrick’s Day, they are common. The little girl’s mom no longer believes in pots of gold found at the end of the rainbow. If she did, that little green man would be in momma’s net and she’d be shaking him shouting, “Show me the gold!”

I’d only been awake for an hour and look what the day provided! The pot at the end of the rainbow is filled with metaphoric gold and I found it! So many rainbows, so many pots of gold!