The hand of One

I saw the sparkle well before I saw the what-looked-about-like-a-second-grade girl float onto the bus steps. The early-morning sun caught her jelly shoes just right, transforming her into a fairy princess ascending her coach. The way she danced up to the vehicle as the sun glowed orb-like around her let me know the shoes were new and her present pride and joy. They were magick.

Minutes later, I watched mystical little bubbles, as if something ethereal and effervescent coursed through them, encircle my arms after they cut from midair into the wet surface during my lap swim. They were there as I initiated the workout, easily stroking end to end. And still, as my heart beat faster and faster and I pushed myself mid workout. And, yet again, as I slowed and cooled. They never left me. Magick.

Yesterday, Autumn pointed that word out to me in a title at a bookstore: magick she said is different from magic and what our beloved nine-year-old friend Caleb says he practices. He's always listened to trees, chanted, come from another place and lived like no one else I know. Magick.

I don't know what the actual definition is, but I believe it has a lot to do with mysticism, belief, trust, faith, awareness and openness. Those times when the veil between physical and other worlds thins.

Perhaps it's always there, we just have to be in the right frame to experience or notice it.

I wonder why I was privy this morning. Possibly because I had spent all of the previous afternoon and evening digging in my garden, planting lettuce and spinach cuttings and 11 trees alongside Autumn. I was happily dirty and grounded. Or maybe that it was Sunday and I had deeply entered worship to that place that's almost sleep, but not quite. Where I feel loved, cared for, nurtured and totally safe. Entranced, yet still aware of my surroundings, though they don't distract me. Where I can feel only love. Nothing more, nothing less.

Conceivably the ineffable lunch I'd had Friday with spiritual friends sorting out some difficulties, peppered with laughter, tears and extremely open hearts. Spirit took the extra chair. Or Saturday's dinner lovingly prepared by my sister of choice and all she required was my presence, not a thing more.

As I recount these imagined reasons, I see what gifts I have been given just since Friday. Deep gifts. Precious gifts. Unconditional gifts. All from One hand through others open to be used.

I think that's the same hand that parts the veil, on occasion, just so we know what lay beyond.

• When have I experienced the veil parting?
• What, exactly, did I experience?
• What prepared me or preceded it?
• What kind of space does that create in me?
• Am I able to merge even a piece of it into myself?


golden morning

glowing girl
swirls onto the bus

bubbles boost
my swim,
armoring me
with love
and energy

forcing me
to examine
all of the recent
gifts

all
of the open
hearts

and the hand
of ONE

thank you

Rooted in winter

I really do like winter. A time to snuggle up, hunker down and pull inward. I recently told a friend who adores summer and detests bundling up in winter that it may have something to do with the season in which we are born. I am a January baby and she celebrates in June.

Sometimes the lack of access to sunshine can be diminishing, but talking a brisk walk in the sun can be so recharging ... for me, anyway. I remember always feeling so alive in college when walking to and from class (or the local watering hole) layered with rosy cheeks. I am rediscovering that joy this season as I trek back and forth daily to the small office/former storage area I bummed off my husband two blocks from our house.

It also helps that I have live green things (herbs) growing in my sunniest window and just started some microgreens. They are thriving next to the spot where the cats often settle for a warm nap.

I have an appreciation for what goes on underneath that seemingly sleepy state of hibernation. Even though most trees have lost their leaves, I sense the energy that’s been sucked inside and focused toward the roots. That stillness reminds me of the Sundays I worship in silence or the times I meditate or practice centering prayer. My mind and body are quieted, yet so many things are happening gently and deeply. Shiftings of which I am barely aware, but try to trust.

I like the idea of roots and wings; being grounded, yet also ethereal and free to change or go wherever one is led. Winter seems the season of roots, centering life more intimately on family and close friends. For me, it’s also a time of more reflection – perhaps a reaction to the over busyness of the blurred holidays.

This annual cold spell reminds me of “emptying” spiritual practices and the season of desolation. Winter strikes me as emptying and desolate, yet not devoid of Spirit.


• What season speaks most to me?
• What is the spiritual correlation to that season?
• What nurtures my reflective nature?
• Do I ever take a more restful time, a time to hibernate?
• Do I notice that I have cycles, perhaps corresponding to seasons, of activity and inactivity?



the sharp wind
frosts my cheeks,
fills them with redness

I see beyond the
bleak, monotone landscape,
anticipating nature
at work

resting for
another
birth

yet, occasionally
out of that
stillness, a lone
bird sings,

as if to remind
me that after
the deadness,
spring will return