Tears On The Sand

Tears on the Sand © twyatt 2016Now you cry salty tears.

Do you not remember that once upon a time, the grains of sand beneath your feet were part of the majestic mountains miles and miles from here? All was, and is now, one great connective existence that knows no time nor limitations; no separation from itself.

Do you not remember that these tears that fall, that you so insistently claim as coming from your own story of pain and sorrow, come and carry the same saltiness of your oceans – far, wide, seemingly and endlessly deep.

I’ll try. I’ll try, she whispers.

Fear and fatigue give you temporary amnesia in this life and time; they soldier in armies that blot with dark patches what you knew then. But you remember now; as you wiggle your toes in the sand. As you lick your parched and quivering lips, you taste the trace and evidence of salt derived from the residue of all of the vast and receding waters before you. Before this moment.

I surrender. I surrender, she says.

In your surrender of tears, in the taste of their essence, you remember that these are not singly your tears that fall on the sand of sorrow, or joy. Teardrops fall, sand receives, and you take your place in the cycle of loss and renewals, grief and triumphs, despair and hopes; and once again fear and fatigue are marshalled back into the light of God’s truth of continuous connection.

I know. I know, she nods.

You remember again that these tears are yours, and not yours. They fall from and through you from the past, and for the future. They hold all of the loss of a lifetime, and beyond. They water the sands and the oceans of God’s infinite One.

For all. For all, she weeps.

And in this precious, sandy moment of sacred knowing, you understand that it is in forgetting your self that you belong. And in belonging, you find the Self as God created.

Thank you. Thank you, she prays, for these tears on the sand.

Sanity Of Our Souls

Port Orford Morning © twyatt 2016
I cannot find the inspiration in myself to surmount all of the fears and desires I have as a finite and fleshy human.

Thank goodness I have places to go where people dig out, discover and disclose to me hope, again. Where we neither deny our fickle fear-based realities, nor condemn “the others” as the cause.

And we come back again into our Oneness. Where forgiveness and compassion, sacrificial and received, return us to the sanity of our souls. And our commission as loving Christians.

God forgives you. Forgive others; forgive yourself.-The Confession, Trinity Church Midtown

We pray with compassion and mercy for the people and things we cannot control in life.-Praying Honestly, from Contemplative Worship

May the blessing of light be on you, light without and light within. May the blessed sunlight shine upon you and warm your heart till it glows like a great fire and strangers may warm themselves as well as friends. And may the light shine from your eyes, like a candle set in the window of a home, bidding the wanderer to come in out of the storm. Amen-An Irish Blessing, from Contemplative Worship

Rock of Light

Standing in the Fog

These are the words that showed up this morning, after having read about the hate crimes of our week, our year, our country, our communities. And, after running to and reading Romans 13.

Rock of Light
from the Coastal Edges of Oregon

Push on through the fog of confusion and conflicted rights; beyond your simple and somewhat defended ideas of what your breaking world needs, and does not need.

Stand firm again on the rock of Light and love, with assurances that Love does raise the most wicked. Love does heal the violently ill. Love does work its ethereal ways into the least of our fears, and tames the most strident terrors of our imaginations.

And realities.

Love, even in the smallest of doses or most fleeting of thoughts, does make a difference.

You question your contribution to the solution, and the problem. You doubt the efficacy, and the aim. But truth is, the loudest and broadest of strokes are not needed in this moment. Quiet and small bristles collect to form a shape, a word, a message.

And change.

The power to change is not in the volume of extremes but in the responsibility taken; a chosen and conscious shift from harm to compassion.

In your single thought. In your mind.
In your silent prayer. In your heart.

And why would you dismiss the might of a single act as less than the ramparts?

Can you say when sand becomes a pebble, pebble a rock, rock – the ocean’s floor?

When one drop becomes mist, mist rain, rain – the water’s deep?

Or when a breeze lightly carrying the scent of summer turns to gust, gust wind, wind – the waves of change?

Pebble to rock. Mist to oceans. Breeze to wind.  Until you can answer to the pivot of these, believe that the single and simplest choice of compassion is love enough to change the tide of hate.

Rock of Light, illuminate these meager means to love in me.