They are all shining now the crystal wine
glassed on our Welsh dresser. I suddenly felt this morning that I was to dust
the dresser, beginning with the top shelf; and ending there! I washed a dozen
delicate glasses in hot soapy water. Now they sit back up on the dresser
positively beaming with shining light and delight. The sight of them has made
me happy and as light as air! It is like I have been washed and polished, too!
Every natural thing I do speaks to me of
its spiritual counterpart and teaches me of my inner life. It is not something
that requires any effort it just comes to me. I am always being taught . . . we
all are, if we want to be.
I sit now on our pale blue painted
verandah, on our pale blue covered sofa, and rest. I am watching a strange
green caterpillar creature on one of the purple candle flowers growing through
the balustrade in front me only half a metre from my face. Its movement so slow
it is almost imperceptible; but overnight it has moved a massive distance of
twenty centimeters from one flower to the next. I cannot figure out which is
its head end and which its tail. But as it now seems to be drinking from one of
the little flowerets, perhaps I have discovered its head end!
Much of my life seems to be upside down,
or back to front . . . my path one of losing knowledge to gain it . . . and of not
knowing something in order to know it . . . inner-life being given me as imperceptibly
as breathing.
And in all this, I am constantly being
misunderstood by my friends . . . what is light to me is darkness to them . . .
and our fellowship now is only in pleasant discussions about the weather.
Although going unnoticed I am always
moving from one level of understanding to the next; and it is only, and always
in decreasing.
Below the verandah is the driveway. Fine
gravel with weeds and grass growing in patches and going un-sprayed . . . all
living things are beautiful to me, even the weeds.
The driveway is dappled now with sunlight
trying to find its way through the trees. It is always carpeted an amber-brown
colour from its sprinkling of fallen leaves from the huge pohutakawa tree
leaning over it.
This area of the driveway is an
afternoon’s activity place for our five hens. Here they scratch and peck in the
sunshine, and fluff out their feathers, digging out little shallow sitting
places beside the hedge at the edge of the drive. Here they bathe in the dry
dust and make themselves clean.
I, too, bathe in my own dust and it also
makes me clean: seeing myself as I really am: totally nothing and scum in the
eyes of the world; and yet the more I see that, the happier I am . . . made
free in seeing my own dust.
I look up. The sky above matches the
colour of the verandah, exactly . . . and down it bends . . . and gathers me beneath
its soft protective wings . . . as a mother hen does caring for her little
children. And I am loved and comforted . . . and lifted so free I rise again
with my mother the Sky. And more in Heaven: Heaven is more in me; and I laugh, and
dance on tiptoes inside me.
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