"PUT YOUR EAR DOWN TO YOUR SOUL AND LISTEN HARD"

I know you've noticed.  The ebb and flow of the tides, the appearance and disappearance of the sun, the rising and waning of the moon . . . the cycle of the seasons, our menstrual cycle, the nine months of gestation, the movement from infancy to adulthood, from adulthood to old age . . . the change from health to sickness (and sometimes sickness to health).  All of life is rhythm.  

Like overlapping stories, there is rising action, a climax, falling action and dénouement happening in different spheres all the day long.  

We sleep and wake, we walk and settle, we race into space and hunker under the stairs.  We find comfort in repetition.  In our bed, we sleep like spoons every night; turn to the left, turn to the right until daylight parts darkness and enters the room.  

I know you've noticed.  The more we listen, the more we create.   We hear bird song and hum a tune.  We hear leaves rustle and with acorns and foliage make a tablescape.   We see, hear and feel the whole color spectrum and we mix, swirl, dab and drip paint.  We hear a story and retell it to everyone's delight.  Or create a ballet or an opera.  We listen to strangers arguing and it becomes a play; or to family dynamics and out comes a novel; or to our own inner dialogue and we write a memoir.  We listen to our hearts and journal.  We hear the rain and cry.  The poet Anne Sexton (1928-1974) says, "Put your ear down to your soul and listen hard."

I know you've noticed.  Abundance and lack are parallel realities.  Every day we make a choice which one to inhabit.  When we treat the present moment sacramentally, we live abundantly.  If we accept God as our silent companion, we live abundantly.  As we learn to pause and live in the adagio, we live abundantly.  

I'm sure you've noticed.  God owns the heavens, but He gives us the earth.  If the only prayer we say in our lifetime is "Thank you," that would be enough.  "Gratitude," says a French proverb, "is the heart's memory." No matter how deep our misery, we love the earth, and it loves us back.  Nothing is more abundant:  over and over 365 new mornings and starlit evenings; 52 promising weeks; 12 months of possibilities; and 4 resplendent seasons.  A tapestry.  

Soon outside winter's darkness will spread and we must search for the light inside.  Let us find it in daily rhythm, in listening and in our beloved earth, for which we give naught but thanks.  

                                                In peace, Nina Naomi