There's an angel in the cemetery that I hang around with on a regular basis. She's delicate, graceful, though worn from spending so much time out in the weather. Sometime before I got to know her, she had a mishap, so one of her wings is stubby. You'd think it would mar the angelic effect, but somehow it fits. She doesn't move when I'm around, so to face her I have to look east. As a result. I've seen the glory of her halo. It shines around her at sunrise. The circle above the head thing doesn't express the halo of dawn.
Sometimes when I look at her, I realize that all our concepts and ideas of that which is above and beyond are almost useless. It is enough to say that there, as I face east, the eternal shines in her so clearly, stubby wing and all.
The other day we woke up to a white world. The snow had fallen soft on every branch, with no breeze to dislodge it. So the bare trees were bare no more. In the moment before dawn the coming sun whispered around the corner of the horizon in hints of lavender and rose. The master of our sky often does this, teasing us with hints of the glory to come. Glory's great, but whispers draw us in, like children awed by candles' glow. And on this dressed up morning, the sky king's colors reflected from each and every surface. Shadows became color pots. There was no black and white.
She stood there, as she always does when I come to call. A bit of ice had coated her hair before the snow offered her ermine for evening-wear. And now her gown graced the morning. A bit gaudy for walking the dog, but that kind of beauty cannot be limited by the small categories of appropriate or fashionable. It sets its own style, claiming the moment as its own.
I wish there were more to see her, just then in her radiance. I wish that vision could grace the eyes of every person who stands in awe of the coming sun, and all who don't notice it at all. We all need it, that momentary reminder that the order of our living can wait for such a sight. And she deserves oooh's and ahhh's from more than just one.
But that's the way eternity is. It sneaks up on us without an appointment or a warning. If only we could plan for it. We could fit it into our busy lives. But that's the rub. We can't fit something that amazing "in." We accept it on its own terms and share the magic when it comes, or miss it in our rush to somewhere else.
I don't spend much time with her, but I treasure our moments together. And I think I'll shave before I walk the dog. A lovely lady deserves a bit of respect.
David
2 comments:
You are a very relatable guy. Your ability to articulate your experience as it informs your spirituality is, in my opinion, unmatched.
It means a lot to me to have the chance to know you. Having lived my life without a religious frame, I am sometimes scared by churches. But then I hear your stories, and I hear a way into the conversation. I have never been preoccupied with the question of what's above. My holy question is this: How do you wrap your arms around the whole world in a moment? When the horizon disappears on a foggy morning at the sea, or when you spot the first buds in spring, or when you find yourself in the same place as your large, multigenerational family. Or when you come upon grey angel's sunrise halo. How do you stay with that moment for as long as possible, without letting it break your heart to let it go?
In you I recognize a fellow quester. And my little non-religious, intellectual heart grows two sizes. And that is a gift. So keep blogging, and thanks.
Keep saying things like that, I may have to do this more. Don't worry about your heart breaking, love heals it and it's stronger for the experience.
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