All is connected. If we appreciate our food, or notice the beauty of a butterfly, a car-bomber in Israel may have second thoughts. We cannot heal the world until we heal ourselves. Receive this offering prompted by finality on the Writer's board.
Blessings,
Beau
~/~
Wow,
Thanks for the gauntlet toss, finality
/~gassho~\
Every look I give becomes the touch of the sun's eyelash upon great mother earth.
Every word is a new rainbow color on a mosaic, weaving span of human experience.
Every thought celebrates the past, present and future, preparing me to launch forth in unspectacular simplicity, armed with nature's great gifts: the grandeur of simply being, the pure, free grace of the fawn, the fox's alertness, the oak tree's solid stance.
Every act is the touch of hugsmewarmly. All my dark nights are used beautifully in the weaving of this blanketing touch. All the horror is transformed into gentleness by the tears I am shedding now for two children I will choose not to live by, and for cafe members who love/d me when I had only judgment and loathing for myself.
And finality, susan, earthmist, louise, lionheart, firekeeper, holobon and others are all God's deft servant-fingers, holding the broken parts of me, those shards and bits I hated for so long, my wondrous holy grist, the faithful daily foil who roars and tumbles and tears and seeks to restore fear to the throne of my being.
But, comes the finest.
You, cafe, you, are the etherland touch of my God ... you attend to me as if I were the brain-battered Oz scarecrow, attacked by evil monkeys, dark-forest-scattered ... you restore me to me, tucking the dissembled pieces back into place, encouraging me to engage in the inquiry again, again, and again.
With you belief in me, my belief grows. And I am (period).
For my finest self is this: I am no more important than a blade of grass, no less important than the king of kings.
Now, this moment to reach, hold and touch it...
Forgiveness comes like a single star on a dark night, opens her mouth with hands folded to swallow all my hurt. I hand it to her as a treasure, the holy host to a first communicant with a freshly parted veil. She swallows me whole.
And I shine.
Shine.
Shine.
~/gassho~\
Light, blessings, dear finality for your love and belief in me.
There is a story in Pinochio where Gepetto tells Pinochio he loves him, that in his eyes he will be a real boy.
Pinochio does not quite believe him, but he says, "Even if I don't believe myself, Gipettoa, I love you, Father, and believe you believe."
I believe you believe every word of this post, finality. Because your love called it forth. So maybe the function of Reiki is for us to be Gipettos to each other's Pinochios, ey?
Hold this vision of me, finality. I will walk directly into it. For the experience is always richer that the path that is marked with words alone. I will print this out and keep it close.
Love,
Dale
