The way time goes by and hours become years and sometimes it all feels lost, absent, vanished.
Was I really not here for so much? When did I leave? How do I get back? What is this I, and where is here, anyway?
And then I remember, and remember even remembering before, that God's work cannot be undone.
Nor can it be understood, and the time spent trying? Keeps me from being here.
And so camp rolls into Halloween and now we are in the advent of another Advent, waiting to wait, looking forward to when divinity takes on flesh, a reminder of love because why on earth else would God choose to walk through this vale of tears?
It must be love, that willingness to offer companionship.
I am on my way up a long flight of steps to a church meeting the sense of bringing children with me -- by the hand, on my hip. Directly at the top of the stairs is a long table, people around it, milling before sitting, and there's Mom! I didn't think to expect her here, and I run to hug her. She sits before me, in a familiar patterned shirt of orange and purple, light the colors of a camp sunset, opening her arms to me. I kneel at her feet and look up at her, and she smiles at me, seeing me just exactly as I am and loving me, smiling at me with such acceptance, compassion, tenderness without pity -- I burst into tears and her smiling face grows and glows and becomes the shining face of All Mother I try to wrap my arms around her but there is nothing to hold or touch only to see and to feel.
Has it been months? Weeks, I know. Such full ones.
We have come far. And gone farther. And we are here.
I am here in a way I haven't been before.
I have moved (back?) into my body.
I still don't know quite what that all means.
Awareness, listening, acceptance.
Of biology -- that I have to pack food or eat out because my perceptions change drastically when I'm hungry; the way my jaw shakes when truth bubbles up; the tingling fullness in my feet that gives me something to return to: a connection to the ground, the ground of being, what some call the godhead? but oh so present in the planet beneath my feet. It is, among other things, a stirring of life.
And of biography -- the story I was born into, the stories I inherited, the stories I pass on. There has been a call this month to pay attention to discerning illusion from actuality. When so much of myself has been hidden from myself, that is a tall order, and well worth every bit of effort it takes.
Somehow I've gone from feeling like a ball of energy bound in bone and tissue and wanting so to be free of it, to spreading out into this bone and tissue, learning to feel, cultivating the strength it takes to be clear and honest. (Again, so worth it.)
Because to be here in this body is to be here in this life, in beautiful places with beautiful beings. What a gift upon awakening!
At the heart of it all, it seems to me, is a great benevolence, a kind presence, a loving source. May it fuel us all.