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When I wake in the middle of the night and the veil is thin, my heart remembers what matters most and the rest of “it” becomes like vapor quickly and completely blowing away with the slightest breeze - even with no breeze. There is a sense of clarity that I imagine also comes when one faces their last moments and is immanently faced with the forced and total letting go of all they grasped that cannot be held.
What remains?
Love.
I have come to experience these night wakings as gifts that have followed me all of my life. In them, my guides and teachers are close, their voices are clear, and their messages are unmistakable.
Never have I felt the draw to anything that was impermanent during these wakings.
Never.
In fact, the burning and aching that is sometimes accompanied by these wakings is that of the feeling of quickly releasing the grasp on that which became a hot fire in the hand and a burden to the mind.
What remains?
Love.
This morning, my eyes are falling on the words of Mary Oliver’s poem, “A House, or a Million Dollars” and I do not even wonder whether or not she knows the 2 a.m. and 3 a.m. hours well and holds them dear. She knows. In fact, very quickly, a heart that knows feels the knowing of others that do, too.
Perhaps it is because these are the hearts in which there is room for another.
I think that is it.
After a long silent retreat, an older retreatant from Italy approached me and said, “I just want you to know that your presence has affected me profoundly during our time here. And I want you to know that I am carrying you in my heart.”
Room in the heart.
Room for that which remains after all else is shown to be the mist that it is in reality - here for a moment and then gone.
Love.
What remains?
Love.
What can’t be taken?
Love.
Finish for us, won’t you, Mary?
“A House, or a Million Dollars”
People do it,
some out of desperation,
others out of greed.
They steal.
The very powerful and clever
might steal a whole house,
or a million dollars.
It’s been done.
But what does it matter?
Love is the one thing the heart craves
and love is the one thing
you can’t steal. (from Felicity by Mary Oliver)
What remains?
Love.
In the middle of the night, I know. In the middle of the day, I sometimes remember.
Love is carrying me in her heart.
Peace
Photo: Boise || January 21, 2017