How powerful it is when together we harness divine light for the greatest good. In this tenuous time of political unrest and hounded by sickness and death, may we be intentional about gathering those sparks of light ignited in the fire of our suffering. May we not tire of stoking our light and dispersing its healing warmth.
May it be so.
(Ahh. Such holy words, yes? But just yesterday a man in our small elevator invited more folks in against my expressed request. What did I do? I yelled, “No!” Then I got out. That little light of mine was not shinning very brightly! Or was it? He wouldn’t listen and I took care of myself. A different spark of light, but illuminating, nonetheless? You be the judge!)
“Duality, then, is informed by the oppositions that meet at this threshold. I would argue that an authentic life is a life that is aware of and willing to engage its own oppositions…. Sometimes, people who are very vociferous and moralistic are people who have erased the tug of opposition from their lives. They have little sense of the otherness that suffuses and surrounds them. Thus, they can allow themselves all kinds of moral platitudes and even moral judgments of others. It is lonely sometimes to hear them talk because, in their certainty, you can hear the hollow echo of a life only half-lived….One of the greatest duties of post-modern culture at the end of this millennium is to try to bring the personal and the communal, the individual and the universal, together.”
John O’Donohue in a talk delivered for “The Open Mind” published in Walking in Wonder by John Quinn and John O’Donohue
“The eye with which God sees me is the same eye with which I see God. God’s eye and my eye are one eye. One seeing, one knowing, one loving.”
There is a space of potential presence where we can reside in peace with another even if we cannot be with them in any other place: in God’s eye. I think this space is akin to O’Donohue’s “threshold.”
Every day since Saturday’s election in my nation a poem has pushed and pushed without seeing the light of day. I tried comparing my occasional and spontaneous flow of tears to the last leaf wafting from a November tree. Didn’t cut it. The word “release” stalked me so I played with all its etymological offerings. Nope. The vacillation between relief and release, elation and sorrow have confused and exhausted me.
Gradually I’ve realized that although I am happy and relieved, the release of four years of negativity and violence and hate will take time.. upon reading this line from Tana French I tabled the poem. She nails my experience:
“She looks like a long cruel tension is leaching out of her, notch by notch, leaving her whole body slack to the point of helplessness”