Lenten Refections in Real Time - Day 6
Every year it happens. A day that there is magic in the air. Where my spirit lifts off. Where the breeze finds my face, I close my eyes and dare to say - Thanks to the great Divine for my being alive.
Today's that day. The first day that my soul feels the kiss of Spring. It happens every year like an unwatched clock. Always an unaware dance. Slips up on me.
This morning I popped into a cafe for a bite, to work a bit and meet a friend and talk Books and the upcoming Confessions Tour.
The old men were talking. Every city I've ever lived in or city I've traveled to internationally - has a spot, a cafe, a coffee shop, a corner - where the old men talk about the trouble in this world. How they'd deal the cards if the deck was theirs. How they'd call the shots. Tell 'em all where to go if it were up to them. They tell stories of where they've been and what's happened. And, I love to hear them tellin it.
This morning I sat at my table, opened my laptop as my ears picked up the end of a story.
"So, I sent it back," he said, "I told 'em - This one didn't stand up to a snake killin'! So they sent me a new watch." There is appreciative chuckles and do-tells.
I wanted to ask him to take it from the top. Start over. Tell me about the snake. Were you under the house? Down by the creek? Up a mountain? Were you protecting a woman or a baby or an old dog? Did you kill it like my Memaw when a tassle of barefoot kids were screaming as a water moccasin chased us hard and fast around that sand yard. She came down three times on his head with her cane pole and the power of a mad Memaw. Mashed snake head flat and picked him up with the end of the pole and slung his dead into the woods. Did you kill it like that? And just how did that watch get in the way? What did that snake do to stop time?
But I didn't ask. I let the old men talk. You can't interrupt a good tellin'. Not on your first stop anyway. If I was there ever day I might end up being the only woman at that table. Trading talk, slinging stories. But I'd try not to make it habit. The old- men - they gotta talk about tigers and hunts and being wild once upon a time. Once. upon. a time.
Today, good is raining down.
I overheard a woman talking on her phone.
"Uh, huh. Shut your mouth. No, she did not."
I stopped writing. Turned my ear toward her.
"When he said, what he said, what I told you he said, when he said it - there was lightning in the sky. Swear. Swear on my dirty pride."
Now, i made that last part up. The dirty pride. That part is all me. Cause words play off my tongue sometimes. I wrote her words down. But I can't find them.
Today it rained down good things.
The sunshine called me. I found Percy Warner like a creature homing. Like old cat, Jake. I'd been babysitting him for a year till my sister moved again. Then she picked him up and took him to the new neighborhood. Jake walked three days through the woods. Braved coyotes and wilderness to sashay right in the back door and say - , I've back and mean to stay.
The sunshine called me out of my routine, my to-do list, that kiss of Spring - it's some kind crazy intoxication. It is. Me, these old, black boots have wed to my feet. No walking clothes. I. did. not. care. I walked. In the mud. Climbed those stairs.
My favorite new addiction. Sara's playlist on Spotify. She named it, Bookstore Vibes. Bear, the Parnassus Books official baby lover and dog greeter is the Image.
I took Sara's playlist on a little walk. And watched the people running by in gear made to run by with. And people like me called from the cars, staring at the sky in wonder, wondering how they got out of the house, away from the screens, like waking up after hibernation. Sometimes, we find we are fully, strangely awake. The pieces of our life, clinking into place. Right where they belong.
I left the park and popped over to St. George's to invite them to the Confessions book party. (Have I told you the whole wide world is invited?) I ended up aimlessly wandering the back halls and because I am a Trinity Girl I found the chapel. This is a part of my silent world.
A friend recently told me - "Knowing you like I do, I was surprised by your book, Praying for Strangers."
This person knows me more as a bourbon drinking Southern writer. Surprise. Yeah, I get that. It surprises me, too. Not the doing. Not the praying. Not the strangers. Not the stories. It's the telling of it that surprises me. I keep my faith cards close to my chest. Or - did. And, now here comes Confessions blowing down the aisle. Here comes the truth and the Amen.
Today, good is raining down.
Trinity girl in the chapel. Lit a candle for my Mama cause today that was on my heart. Said a prayer. Started to back away but then - there are those other lights. Candles flickering in the dark. Lit by hands outstretched, reaching for something. Answers, faith, love, remembrance. I thought about them, too.
The Church bells ring out in the courtyard. From somewhere down the hall, little kindergarten kids march to a gather in a hall where soon bagpipes begin. I run my fingers over prayer beads. Read St. Patricks prayer. Let tears find me fare-the-well. Sometimes, my spirit lifts off, soars in spite of me. My arms rise to my side and I walk the stairs like a two year told, balancing between here and there, fearless and full of faith.
Johnny Swim sings, Ring the Bells.
Good is raining down.
Easter is upon us and up on this hill today the wind whispers, All Is Well. The chimes ring out resurrection. Spring, renewal and all the promise that resides there. I haven't been plugged into the season very well this year. Preoccupations and responsibility. Normally, Easter is one of my favorite times of year for just that promise of new life that springs eternal. The year, I've let the burden of other things weigh heavy on my soul and heart.
A few years ago (how many now) I wrote a daily devotional during lent and posted it on the internet. I've been so blessed by all those who have read it year after year and wrote to me to share that they did so. You crazy people. Oh, how I love you. The thing is, there was nothing special about it. Just a daily email that was life in action. All the messy places. Just simply walking out the day and at the close of day - reflecting. Maybe that's not what I'm doing enough of these days. Pausing to reflect. Ok, I'm certain of it. I rush from morning into evening and then to crashing into bed full of the crazy that is my life.
Granted. This thing I do. Count my blessings. I pause for just that long. And the smile of all the littles, their words, and photos. The Adorables growing now into gorgeous, young women, the little wild wolf pack rambunctious and keeping me on my toes while laughing.
America Mystic is coming to fruition, finally, oh, finally! But still it arrives in due season. Not the book it used to be in rewrite after rewrite. Not the book it used to be anymore than I am the woman I once was. Death and Resurrection. We bear our crosses which sometimes feels like crucifixion. It's not.
I watched a flock of birds this morning in the early hours. All else was sleeping in the house. My mother, my cousin, the dogs, the cat. All was quiet but me, the porch, the birds in flight. Then I noticed, they landed in a tree, paused, took flight again, a little ways, another tree. Coming after them were other birds that reached the tree and paused just after others had taken flight. They moved that way while. I have many trees. I watched them. A tree, flight, a tree, flight. It went on this way. Then I realized one of two things maybe both. I know nothing of birdology so I can make things up as they occur to me which suits me find.
The birds in the first group landed to allow the stranglers to catch up, gain their strength, stay with the flock. Eventually, I felt certain they would arrive together in the fold that waited for them. Some great community of kindred spirits and feathered fellows.
Or, they were just showing me, God showing me, that in flight over those passages of deeper valley's pausing was a righteous thing to do. The pause to gather strength. To rest to realign their focus, their purpose, their destination.
I pray that we each pause this Easter weekend to realize just how far we've come across mountain, valley, distant shores. To realign our purpose with all that is Divine and lives and moves within us. For every sacred moment, illuminated hour.
Together we continue. We've come this far and our journey sacred. In the midst of all of it, there is the power of renewal.
And, so, we begin again.
God bless and keep the faith.
Embrace the cup of communion and pass it on.
Thanks so much for reading, liking and sharing with friends.