Peace is an odd word for the bubble of all there is
breaking repeatedly on the surface of the heart,
but I know of no other. The Native Americans
come closest; nothing between inner events
and what to call them. I see you and you always
glow. Why not call you One-who-shines-like-a-
sun-upon-first-meeting. Why not call the moment
of doubt and fear: Dark-point-spinning-loose-
that-presses-on-the-throat. Why not call the
moment of certainty, the fleeting moment
when everything that ever lived is right
behind my pounding heart, why not call
that moment: Beat-of-the-thousand-wings-
of-God-inside-my-chest. When I feel love so
deeply that I can’t bear it, when I feel it so much
that it can’t be contained or directed at any one
thing or person, why not call it: The-stone-at-the-
bottom-of-the-river-sings. Why not call you: The-
hand-that-plucks-me-from-the-bottom-of-the-river.
Why not call this miracle of life: The-sound-that-
never-stops-stirring-the-lost-within-the-sound-that-
never-stops-soothing-the-living-within-the-sound-that-
never-stops-sounding-in-the-eyes-of-dead-things-coming-
alive-again-and-again-and-again…
A Question to Walk With: Describe a moment when you felt life other than your own move through you. What opened you to this feeling? How did it change you?
This excerpt is from my book, The Way Under The Way: The Place of True Meeting (Sounds True, 2016).
*photo credit: Unsplash