Pathways May 29, 2012

I don’t know why I was born

with this belief in something

deeper and larger than we can

see. But it’s always called. Even as

a boy, I knew that trees and light

and sky all point to some timeless

center out of view. I have spent my

life listening to that center and filter-

ing it through my heart. This listening

and filtering is the music of my soul,

of all souls. After sixty years, I’ve run

out of ways to name this. Even now,

my heart won’t stand still. In a mo-

ment of seeing, it takes the shape of

my eye. In a moment of speaking, the

shape of my tongue. In a moment of

silence, it slips back into the lake of

center. When you kiss me, it takes

the shape of your lip. When our dog

sleeps with us, it takes the shape of

her curl. When the hummingbird

feeds her baby, it takes the shape

of her beak carefully dropping

food into our throats.

"Monet was nearsighted and painted what he saw."

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The Work of Care

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