Just To Be Is Holy, Just To

It's Easy To Operate Under The Illusion That What We Are Doing Is So Important We Cannot Stop Doing It. ... Stopping Is A Spiritual Act. It Is The Refuge Where We Drink Life In.

A Moment Of Grace. There Rose Up Within Me A Profound Sense Of Being Loved. I Felt "gathered Together" And Encircled By A Presence Completely Loving, As If I Were Enveloped By The Music Of A Love Song Created Just For Me. It Was Not Overwhelming Or Even Emotional. Just A Warm Knowing That I Was In God's Loving Embrace...centered And Unified There. [love]encounters Cannot Be Analyzed, Only Shared. If You Take A Butterfly, Robert Frost Said, And Pin It Down Into A Box, You No Longer Have A Butterfly.

At Forty-two, I Had Never Done Anything That Took My Own Breath Away, And I Suppose Now That Was Part Of The Problem--my Chronic Inability To Astonish Myself. I Promise You, No One Judges Me More Harshly Than I Do Myself; I Caused A Brilliant Wreckage. Some Say I Fell From Grace; They're Being Kind. I Didn't Fall. I Dove.

Back In The Autumn I Had Awakened To A Growing Darkness And Cacophony, As If Something In The Depths Were Crying Out. A Whole Chorus Of Voices. Orphaned Voices. They Seemed To Speak For All The Unlived Parts Of Me, And They Came With A Force And Dazzle That I Couldn't Contain. They Seemed To Explode The Boundaries Of My Existence. I Know Now That They Were The Clamor Of A New Self Struggling To Be Born.

I Wanted To Know What Happened When Two People Felt It. Would It Divide The Hurt In Two, Make It Lighter To Bear, The Way Feeling Someone's Joy Seemed To Double It?