Out to the south of this soft, brown cabin and across the wet-weather creek, the breeze shuffles over my sleeping garden plot. Coming inside, it wandered round the wires of the wobbly fence, picking up wood chips and old mulching hay as it passes by, tossing a few bits 'round in it's happy, laughing wisps. The geese call out in the mid morning air, a quartet of sounds, making this place full of dimension and warmth, in frosty January.
The nation is in a spinning wind of disagreement and accusation since the inauguration and before. Friends turn against friends, fiery words are passed around, everyone seems to feel smarter and more knowing than the other. With the push of a button we stop listening to one another, stop seeing one another as we reach for some peace and agreement to sooth the concern in our hearts. Turmoil reaches long, dark arms to draw us all into this simmering, sickening cauldron of disagreement.
On this small plot of a farm, behind the high hill to the east and under this peaceful, blue January sky, the spinning could be felt just the same...if one moved towards the whipping wind, if one engages in a match of mental "strength" or clever, intellectual reasoning bent to show the decided "stupidity of the other side". One could. Anyone can. Somehow in the fuzzy morning grace that appears every day like magical morning dew, I was arrested with an easy invitation; "Look away", the thought seemed to offer, "Turn a blind eye"... such an easy, breezy proposition. "Remember how it was to fly?" Then I partook of the remembering, of lifting up like in the old days, like in a childhood dream. I remembered that all I needed was to think it and up, up and away from the lower lands I could go. And then I wondered when the invitation to fly was ever pulled back or away? Maybe we only have forgotten it was there.
And since I was kindly invited, I thought I would go up today into the air and I thought I would let my thoughts rise up and fly into the higher place where the droplets of love and kind thoughts are formed, until so many drops are buoyantly, "bouncingly" waiting in the sky that their heavy little bodies, all at once, must fall free like rain onto those below who need it most. We have all been below before, and have needed the rain, too. And who can be to blame? Staying in the dry lower lands of grown up reasoning is hard work, wearying work, for sure.
So what fun for me that I'm inviting you, too, since I heard there was unlimited space and no one who can fly is restricted from coming along! I heard that we could soar like eagles, and not get tired! A Saturday for soaring. What a pleasant surprise. Isaiah 40:31