This sweet bird gave my sister and I what felt like hours of fun on our vacation up north. In truth, it was maybe ten minutes, fifteen tops. But in those moments, time stood still and we experienced pure joy just watching this tiny little being play with the big, powerful waves. What a strut, what a swagger! and what a sense of humor she had; we even suspected she knew she had a very appreciative audience, and was playing just for us. We laughed, we snorted, we were in awe. All over a simple little seagull.
The simplest moments can be the most sacred. We (okay, I) think we need the big bang, the great Walenda, the fireworks, the ecstatic experience. The birth of the baby, jumping in the water with wild dolphins, waking up on Maui, falling head over heels in love. And yes, it's there for sure, pronounced even, available for the taking. But the truth is it's everywhere... it being the sacred, embedded in everything, palpable in those holy moments, those seconds or minutes of grace, when thoughts are silenced, self disappears, and there is just oneness, an unveiled meeting with what is... an openness, a connection, an instantaneous descent from the head straight into the heart. It's the bird at the beach and the one splashing in the birdbath; it's the clouds suddenly painted bright pink - or not; it's meeting the eyes of a stranger, the sliver of moon at dawn, dewdrops in the sun, taking a photo; it's coral leaves, choral voices, the bass beat, the Moody Blues; the Christmas story, the Buddha story, Mary's story, the Hindi chant... it's in our very humanness, our pain and grief and suffering, our loves, our longings. our joys. It's mothers and daughters and love so big it spills out everywhere, sometimes not so gracefully. It's birth and death...and everything, I mean everything in between. The moments big and small, each breath, each beating of our heart, our bodies, aging; each creature, every particle of air, even the space that holds it all. The Sacred... never not here.
What amazing grace.