The Most Alive Momentby Rumi
The most living moment comes whenthose who love each other meet eachOther’s eyes and in what flowsbetween them then. To see your faceIn a crowd of others, or alone on afrightening street, I weep for that.Our tears improve the earth. Thetime you scolded me, your gratitude,your laughing, always your qualitiesincrease the soul. Seeing you is awine that does not muddle or numb.We sit inside the cypress shadowwhere amazement and clear thoughttwine their slow growth into us.
Rumi talks about the most alive moment being when we meet
ourselves and there is no separation, no union, just one alone at the silent
core.
I have been there – painting milkweed at Dayspring,
sitting in the hot meadow, the sun beating down on me, evaporating the paint
almost before it touches the page, leaving a lasting impression of a fleeting
moment. I see the picture months later and hear
the insistent buzz of the bee, wish again I could capture the essence of the
butterfly on her wing, wonder if this tight mauve popcorn ball of buds really
transforms itself into white strands of silt which will waft through the wind
to begin again. The stages are as
magical as a butterfly’s.
Playing with the Spirograph, I marvel at the engineering
behind it, how someone determined the radii and curves the various holes and
gears would make. I marvel at the beauty
and grace of the repetitive curves and loops, no angles, making shapes that
truly fill me with glee.
Joy unbounded
because of patterns and swirls?
Yes.
Yes.
YES.
Emphatically YES.
It brings me joy to produce patterns that meet one another harmoniously
and then glance off each other to mesh with another. The rainbow colors blending seamlessly together. I do not understand the compulsion nor the
pleasure, but it feels healthy and whole and complete. I can spend hours at play, pursuing patterns,
learning how they work, asking “I wonder what would happen if…?”
Perhaps I am finally allowing myself a happy childhood. Are Legos and Erector Sets next? I could go into Dylan’s closet and pull out
the Playmobil and Legos and build towns and cities and make up stories like
Laura and Dylan used to do. I could let
my mind wader with joy over the mountains and valleys of my imagination. Is there a joy greater than this?
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