“The real trick to life is not to be in the know, but to be in the mystery.”-Fred Alan Wolf
It is overcast this morning. Grey clouds hang low. Pregnant. Electrically charged ions full-bodied. Suspended. Yearning for release.
A search for ‘how clouds form’ reveals, science does not have all the answers. Each suspended droplet is imbued with mystery.
The river runs high this morning. Jade green flowing into gun metal grey. There is no mystery to its swollen flow. Spring run-off has begun in the mountains spanning the western horizon their ridges separating earth from sky like the back of a monolithic dragon sleeping. Snow melts along its spine. Rivulets race down its sides to meet up with a multitude of brooks and streams coursing down mountainsides, leaping and frothing at the chance to join the river flowing eastward in the valleys far below.
Plump green leaves shiver in the morning breeze stirring the branches of the trees lining the river. A squirrel traverses through the ever-thickening canopy. No flying this morning. Just thoughtful navigation from limb to limb.
It is raining now. The clouds release their bounty in a gentle patter. The leaves dance.
I stand on the deck, beneath the portico above the door. The air smells fresh. Alive.
I breathe deeply. Bring my awareness into the mystery of this moment. Feel the air against my skin.
I had planned on writing about baking and creating food art with foccacia. About friends visiting on the wine deck. An afternoon spent sipping chilled wine in the warm sunlight. Savouring friendship. New and old.
And then, I visited David Kanigan at Live & Learn. Listened to the morning meditation he offered up. Alison Balsom playing Satie’s Gymnopédie on the trumpet. As Lori, one of his commenters described it, “Lovely limpid, languid tune….”
In the plaintiff call of the trumpet, in the echoing eeriness of Satie’s resonances, I fell into grace. Effortless. Enveloping. Grace.
It is there I find myself now. Listening to the sound of rain falling gently. The honking of two geese flying overhead. Notes of a piano softly thrumming in the background.
My plans undone. I come undone in this moment.
Yesterday is past. Today holds promise. Tomorrow is a mystery.
I release yesterday with a silent prayer of gratitude. It falls softly, gently into memory’s welcoming bed, a wildflower garden of tranquil respite.
I breathe into the promise of today and whisper a prayer of gratitude for this moment. Each second imbued with possibility. Its gifts still a mystery.
I sense tomorrow’s mystery flowing deep beneath the surface of this moment in which I sit watching the river flow.
Time enough for tomorrow.
Today, right now, the music of life stirs me.
I rise up and begin to move. Slowly. Gently. My body flows, stretches, undulates. In and out and all around, captive to the waves of sound, ebbing and flowing, pushing and pulling, plumping up the molecules of air dancing all around me with the melodious notes of Satie. Arvo Pärt. Laurence Ipsum.
Mystery dances in the air around me.
Magic shimmers on the leaves unfolding on the branches outside my window.
Miracles glitter on the raindrops falling. Lightly. Gently. Softly.
Life is a mystery calling me to rise up and dance. In the sunlight and shadows. Beneath rain clouds hanging low, and raindrops falling all around. In golden times and darkened moments.
In it all.
Life is a mystery calling me to dance. With Love. Gratitude. Forgiveness. Grace.
And so, I dance.
I invite you to dance with me. I invite you to savour the mystery, cherish the memories and let them go in this moment so that you can rise up and dance, free and untethered, twirling and spinning about, weaving and dipping and jiving with your body unbounded in the joy erupting within the beauty of this moment right now.
And thank you to those who create music and words and images and ideas that stir the senses and free the mind to dance amidst the beauty of the mystery of life.