Dawn in the Sacred Sangres
The mystery and magic of being an individual is to live life in response to the deep call within, the call to become who we were dreamed to be. … Freedom … is the poise of soul at one with a life which honours and engages its creative possibility. John O’Donohue (Beauty: The Invisible Embrace)
Sitting out on the deck as the day began to dawn and walking before the sun rose over the sacred peaks of the Sangres, I broke free of the habitual winter routine this day. It’s transition time here. Pots of geraniums that spent their winter indoors called to move to their summer homes outdoors. Flannel sheets and blankets give way to cooler crisp organic cotton.
I feel deeply the creative possibility in small things: hands in the dirt, listening to birdsong call the day into being, care of Zadie Byrd, care of self, care of and reverence for this place. Listening for and imagining new stories for how life – mine and ours – can unfold. Allowing life to define itself and its facets rather than fitting life into an old story heard throughout my life as the way things are and the way things should be.
John O’Donohue’s words remind me of the beauty of being in the question, the mystery. Listening for calls from within. Noticing what has my attention, what resonates, what doesn’t. Breaking habits of knowing and needing to know to allow wonder about how the mystery will unfold. Breaking habits of judgement to allow curiosity to discover a possibility for reverence and care.
After a long day with my hands in the dirt, I settled in last evening for a second listening to a recent Charles Eisenstein talk, Staying Sane in the Next Five Years [click here to watch]. I appreciate his thinking, his way of being, his kindred contrarian spirit, especially in this time when, for me, old stories are giving way, dissolving. New stories are on the rise.
The old stories based on half-truths and lies have become so dissonate in me/for me that I can barely follow them. Eisenstein calls this a time between stories. What we need in times of such transition is rest, care, attention to the call within, to what wants to rise, to mystery. We need time to grieve what seems lost so that we can hear clearly what wants to rise and what our part in that rising is. We need to break habits that tie us to the old. We need to let go. We need to call on grace.
And when we do, what new stories can rise? I envision new stories based on ancient truths of who we are, who we BE as humans in the web of life on this precious planet, a mere dot in the vast cosmos. Stories weaving new threads in existing webs of natural connection. Stories that hold reverence for ALL life. Stories that receive life. Stories that give.
Such stories are by no means a given. Old stories of control over and separation are trying to maintain our attention and will cleverly continue to endeavor to hold us in their grasp. A new coat of paint on an old story is not a new story, despite its fresh look.
So, this time between stories offers choices to each of us, individually and collectively. What habits must be laid to rest so that authentic new stories, new ways will rise? What stories will rise in us? What timelines will we follow? The answer my friends is in embracing the mystery of life unfolding! Are you in?
Dawn Over the San Luis Valley