Many of us are just going about our lives, not expecting much from each day that passes by. Each moment is like the last and will be like the next and the next.
Imagine in the midst of the mundane and banal there is the discovery of a once in a lifetime treasure, a gift out of the blue that changes everything and changes you. You can’t bear to leave it behind, so in joy and celebration you sell everything you have, give away everything that previously mattered to you, knowing that the treasure you have found is the source of all joy and fulfillment.
This is what happens when people find the Word, sometimes in the most unexpected place, open it up and are embraced by it. You hide it in your heart to keep it safe. You want to know it is yours forever.
And it is.
May my eyes see, my ears hear, my heart understand. He prepares me with parable.
The world is mud-lucious and puddle-wonderful. ~e.e. cummings
…he sought the privacy of rain, the one time no one was likely to be out and he was left to the intimacy of drops touching every leaf and tree in the woods and the easy muttering of drip and runoff… ~Robert Morgan from “Working in the Rain”
There is plenty of muttering, both private and public, since the rain started yesterday. And not all of it is from dripping and runoff into puddles. Anytime a holiday weekend is predicted to be rained out, plenty of people mutter too.
I’m celebrating as it has been weeks — no, months — since we have had a decent rain and everything, including me, has been far too tinder-dry.
Rain is what makes this part of the world special, but like Camelot, most would prefer it never fall till after sundown. To them we live not in a more congenial spot — than Camelot.
I may be an oddity, though somewhat typical of northwest-born natives. I celebrate rain whenever it comes, whether before sundown or after sunrise, as I grew up working outside in the intimacy of a drenching shower. Yet rain, this falling weather, gives me an excuse to stay indoors to putter around instead of mutter.
He could not resist the long ritual, the companionship and freedom of falling weather, or even the cold drenching, the heavy soak and chill of clothes and sobbing of fingers and sacrifice of shoes that earned a baking by the fire and washed fatigue after the wandering and loneliness in the country of rain. ~Robert Morgan, conclusion of “Working in the Rain”
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the color of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing ~e.e. cummings from “somewhere I have never travelled”
I reach for the visual texture of growing things
without touching with my fingers.
My eyes know its softness at a glance;
it is enough for me to embrace and enfold myself within it.
It takes my breath away and then gives it back.