Photo credit: http://www.tonylion76.com/430071641
Wangapeka June 13/06 Written as part of a longer e-mail article called “What Does It Mean To Pray”
It’s one of those mornings. Five-thirty a.m. and luminous.
The light is rose-ing, salmon grey-pink, silhouetting the peaks; a celestial water colour washing the canvas of my mind, transforming a chill metal-blue dawn into a visual symphony of saturated colour. The air is dense. Everything is so extraordinarily still.
It seems, that by simply opening a space of caring, I can feel pin-prick crystals emerging one by one; billions of them;a gloaming of frost falling silently into our world, clothing the blades of grass, the bracken fronds and marble leaves.
Bellbirds, tuis, blackbirds, grey warblers and south island tomtits are waking; one bird, and then the next; a squeak, a twitter, a stretch of silence, a peep, another silence, then a raucous gabbling; arpeggios of liquid clinks and bloonks, until avian breakfast chatter is bouncing up and down our little valley. Everyone’s talking! Light, colour, stillness, exuberance, fluid breath, and feet planted in the earth; it seems the whole world is blessed. Resting midst this pristine wonder; thinking of you; thinking of me, sharing this holiness, savouring the luminosity. Surely the knowing of such a moment, this absolute ordinariness, this perfection of everything — just as it is — surely this is the very heart of prayer.
Photo credit: Tui – Wangapeka NZ L Schofield (Tui Pipi) | Birds @ Pinterest
A single beech leaf.blushed gold, pastelling incrementally to a viridian hint of summer long gone, flittering, tumbling,pausing in a moment of perfect levitation then changing pace and direction zigging and zagging, falling down the staircase of the skyand thwapping ever so delicately into a waiting puddle.
Imagine the limpid surface; intimately, effortlessly echoing a golden leaf spiraling ever bigger and clearer;details of veins and ragged edges,turning in space.
Does the puddle have any kind of aqueous expectation? A tiny, almost imperceptible kiss,pressing the surface tension, liquid drum skin stretching earthward,receiving, gathering,then springing outward—a flawless catch and rebound.Concentric rings of mirror-like crystal, a rippling world, observed by fantail and the sparkling of my neurons in breath-holding recognition of something miraculous.
Surely this too is a kind of prayer?
After breakfast,sitting on the porch of Triple Gem . . . a bowl of becoming, petals of knowing opening and closing within and around.
River sound swooshes and hums with the light, pine auras of blinding whiteness, individual needles — some neurotransmitter has turned up the magnification!
Then, suddenly; as if from nowhere,— a harrier! . . . two harriers! (Everything has become slow motion.)
Hovering, gliding, sliding on the dense thickness of frosted air, rising in the waves of warming light while visions of far away friends and yogis in meditation and earthworms wrapped in their dark warm beds and micro-organisms in the stream and each separate leaf and needle,all of us, and all of this,
together weaving an elegant tapestry of beauty and meaning.
Surely this is prayer in action.
A middle size fly is buzzing in the sunlight exploring the wall of my hut, seeking whatever flies seek on pristine wintery mornings.
His eyes are so big! Where did he spend his night?
Something feels immense and perfect, life thrumbing as the earth turns and illumination races down the face of Jones’s ridge; a waking of newness a heart glow of breath-catching gratitude a perfect eternal moment a life worth living.
Surely knowing this is the blessing of prayer.
May all beings be well.
May all beings be happy.
Sarva Mangalam! *
(*“happiness to everyone”)
by Tarchin Hearn
A Sheaf of Poems, 2001– 2010, © Tarchin Hearn, www.greendharmatreasury.org17