Some mornings, our dog likes to play a game. After eating his breakfast on the back porch, and then spending a few more minutes in the backyard, either Tyler or I will go to the door, open it, and call his name. Often, he comes bounding up the stairs and saunters in. Sometimes he is already quietly sitting by the door, waiting for us to open it. Sometimes, however, he bounds up the stairs, spins around, and bounds back down. While dogs do not actually laugh, he does seem to find the game hysterically funny. He played the game this morning, but is now curled up beside me on the couch and is drifting off to sleep. I sense he is at peace.
I have been sitting in group meditation for about a month. I go at different times of the week, so I do not always meditate with the same group of people. Yesterday, the woman sitting next to me was at the end of a cold. Her breathing was slightly labored. Another woman's phone quietly vibrated. Both sounds, of course, sent my mind back up the stairs. Yet, I know that what really sent my mind bounding was simply my own mind. Fortunately, the meditation simply continued. My mind settled, and the distinctions of "me" and even "us" began to blur once more. When that happens, I begin to cross into "not one, not two," (see post dated October 6, 2016). There I begin to understand that in Christ there is no separation. Any message that tells us otherwise will never usher us into that state that is described in Philippians 4:7, "the peace that surpasses all understanding." Without such peace, we can never know love.
Abide in me as I abide in you.
John 15:4
No comments:
Post a Comment