Last week I gathered, via Zoom, with some friends with whom I studied spiritual direction in seminary. We have continued our journey together with email and Zoom, and we meet in person once a year for a five day retreat. Our ages vary from about 60 to 80. All of us are sheltering in place, recognizing, with varying degrees of humility, that the world does not need us to be out and about. We recognize that we are fortunate to have homes, friends, and family. We have enough food, and any health issues are being tended to. As we shared where we are finding meaning now, I again realized the sacredness of the third part of life. Here, we learn to surrender to the life that we have, knowing that God resides in the temple that is our soul. I am still learning how to tend to this temple with love.
Holy Week has begun. This year, there will be far less public drama of the vivid story of the journey to the cross. This just might result in the Jesus within being able to breathe a little more easily. Surely this will help him and us tend to the Christ among us who still hungers and thirsts.
When the Meadows on the Body Turn Gray
When the meadows on the body begin to turn
gray, let your eye soften toward yourself, and those
who are close.
Let anyone, anything, inside who has driven you,
let them retire or move at an easier pace.
And where you were once firm, and might have
even said to someone, feel my muscle, or admired it
yourself,
yes, now look at the way you have become, or will
someday if you live as long as you may want.
Many do all they can to not have to face the candle
going out.
The wonder of my body aging, dying, is finding
another flame within, a holy eternal
sphere, that will never go out and is more beautiful
than all the form you have known - put together.
When the fields on the body begin to turn gray
let your hand's touch upon all, soften.
A Year with Hafiz, Daily Contemplations, Daniel Ladinksky (Penguin Books, 2011, page 206)
photograph: San Leandro, April 2020
