On Thursday night, as I snuggled into my favorite spot in the front room with the book, Practicing the Presence, by Goldsmith, a loud bellow rang through the house, "HONEY! COME HERE!". "No!" I thought as I planted myself deeper in the pillows of the sofa. The call came again and again, with a rising panic and mirth. ARGH! The frequency of mama's quiet moments are pretty slim and being called into mother duty after 15 hours on call, isn't always welcome. I walked toward the family room and to my surprise, I caught the distinct waft of something unpleasant and saw Bodhi perched on the tiny toilet he has never used. He was perfectly proud of himself as he announced, "Mama, I poop in the living room!". Imagine that and I just thought I would read myself into relaxation.
When everything looks bleak and the darkness cramps against the cold, it takes courage to simply look out from imagined isolation toward the wide horizon of beauty available in every moment. It takes courage to lean into the sea of life and trust the tide. When weary limbs no longer support us, it takes courage to trust our inner buoyancy and float. It takes courage, in the face of darkness, to remember the light and sit in all our apparent blindness and listen, silently, to the still, small whisper within. It takes courage, in that dark hour, when nothing else remains. Eyes closed. Eyes opened. A glimpse, a memory, a fleeting vision of a light so bright it blurs the borders of things seen and things perceived into a comprehensive wholeness of being. It takes courage.
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