In our local coffee shop the Vita-Mix machine roars. I thought it was a coffee grinder, but it’s a Vita-Mix machine, whatever that might be. I got up from the high-perched computer table and asked what was the noise?
I am drinking black tea. Outside bagpipe Christmas music blares out of the loudspeakers. In a half or so, give or take, I’ll head up the hill to the library for a used book sale sponsored by “The Friends of the Library”.
A long-lost friend, OK, not that long-lost, just asked my spiritual advice about a complicated question. It was one of the most complicated questions on the planet, the kind it’s impossible to answer. We humans want simple answers. I rattled off a complicated answer that involved six perspectives and felt sorry that she might try to figure it out.
My eyelash didn’t need to be lanced yesterday. Nix the advertised lancing from two blogs ago. It’s a long story and I don’t want to type it out because it involves six explanations. Suffice it to say–the doc said the body usually absorbs chalazions–excuse my previous label of “sty”–in about a year. So it’s only a minor cosmetic inconvenience.
Our new stove arrived. It is beautiful. We have yet to bake in it.
A woman just came up to me in the coffee shop. She’s embroiled in one of those sad human family happenings that break a listening open heart. Tears welled up in her eyes as she shared about the good and bad days.
“Just pray,” she said.
A “Toys for Tots” box sits in the corner. Poor children, perhaps hungry children, will unwrap these gifts on Christmas morn.
I want to write a post about my challenges with being inconsistent, but I don’t want anyone to reassure me. Don’t want anyone to say anything. So why would I want to write a public post about this? Beats me. Maybe I’ll write a Dear Secret Diary blog about this and close comments. Why do we humans think and feel the way we do? Beats me. (Please don’t mention this paragraph in the comments. Pretend you didn’t read it.)
We bought a new humidifier that attaches to our wood stove and furnace yesterday in Marquette. We need to install it today in between eating a frozen leftover Thanksgiving turkey dinner and…well, I don’t know what else comes “in between”.
Eckhart Tolle speaks about how we humans have a psychological need to know what comes next. But what if we renounce our need to know what happens next? What if we simply abandon ourselves to this holy/wholey moment as it appears?
In which case, taking another sip of black tea, smelling the cooking ham, mushroom and cheese omelette, listening to the soft chatter and laughter around the coffee shop and wondering whether to buy a latte because the gingerbread flavor smells so sweet and spicy and gingerbread-y. This sacred holy moment.
What does your sacred holy moment right this very moment look like? Are you crying, confused, delightedly happy? What makes up your moment which will never ever look exactly like this ever again?