Yesterday I walked down “Tamarack Trail” looking for color. OK, it’s not really called Tamarack Trail. You can call it “Larch Lane” instead if that sounds more lyrical.
A logging crew clearcut this patch of woods about a mile or two from our house many years ago and planted larch. The locals call this tree tamarack.
If you visit on a sunny day in late October the tamaracks glow an amazing shade of gold beneath our yellow orb in the sky.
I wondered yesterday: Did the trees still glow gold? Or is it too late to capture their amazing late-autumn beauty?
Twas too late, autumn-color lover, far too late. Maybe three weeks ago the larches sang their golden anthem.
Now they nestle toward their roots in shades of brown and burnt orange.
It was a nice walk nonetheless. The eyes swept outward looking everywhere for the gold of Spirit shining from its many disguises, from the infinite play of the Holy’s expression.
Every day during this seventy-five day commitment to get closer to Spirit and write about it– I keep listening deeper.
What does the Holy want to say here, through this particular human being?
I have no clue.
A thought pops up with a proposal to write about. Something larger watches the suggestion. I try to settle into this with patience and trust. In the first couple of weeks anxiety kept insisting to come up with a blog ASAP and even write it the night before.
Now there’s a slower pace arising.
I watch for clues during the day. A YouTube video sparks a match of possibility. A random comment by you. A friend’s heartache.
What do You want to say, Holy?
Not my will, thoughts and emotions.
How will you use this vessel today to open doors, windows, hearts?
What teaching longs to be spoken in words only we humans use? (You speak a language without words, we know, a language of silence more inclusive than our feeble syllables that paint the world into separation.)
How can the divine spark up from a mud puddle and try to calm our frenzied spirits or inspire a goldenrod gone to fuzzy seed?
A tender moon rests above this tamarack. Nuthatches chatter in larch branches, nibbling seeds. Words swirl like a gentle wind, attempting to capture the Heart of love.
Spirit dances through all of them and something keeps vigil, waiting for the next Holy move.
What is wanting to move through you today?
P.S. Lest you think I listen to the Holy all day–alas, no. Ego steps up to the plate and bats to first, second, third base–HOME RUN!–quite often. For many of us, I think, this listening comes and goes like the ever-changing seasons. We listen, we don’t, we listen, we don’t. Such a dance of the human and divine. Don’t lose hope, dear one–the winds that pummel can feel harsh, but remember also the gentle lapping of calm lakes, the way the moon rebirths to its fullness again and again.
Day 23 of a seventy-five day journey to connect more deeply with God, Spirit, Holy, Love…to explore “What the Heart Knows” during the waning days of 2020.