We really shouldn't try to catch a shooting star. They are meant to be admired with a quiet awe rather than to be touched by needy hands. As they freely careen across the darkest night skies, shooting stars carry the hope and sorrows of broken hearts to a place beyond. Where wishes are restored. Where time blends with the eternal. To a place beyond our ruffled existence. To the edges of Heaven.
Never meant to be touched by our skin, they somehow still manage to tantalize our spirit with a light we often forget that dwells inside our bodies. When I see one amongst the breath of the other stars, burdens lift. I feel lighter. A smile forms along with a quiet peace inside........as I am reminded of the importance of being still in order to see, of being an open vessel in order to catch its essence.
Holy moments remind us to breathe in the hopeful aspirations of God's love.
As much as we would like to, we can't put a sunrise into a basket for ongoing observation. Its just not so. Even a photo can't capture its depth of radiance, nor its dawning performance. Sunrises are meant to be admired with a quiet awe rather than to be touched by human hands. As the sun slips up above the horizon, its colourful rays preceding its round peak, it forces us to pay attention. It clears the web of worry and distraught we wrestled with the night before.
The magnificence of the sunrise blesses us with fresh awareness and a cleansed spirit..... two very important components of feeling those effervescent possibilities again. Even for a moment. No matter how thick the air of desperation is around me, when I see the glory of a sunrise, I can feel the air fill with vitality. From the ground up, I am filled with promise.
Holy moments remind us to breathe in the hopeful aspirations of God's love.
You can't sculpt new words out of cold ashes. Words are kindling that feeds the fire. No amount of spit or tears can regenerate what had been expressed and tossed on the flames. Ashes are the story remnants of past accomplishments, failures, marriages, lost love, good health, ancestral connections, shared harvests, successes. Grief from all changes. Good and bad. Once a thriving furnace fed by words and feelings, vital as it sent spark-tigers up the flue, a fire loses its breath, only to leave grey flakes of what has been.
What can come out of trying to hold ashes in our hands? Dirty hands?
Yet, our traditions honour ash. Mixed with loam, sifted into fertile soil, ashes regenerate thought and life. Ash reminds us of where we came from, who we are, where we will be. If that is so, then perhaps ashes are more monumental, more beautiful, more miraculous than shooting stars or sunrises .......... Perhaps ashes are the key ingredient in the emergence of new sculptures, new life, new directions?
Once stirred, ashes release an enduring faith. And isn't hope simply faith holding out its hands to us when its dark?
Hmmmmm............. Maybe holding ashes in our hands is the closest we will ever be to touching God's Hand? Maybe holding them as we find that stillness and light inside us is the most holy? Beyond the extraordinary-ness of sunrises, shooting stars........... of ALL the beauty around us, ashes place us on the edges of Heaven.
Amongst the stars....... surrounded by new words.
Holy moments remind us to breathe in the hopeful aspirations of God's love.
