A maven of solitude, my small life asks to be bigger. I’m filled with the emptiness of a thousand and one ideas mowed down by inaction. Each new day they’re raked up and new seeds planted; growing again in that full sun of optimism to a long silky blade.
Rumi says: Listen to this story: When the soul left the body it was stopped by God at heaven’s gate: “Alas! You have returned just as you left. Life is a blessing of opportunity. Where are the bumps and scratches left by the journey?”
I ask Rumi …
They say think positive, let the vision be of yourself as if it is already. Trust. Let go. Be clear.
My hands hold each plate with marked sadness in the bod. Have I envisioned that a thousand times plates would pass through my hands? That I would stand and weep with gratitude at such a simple pleasure – admiring a singular part of my form -holding on to such wares, letting the warm water move around the thing while still making it wet?
I must have.
I ask Rumi, “What if my bumps and scratches heal before my soul leaves the bod and a quiet, gentle walk – hand-in-hand with simple pleasures – feels like a blessed opportunity? And why are there gates?”