An unfolding landscape
Not all surprises are welcome. This one was. Over Easter the family walked the West Highland Way over 8 days. Amidst the banter that accompanies walking I had imagined time to spend with some reflections, some poetry. It didn't happen. A fragment of a desire had surfaced for a moment before going - a wish for lightness and being uncluttered. As words receded the landscape unfolded slowly before our eyes, coming to us it seemed with still and unflustered composure. Only slowly did we cotton onto the impact in us of this simple activity. It brought us into the unfussy and unhurried world of gentle wonder. It was not something observed so much as subconsciously imbibed, a direct interaction with body and soul. And I muse upon the Celtic church's terms of 'the Big Book' (for creation/nature) and 'the Little Book' (for the Bible).
On ways that God comes to us
The similarities with the practice of stillness are obvious, noticing the unfolding moment; the bird that interrupts the silence, the bus breaking, stopping and starting off from the bus stop outside the house, the floorboard that then creaks. This was all a surprise, a message and above all a gift. It's a reminder that gift is central in the universe and that it's not all about me and my effort. It's also yet another invitation to allow for the reconfiguring of prayer, of ways of being with God.
O Love, divine Love, why do you lay siege to me? In a frenzy of love for me, You find no rest. From five sides You move against me, Hearing, sight, sound, touch, and scent.