Mandatory Pit-Stops: Returning To Self-Reverence
When I feel all used up, it’s usually too late. I’ve passed every filling station. I’ve ignored every ‘Last Food & Gas For The Next 100 Miles’ sign. Lost in my need to get ahead, I’ve put myself behind everything else –– again. My number of choices radically fall to zero. I’m breaking down. Forget where I was going. It’s now about where I am.
Hat in hand, I awaken again. From the trance of chasing. I’m back in presence. With pain, as my golden chute. My last shred of will –– paid like a solitary peso –– I collect each fragment of myself into a neat pile. I have to go home. To Thee. I’ve ignored all of my pit-stops. So now I’m stopped –– and in a pit.
We never emerge from these pits in the shapes we entered. Somehow I know, here comes a lesson in letting go again.
I remove my shoes, readied for the lesson. I take slow steps in reverence now, because these pits hold religious experiences churches never see. If you've been there, you understand.
Akin to the womb, and akin to the grave, there is no one –– but you, and your nameless Master, a faceless Master, gazing at you, gazing at your feet again. And somehow you’re knowing, transformation awaits. We never emerge from these pits in the shapes we entered. Somehow I know, here comes a lesson in letting go again.
These holy pits; so loud with their quiet –– so crowded with their emptiness. So busy with their magic. So teeming with their stillness.
In them, nothing to be found but me, nothing to be heard –– but Thee. It’s where I’m reassembled, Providence willing. It’s where I was first assembled. I'm known here.
This pit, His palm, a reminder; I am only in the world. Not of it. Never leave well-being to accomplish well-doing, again.
A D V E R T I S E M E N T
