22 Absolutely Perfect

I was dying to wake up this morning. Isn’t that a bizarre phrase we’ve adopted?  I was dying to go to the gym!  Bizarre. 

I lay there, semi-awake in the semi- dark, with light eeeking out from behind the crevices. Bold mountain sunshine would be out there.  I wondered what time it was.  I lay there aware of all the teeny tiny, microscopic sea creatures that exits to support life, a life I live, a life you live—a life where tiny glowing single cell organisms with vibrating rings ambulate the deep dark and they too are connected and part of the whole.  And that all life exists to support all life.  Suddenly a single cell organism at the bottom of the ocean seems such a significant contributor to my day and I sit for a moment in the center of this all-life-goo that exists to allow me to lay here.  And to think I will never think of it.  

Except that this morning I did, as the bold mountain air—something that never escapes my notice—knocks at my windows, wanting all the attention.  Why do these things happen?  Me laying there, waking up with my first thoughts being all the life at the bottom of the ocean that exists to make more life, that, if gone, life in totality, would go away. 

I thanked the tiny little sea creatures.  Life feels thick with them and I become aware that I am also breathing them in, their tiny little cousins, the air plankton.  I recall the conversation when I was first made aware of air plankton from a naturalist who wrote an entire book on the subject. 

That made me pause.  An entire book on air plankton!  Yet another thing that I will never notice.

Thank you to all of it I say because I don’t have the words or the awareness to know how to do any better. 

I grab the fabric edge as I lay prone and jerk it down. The blind flies up with a bang! and in an instant, the room is blinding bright.  The bed pillows are backed up to the window and my mother has old-school roller blinds that I have mastered over the years.  Instantly, the sun changes the tempo. I think of the expensive, whole foods just ground coffee waiting for me out in the kitchen.  I’m up in a flash.

I find a funnel and jury-rig a coffee brewing system.  #2 coffee paper folded to fit seems to be working and I tug at the edges to assist. The result is perfect.  I am mesmerized by how perfect my life is.  My life is perfect because life is perfect.  It’s my job to notice.  You can’t say that in public! I know, I know… but for anyone who knows me or knows who I was or how I used to think and what my life used to be like…what other word is more perfect than ‘perfect?’ You would know that perfect represents a slow awareness of equilibrium and balance.  Something that I take no credit for or applaud my own effort in any way.  I am simply the person who has chosen to become aware in totality of the absence of problems.  This is a place of stillness.  There is nothing arrogant about the awareness of perfection.  Just the opposite.

To become the person who is aware of perfection takes supernatural powers, forces that I do not bestow on myself, or govern.  At best, I can float, like the sea creatures.  There can be the profound absence of struggle, which is where I seem to be at 8:12 am mountain time on Friday June 10th.  What a gift that is, especially given my location.  And my past.

Dear heavenly Father, thank you for this moment, one where the smallest sea creatures meet the bold sky in a place never before imagined:  my mind.  And thank you for all the healing so I can be here to capture this moment. 


2nd cup

I just went outside.  Faded pink brick in an offset pattern.  Loads of dry colored pine needles windblown against a load bearing rock wall.  How has that wall managed to keep the whole hill from consuming the patio for this long and still support delicate wildflowers that come and go, year after year?  I take in a deep breath and notice the absence of difference between the air outside and the air inside.  This is one of life’s greatest delights for me, a whimp who has never been able to master the cold with my mind.  Just think warm my son would say.  I could Wim Hoff myself into it, but why?  Today’s sun is warm and dry. The weatherman seems to have hit the nail on the head, which is good; I did not bring a coat this trip. 

The noisy birds don’t seem to be awake yet.  Where are they? It’s not early.  Why is that?  All I see and hear are small flinching birds that quietly pop in and out of branches without any audible sound.  Or maybe they are just quiet because I showed up, proving that Gary Larson was right about the animals all along.

Mom and Pop sleep til 9 or so, leaving me here to prattle, high on expensive coffee and mountain elevation.  Now I just want to go back outside.  Sitting here on floral fabric seems a stiff replacement for the real thing, which I know will be everywhere, as I old-lady jog the path I used to sprint and make my way up to the Boetcher Mansion.  This dry, high location has seen a great deal of rain this spring and I want to see what that looks like.  And smell it. 

As much as I want to sit here and type, the muscles in my legs demand that I get up.  And the muscles in my mind.  Sitting outside, sipping the lasts sips, the heat of the coffee all but gone, two young bucks prance across the back 40, no doubt disturbed by my typing.  Each looks back to make sure he is not being followed.  Out here, the wind has a voice.  Far and then near, and then far and then near.  I feel the breeze on my skin and hear the far-off wind way before the aspen leaves ever catch notice and chime in.  By the time the aspen leaves shimmer you are already deep inside the conversation.  There is simply nowhere else to go.

 Good morning God

And thank you