Some Daily Miracles

This is Enough

Rumi

Aphrodite singing ghazals. A sky with

gold streaks across. A stick

that finds water in stone. Jesus

sitting quietly near the animals.

Night so peaceful. This is enough

was always true. We just haven't

seen it. The hoopoe already wears

a tufted crown. Each ant is given

its elegant belt at birth. This love

we feel pours through us like a giveaway

song. The source of now is here. 

These handwoven hives, humming with bees, on a hill in a garden where I used to work. Oh sweet honeyed saints!

The silkworms and their luminous strong cocoons, a gift from my love to me, fed only on mulberry leaves. 

That sumptuous and hardy fabric, from the metamorphic seed-pods of the humble worm, where a body turns to soup and then to a new being entirely, one with wings.

The essence of the wild rose.

The dancing parasoled ladies of the cow parsnips, grown up to human size in only a moon or two!

The double perfection of their umbels.

And the umbels of that holy healer, blue elderberry.

The lake up and over the ridge from from our home, where I have seen two bald eagles circling their spring nest. Oh marvel of marvels!

I feel very blessed at the moment to live amongst these wild ones and places, and it is easy to feel the miracles of the everyday when you wake to the dozen bells of birdsong and the soft winds through the douglas firs. But I have lived before in more urban locales; there, too, are the healing dandelions growing up through the cement cracks with all their wisdom, and the hardy robins singing at dusk, and the cooing of the mourning doves, and every last plant growing by its own wild laws, and every last bird passing overhead, following the ancient map of its double-hemisphered migration. There, too, Aphrodite may be on the street corner, singing ghazals. I admit readily that it certainly wasn't as easy for me to touch upon these things while in a bigger hustle and bustle, but I think it is something to always keep at learning; and certainly I am being taught quite a lot by the little juncos and patches of sweetgrass and big firs right here, right now, things I hope to carry along always, wherever I go.