Wind and Rain of Imagination

Wind woke us this morning, rattling the house, making St. Momo a little nervous, and enlivening the chimes hanging on the 400 year old oak in the back yard of Casa Chiara. Now the rain falls, and I am reminded of the wonder of imagination. Last night we had our weekly Buncum Mystics meeting with James and Lorie. (Buncum is the little ghost town about a mile from our houses). James brought CDs of talks on imagination recorded by John O'Donohue before his untimely death a few years ago. I wanted to take notes because of my hope to keep his words, to wonder at their meaning, to spin them into my spirit. But by doing so, I frustrated my equally powerful need to let those words wash over me like rain, to let them be the wind I breathe.

A mystical life is nourished by surrendering to the wind and rain of imagination. Imagination gives rise to wonder. Wonder hears the Call of the Divine One.

Only With The Heart

I used to think that mysticism must be an exalted calling, very rare, and I never dared to permit myself the strong attraction I felt for such a life. As an adolescent, though, I did read The Little Prince and knew immediately that he was right when he said, "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye." I realized that I could live from the heart, and now I realize that this Little Prince had one of the best understandings of the mystic life I've found. At heart all of us are mystical.

Across

My home is silence. Across that wide space I reach to you. We touch. At the point of meeting, Fire.