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.