Once an official asked him, ‘Good Teacher, what should I do in order to inherit life unending?’ Luke 18:18
How do you make time for love and space for life in the course of your days?
When the ancients became confirmed cultivators,
relinquishing their nomadic ways
to settle and sink roots,
they thrived on the miracle of soil and seeds
that give and grow through mysterious cycles of dying and birthing;
the endless transubstantiation of matter.
Our ancestors mapped this spiraling journey— mirrored in ocean currents,
seasonal rounds and meandering rivers— by the pilgrim passages
of sun, moon, stars, and the coursing migrations of herds, shoals and flocks.
Peak seasons of planting and harvesting, drought and deluge,
gave birth to rites and rituals that moor each community in the moment;
even as we all drift in the momentum.
But there is this rhythm
of how things grow that
we are privy to from
time to time. Mark Nepo
Such primal expressions of moment and movement— still preserved and practiced by fringe-dwelling communities— seeded religious consciousness that inspired philosophical and scientific inquiry.
Yet, we continue to scour and contemplate
the inscrutable character and composition of time-space
through our pinhole of understanding.
So come the storms of winter and then
The birds in spring again
I have no fear of time
For who knows how my love grows?
And who knows where the time goes? Sandy Denny
Like water trickling through
hands tightly cupped, we struggle
to grasp the fluid continuum of fleeting moments.
More than a succession of separate instances,
spliced into minutes and eons, our perception of time-space
is defined by the depth of our presence to each moment unfolding.
Once, an aged man brought a waistcoat to his tailor.
‘This belonged to my great-great grandfather,’ he boasted,
‘and for over two centuries the men of our family have worn it proudly.’
Astounded, the tailor replied, ‘But this vest looks brand new!’
To which the owner commented, ’Indeed, that’s because it’s had four new fronts and three new backs.’ ‘With so many repairs,’ the tailor mused, ‘this can hardly be the same garment.’
The owner contested, ‘Oh but through all those changes, the arm-holes have always remained the same.’
Throughout this ceaseless cycling— ever rising up and dying down,
cresting-collapsing waves of the fabric of time— if what remains of life
is the love space between and before us, then love itself is life unending.
There is LIFE longer by far than mine or yours.
There is LOVE deeper that we can all fall into.
There is an always-unfolding, ever-widening ripple of presence.
Every moment and every event of every(one’s) life on earth plants something in (their) soul. For just as the wind carries thousands of invisible and visible winged seeds, so the stream of time brings with it germs of spiritual vitality that come to rest imperceptibly in the minds and wills of (people). Most of these unnumbered seeds perish and are lost, because (we) are not prepared to receive them: for such seeds as these cannot spring up anywhere except in the good soil of freedom, spontaneity and love. Thomas Merton
Since love makes space for life to flourish,
may you make time to marinate in the sacrament of this moment
and let the loving connections therein be revealed.
Find me on Facebook and Instagram: @InTheStormStill
Coming in November 2019, A New Book by Joe Grant