Suspended in a Sunbeam
Walking home after work on an exceptionally clear night, I was awestruck by the stars I could see here at the Christine Center. I was also struck by our place among those stars. What we affectionately call Mother Earth is a clump of dirt circling an ordinary star among hundreds of billions of other stars in the Milky Way, which is but one of billions of galaxies throughout the universe. That my life, indeed the life of our species, is but a faint flicker of light in time and space makes the beauties and meanings I find infinitely more intense and rewarding.
This—right here, right now—is a miracle to me. As Carl Sagan wrote about our pale blue dot: “The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines… every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there--on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.” This is our home, and the work and play of our hands, our heads, and our hearts bless it and make it sacred.
Mother Earth awakens now, in Spring, and reminds me of her miracles. Walking into the Christine Center, I hear the morning woods alive with song and I know that verdant, vibrant life will soon emerge. The spirit and energy of Spring is echoed in the spiritual transformations that are the fruits of this place. In this newsletter and on our website, you will find opportunities to partake of that fruit.
Here, on this bit of dirt adrift in the void, I sense miracles both coming and going. Just breathing the air feels like a prayer. Come, join us. Renew your spirit as Mother Earth renews herself.
The way
The seeker shifted weight from left to right
and back while waiting on the guide to say
which way they’d walk and how they’d find their path.
The guide approached and put a pair of boots
and walking stick before the seeker’s feet.
“I thought you might have use of these along
the trail.”
“That’s it?” the seeker asked. “No map?
No compass? Did you bring a GPS?”
The seeker laced the boots up tight and held
the stick. “The other guides would lead and tell
me how to get to where I need to be.”
The guide allowed a glance to fall beyond
the line of trees that edged a pathless wood.
“Perhaps they led you where they wanted you
to go. But I can’t tell you where you need
to be. No map can show you where to walk.
The route is only yours to find. I’m here
to help, to keep you safe, to cheer you on.”
The seeker smiled. “A guide who does not show
the course, does not direct?” Then laughed and turned
toward the trees. “Let’s give this way a try.”
Russell King, executive director
