Yesterday I played on the trampoline with two of my little granddaughters. We laughed so much. We spent part of the time lying on our backs watching the little cedar helicopter seeds spin slowly down on us as the wind blew.
Fall is arriving. Today is the Autumn Equinox. And right on schedule, the rain started last night and will continue, at least through today. It’s reassuring, especially given the changes in local weather patterns due to climate change.
I didn’t let the rain deter me this morning from my usual practice of praying outside. I set up a blanket and my meditation pillow out on the deck under the eaves, and all my senses immediately engaged in the drama taking place all around. The wind, rain, trees, a few birds that weren’t hunkered down, even a single burst of lightning and a rumble of thunder–they all played their parts.
For me, prayer is more listening than talking to God. Prayer can mean being at peace in the present while eagerly open to divine communication. God’s communication sometimes comes to me as call, clarity, insight, comfort, or assurance of God’s love. But often the “message” is simply silence, spaciousness, that paradoxical “emptiness” that the Buddhists talk about, full of what Christians call the Holy Spirit.
Yesterday I heard God’s voice in the laughter of my grandchildren, and in my own laughter. This morning I heard God’s voice in the voice of the Earth. There is no separation. The voice is one and the same.
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