Bliss

Sunny morning with a little time before I have to be at work. Sitting by the window at the coffee shop with all my "stuff." Beverages, little notebook, MacBook, pencil pouch, poetry, wi-fi connection, sun on my face, the barista calling out "iced tea's ready darlin'", running into Roger and Rachel, and then staying put for another quarter hour. No rush.

I haven't decided if I'm going to post my sermon text from Sunday or not. I think I may whip up an edited version. I shared some things from other people's lives that I'm not sure should be posted here.

Thank you for all of your prayers. I felt them. You too, Limes. Your comment didn't go unnoticed and it meant something to me that you said you'd be thinking about me. Sue warned Darrell that I go long and I did. 30 minutes. Suzanne told me after my first sermon at the Academy, "Bless your little heart that sermon was too long." Guess I have more to say than I think I do and once I get on a roll I don't want to stop. Thankfully, Darrell's norm is to go long and so they cheered me on at Liberation. Literally, cheered me on. What a gift you are to me, Liberation. Thank you.

And Sue was there tearing up in the pew and making eye contact with me. I called her that morning and left her a message saying I'm not dying, it's o.k. if you can't come, but I'd love it if you were there. And she came. Asking for what I wanted, but not tied to the outcome. Feels good.

We spent a couple hours after church together eating outside, making friends with the waiter, talking and laughing and moving on to sit by a reflection pool, light candles in the chapel, and write down some prayers. We had a nice conversation about stories and being read to.

Here's that poem I was telling you about Sue. Thanks for sharing my bliss on Sunday and being with me this season. You're an amazing, gentle, quiet, affectionate presence in my life. I'll always hold your hand in the pews and across the table, heads bowed in public. You're my kind of friend. Be prepared for me to invite myself over to sit with you in your garden soon.

STORY WATER

A story is like water

that you heat for your bath.

It takes messages between the fire

and your skin. It lets them meet,

and it cleans you!

Very few can sit down

in the middle of the fire itself

like a salamander or Abraham.

We need intermediairies.

A feeling of fullness comes,

but usually it takes some bread

to bring it.

Beauty surrounds us,

but usually we need to be walking

in a garden to know it.

The body itself is a screen

to shield and partially reveal

the light that's blazing

inside your presence.

Water, stories, the body,

all the things we do, are mediums

that hide and show what's hidden.

Study them,

and enjoy this being washed

with a secret we sometimes know

and then not.

-Rumi

Peace to your days.