If I think about it, I have almost everything I ever wanted, though this little house in the trees is more perfect than I’d imagined – the red and white walls, the drums. I’ve written four books in the last five years, this pouring out of banked desire is as delicious as I thought it would be. I have a spiritual home so exquisite that when I enter I cannot believe my good fortune. |
Divine insanity allows me to see that in some places the bark of trees is lavender, to recognize the subtle shift of spirit as I move through the forest, that in unlikely places something recognizes me and follows. There is a tiny pool in a tangle of trees not far from the highway that likes me to come, not far from an alcove of skunk cabbage. They call me because they know I love them. They tell me things, and I believe them.
I contend that this sort of craziness feeds the world, and maybe keeps it alive; these small acts of love, of participation in the living truth of things. And, if my heart had not been broken, if I hadn’t been shattered and saved by the improbable arrival of spirits, I doubt I’d have been brave enough for this extraordinary life. Been brave enough to believe what I see, to know what I do.
As I watched spirits tending the homeless, I understood something. When the light danced along the wall as a difficult man spoke, I knew to withdraw my judgement. The spirit does not always choose the well-behaved. In fact, the the spirit often blesses the broken. I'd be wise to remember this.
And, I remind myself, I am wonderfully broken, too; beautifully crazy. And am grateful for that moment in the desert when I said, "Yes. If this is crazy, I choose it."
(For those who visit my 'author' page, I seldom use it. I prefer the personal one.")