here now

in that liminal space between day and evening
when the mysteries flame forth,
catch fire with the blaze of the dying sun,
then burn down into a smoldering blue light,
i was walking the circuitous, ancient path of the prayer labyrinth,
soul-deep in silence and offering my heart’s prayer to God
with the fervor of one who is seeking yet has already been found,
when i heard the voices; sadly, not of angels
but of humans.

i looked up at the noise and saw them
coming along the bamboo-lined path.
the little boy broke away from his mother and
ran out onto the stones of the labyrinth with me.
irritation surged up,
my agenda altered and
my centering meditation fractured.
but remembering the enticing words i’d heard earlier—
the call to walk through my moments and days with
uncharacteristic leisure, relaxed, unhurried,
present—i was chastened. . .
and reminded of my life back home with two young boys
who disrupt my quiet, prayerful spaces
with uncanny regularity.

“aha, a metaphor of my life,” i smiled to myself
as i watched the child trying to navigate
his way to the center of this unicursal path.
and i, reluctantly, let go of my original purpose
for being in this space.
i have been asked to love whatever comes,
to take it all “with great trust."

my soul’s labyrinth toward divine union,
the perpetual enchantment, the persistent invitation,
is to see and touch and taste God in the ordinary
everydayness of all things and in all places,
and to lay down my solitary visions and my ecstasies,
to find the Sacred
here, now.