Isn’t it plain the sheets of moss, except that
they have no tongues, could lecture
all day if they wanted about
spiritual patience? Isn’t it clear
the black oaks along the path are standing
as though they were the most fragile of flowers?
Every morning I walk like this around
the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart
ever close, I am as good as dead.
Every morning, so far, I’m alive. And now
the crows break off from the rest of the darkness
and burst up into the sky—as though
all night they had thought of what they would like
their lives to be, and imagined
their strong, thick wings.
I don’t know about you, but I really can’t let go easily…….I slide into it reluctantly, and then, and only then, begin to breathe…….
inquiry for today~ when you lose your way, and you will, wouldn’t it be really radical to just stop and be lost? to be present enough and courageous enough to not know? pray….
Practicing lectio divina calls us to an act of resistance against productivity. When we listen with reverence we are not trying to get anywhere- to the end of the passage or to a particular experience. In a world where everything has a purpose and is to be done efficiently, where we set goals and live by our day-planners telling us the next place to be, lectio invites us into a space where we release that compulsiveness. We enter into a kind of slow time, where we touch the eternal moment by bringing ourselves fully present. Eternity isn’t to be found elsewhere, or at the end of our days, but is embedded in our daily experience. In lectio we cultivate this ability to touch the eternal, to open our hearts to a quality of timelessness where agendas and to do lists have no place. Lectio calls us to cultivate this reverential listening with the text and with the whole of our lives. When we pray lectio, we are invited into a different way of being in the world, one that nurtures our ability to be more present in our daily lives.
~Christine Valters Paintner