tmbt: forty early mornings

On my retreat, I found you again like an old friend taking a nap in the back room. Familiar pages, slightly worn but cover radiant. And inside, the voice of God’s messenger, heaven’s poet, earth’s blessing in a man’s body, darling Rumi.

And you said many things and you danced freely at last and you beckoned her in with a true true heart and you let loose every dove in your chest and you listened with the hope of a thousand candles and you ran towards the light wherever it shined. And you spoke.

You said, “What nine months of attention does for an embryo, forty days of early mornings will do for your gradually growing wholeness.”

And I listened.

Now, every morning the alarm rings at five and the dark sky taunts and the growing moon smiles and the next of what started as forty prayers written in anticipation of the drowsy reluctance; the all await me. And the hours spent in morning revere for having pulled up and over the covers are like a hundred layers of harmony in my morning chants, my sipped tea, my wandering walks under spring-budded trees.

Forty early mornings, you have just begun, but already you are my most sweetly-spun spring ritual, my most beloved champion of inner peace, my mirror for the most beautiful things.

~ by HeatherArtLife on May 7, 2009.

One Response to “tmbt: forty early mornings”

  1. Yes, Rumi is a treasure. A gift from above.

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