Saturday, March 8, 2008

Mercy, and the merciless Heropass

This morning, the sun shines into my hotel room on the 39th floor of the Meridien Hotel in Shanghai, illuminating three cobalt blue rice bowls on my desk.

Within me are accumulated results of everything that has already taken place within this life, meeting this moment of all the results that have accumulated outside me. I sense both my planetary existence and the fact that I am a container for forces I do not understand.

I’m grateful for the presence of the sun, and the even more extraordinary fact that I am here to sense it. How creation arranged things so that we exist at all is beyond my understanding. Perhaps it is better to just resign myself to this and gratefully receive it. I think too much, anyway; and none of that serves the immediate purpose of receiving, which is done within blessings and silence, not plots and machinations.

Perhaps as I sense this body and breathe in this day through my lungs and through my skin, I can make an effort to be more in relationship with the inner and the outer state. I don’t know. I awoke this morning with more than the usual available to me; in the middle of Lent, and approaching Easter, a great deal of energy is being put into the atmosphere of the planet through prayer, and the high holy days always create something that may serve each of us as well as the Creator.

After all is said and done, in every real and deeper moment of my work, I sense with all of my Being that our efforts and our work are ones of service. Of offering. Of making myself available so that the inexpressible may express itself.

And above all, I feel an organic sense of gratitude for this opportunity. If this is all I can achieve in one lifetime, to offer myself with humility and as much sincerity as can be mustered, this will have been something real. It may not be the building of pyramids, the composing of masterful symphonies, or the painting of great paintings, but it will have been an effort to serve God, as best I understand it.

All the rest of it is, in the end, just a great deal of noise. I think that in the measurement of the cosmos, it is the deeds, the faith, and the offerings--not the works--that will last.

It may be that one act of kindness, that truly comes from the heart, is more durable than all the works of man put together—

and time may fear that more than it fears the pyramids.

May your roots find water, and your leaves know sun.

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