Rejoicing this morning in my return to my cool and quiet island after a week spent in relentless busy-ness, heat and humidity, I notice how the gray and the fog, in obscuring our visual acuity, allow other senses to be heightened. With a completely grayed out view from my window, and in the muting of any traffic noise, the lilt of the robin's song and the insistent honk of the mating geese loom larger in my awareness.
Like the fog, Centering Prayer has a way of tuning out the more usual, the more obvious distractions; of graying out those persistent thoughts, feelings, aches and pains so that we might taste the bright sparkle of energy, the spirit that lies beneath all that.
That energy feeds us in such important ways. Why is it that, under stress, quiet time is always the first thing we abandon?
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