My mother loved her saints, St Teresa. St Joseph and others and had her own particular prayers she addressed to them. She liked St Teresa, her namesake, in particular and while I am not sure she read her voluminous writings, I know my mother talked to me about her.
I find myself reading Saint Teresa’s writings and find them marvelously warm and fascinating. She sometimes describes something I do not have words for. She was loved and protected by a house of nuns and also protected by her sanctity, her connection to something higher. She gives me encouragement to continue with more meditation.
Last Sunday, I was determined to set my intention and get into the centering of the great space where love and light abounds. I had a block of twenty minutes. I have no idea what happened in the twenty minutes but I felt light and full of beans for the rest of the day and the following week. I tried this morning again and my intention brought me into a lovely feeling of light heartedness and relaxation, that it is following me again for some days.
I am trying to send out light love and healing to our current situations in our country, praying specially for the healing of the nations and their respective leaders and their people. Please join me in any effort you can make in this direction as the try is counted for righteousness and there is the possibility of dancing in that spaciousness, asking for unity. If you find yourself in a dream looking for directions to Union Station, you know you are on the right path.
On the funny side this past week, while full of joyful feelings, it seemed to be also the week that I was designated to loose things. I went to the co-op full of the idea that I would make unleavened bread and while there collected a few things too many for my bike carrier. Undaunted, I piled things on top of each other even as the carrier was trying to list to one side, especially if I lurched any way other than straight ahead on even surfaces.
I decided to walk the bike home and lean against the listing side. My friend was coming down the road to meet me and after my handbag fell out of the top of that shopping bag she offered to carry that for me. We picked up my checkbook and a few other things in the darkening evening. The fall down of the handbag happened when I had to get off the path for a road entering from the right side.
As we soldiered on and were crossing the next side road safely and mounting the path on the other side, the shopping bag fell out of the carrier now totally leaning to one side. Limes and apples fell into that puddle where the birds bathe, where water comes out of a sump pump from the corner house. The shopping bag was torn down the side. The two bags of grain were in tact, buckwheat and millet.
My friend said she could carry more stuff for me so we placed some items in the torn bag, which was useful for carrying one bag of gain and a few light items and I still had stuff in the carrier including the bag of buckwheat. The bag was made of brown paper and not tied any too well or secure.
The basket carrier was held on with bungee cords. Adjusting the cords made little improvement in things as I latched them and un-latched them to my seat and to the bike. Then we tackled the up hill of Wolfe Street and got to my house on that fast moving corner on Sterling Street.
I yanked the bike up onto my lawn but not before the basket took another dive to one side and started to empty out my grain, in slow motion, onto to the road itself. Most everything else stayed in the basket. I got my things and myself off the road for a third time.
My friend seems to be hardly able to contain herself with watching the show. I noticed her on my periphery, as she placed my handbag and torn bag on my lawn. Waves of mirth escaped her culminating in one squeals of delight. I even found it hard not to be caught up in our shared drama.
This was my week to be in a good humor no matter what happens. I went back and put the top layers of buckwheat back into the bag, fistful after fistful, leaving a layer of two on the road. Those little triangular grains have a warmth of their own.
The next day I realized my purple glasses, for $1 in the dollar store, went missing and I rode my bike back down the road and found them in the leaves at the bird- bath corner. They were in tact and I felt very satisfied.
When I got home I got out my Cuisinart and my Magic Bullet and turned two cups of millet and two cups of buckwheat into flour. I reduced a large carrot and two onions to two ground up cups of each. I ended up with two different breads, unleavened, one leaning toward sage and onion and the other toward raison carrot cake. They are not sweet or salty but nice when chewed a bit or plastered with honey.
Years ago I had the intention to make three people laugh daily. Let me know in your comments if I am getting there. I am greatly thankful for my readers, their sharing and their comments. I pray for you and you pray for me so we can taste that nectar only found in that spaces between, where love and grace and love reside. Until the next time, when an other story that is brewing in the back of my brain makes it into the light. Your prayers help bring it to light. Love you, from Rose Marie.