Wrappedin the mystery of what is,

standing on the history of what has been,

unprepared for the whatevers

that will come our way,

we fidget and fuss with the routines of our everyday realities

making little dramas of our what to wears

and who said what about no one we know anyway.

We are

captivated by

what presents itself as real.

It keeps our eyes locked

on what we can see,

our hands reaching only for what can be touched, weighed, measured,

our ears dulled

to anything outside

a certain range

–

the neverendingcacophonyof what it is we’ve labeled “life”.

What is real blinds us to what

is really real.

We don’t seeand,most of the time,we don’t even want to.Pause

But once in awhile, a too long while,it shimmers across our vision,

rustles over top of someone’s voiceor underneath the TV drone,

sets itself, lighter than air, upon our skin and we sense

rather than see, hear, feela moment’s awareness.

Aware of us

or we of it,the moment is gone too quickly for

us to really know.

May we ever be open

to such momentsand

when they arrive,

celebrate the sense of gift with which they leave us

and leave the analysis of fact to someone elseas we rest

in the lingering beauty of the moment.

This we pray as those who would choose to lose themselvesin the richness of such moments.Amen.