Homecoming, part 5 of 8, "Mantra"

Words from the ancient hymn, made new again by Godspell,  formed and circled in his consciousness, lulling his anxious mind into a repetitive mantra, calling, tugging his heart to come away again, to join with the Great Source who sang to him.

Day by day
Day by day
Oh Dear Lord
Three things I pray
To see thee more clearly
Love thee more dearly
Follow thee more nearly
Day by day

He sat there, quietly, steeped in the deepest peace, unmovable, yet clearly aware of all around him.  The sound of the television in the house, the occasional laughter of one of his daughters, Julia, he thought, peeked into his gentle cocoon.  She was the dancer and prankster of the two girls.  The elder one, Anna, was more serious, like her mother, more easily able to commit and stay with a project. Julia would flit from high note to high note, from one idea and grand scheme to another, like him, he guessed, reflecting on his newest idea to persuade a couple private investors to fund the building project of the old warehouse.  Ideas easily flowed through his hands, as he searched eagerly for one that would hold the project together. He needed to be fluid, to allow the ideas to come, sit awhile with them, check them with another member of the committee whose opinions made some sense to him.

It all swept around him, gathering his interior mind into some great cosmic dance.

"It's all a slow dance," he thought, "of being embraced and embracing life - all of it."

He held the moment still, as he watched the bats darting among the high branches of the pines, dipping close to the creek's surface and then switching back up to their high places. The array of other birds had all sung their goodnight songs to each other before gathering in the grand oak for the night. Now all was still, quiet, as if waiting for something.  

"There's nothing to wait for," he thought.  "Waiting is the expectation of something to happen, a kind of fleeing the present moment into the future, with hands full of requests and expectations."

Strangely, he thought of his grandmother who had lived in the old house with his grandfather, raising three children, the eldest of whom was his father.  He recalled her sitting out on this porch, knitting, late into the evening, while his grandfather smoked his pipe, and read his book. He always had a book on the little wood table he'd made in shop as a boy.  It wasn't there any longer. It had long since been replaced by a glass top end table.  They spoke gently, lovingly to each other, commenting on a lovely evening, or something they had experienced during the day.  He could still see the warmth in his grandmother's face when his grandfather read   Browning's poetry to her.  She glowed, radiant, still in love after so many years.

They had taught him the meaning of living in the moment, of really living, together, in love, effortlessly.  The memory sent a wave of emotion cascading down his spine.  He fought back the tears of loving and missing them.  They had died only a year and a half apart.  He missed them.  They raised him and his brother and sister after his parents were killed in a car accident when he was 12.

The hymn began to sing to him again.  

"Day by day, oh Dear Lord .... to see thee more clearly, " he felt the song deeply.  He felt it calling to him to remember, to stay the heart and soul in the moment, immersing itself even deeper into the great mystery.

"You think too much," he thought.  "I think too much," he felt.

"Yes."

"Still the mind, allow the memories to flow like a river, see them, allow them to bring up fresh crystal water from below, as a pail in a deep well. Attached to, even just beneath the feelings which are attached to the memories, is something very new.  The memories carry the feelings, which you need to experience because in them, around them is that newness, in it is your real spirit, birthing, into the eternal cosmic moment." he thought. "The feelings are bearers of the love."

"Oh, wow," he felt, wondering if he could remember that.  "Let me reflect on that one, again."

"When you are feeling, your mind has stopped thinking. It has disengaged from its own controlled deductive, rational mechanism, which is mostly a function of the brain, rather than the soul.  The feelings are the language of your soul, your spirit.  In them is the energy of heaven. In them, you will reconnect to the feelings of love. In this case, in this moment now, the love you saw between your grandparents,  taught you and your siblings how to love.  You long for that love because you have been too much in your head, your rational mind," he thought. 

"Allow yourself to feel it and it will connect you to love in the present moment."

"Ok.  I get that," he felt.

"To love thee more dearly, day by day ...."  his heart swelled again, and again tears brimmed, slipping down his cheeks.  

"It's ok.  That is what makes humans so precious in the universe.  We are unique in our ability to feel love, longing, and hope for its' return.  We love, love," he thought, remembering an earlier time, when he knew that the only thing worth living for, was love. 

For a moment, he embraced the thought, allowed it to hold him, love him, and then free him back into his peaceful reflection.

Suddenly, two Canada geese flew swiftly by, honking as they passed him.  

"It's past their bedtime, " he thought, wondering if they'd been disturbed by a hunter in the protected federal land behind their property. 

"Oh, they're just not ordinary birds.  They're gods on wings," he laughed to himself. 

He heard her step onto the porch.

"Hello, there, my wiseman," Cheryl said, as she let the screen door close softly behind her.  

The soft candlelight cast a radiant, romantic glow on her face.  In a gentle sweep of consciousness, he switched from thinking about the Canada Geese couple who flew by, to his enterprising, intrepid wife, who was always so involved in something, he could barely keep up with her. She always amused him with her set determination on anything she wanted to do.  While they held different ways to tackle a project, they agreed and met on the necessity to stand up for the rights and needs of those to whom life had been less kind.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said to her, helping her put the  tray on the table.

"Oh, you!" she said, laughing away his compliment, yet flirting back at him as she sweept her dark hair behind her ear, all completely by habit.

He thought she looked as adorable and spunky as the moment they first met, on a high school ski night. He hadn't noticed her before, but on the night she fell and broke her leg and the ski team had to carry her down to the medics, he was captivated by her laughter, despite the pain in her leg.  He thought how beautiful she looked in the moonlight that night.  It would be a month before he would ask her out, and then another four years to convince her to marry him.

So much of his life was entwined in hers.  Together they were like two old oak trees, well, not yet very old, whose roots had begun to grow together underground.  Above ground, they seemed very different.  She was Greek and he was a combination of ethnic origins, none of which he was certain, but a mix of Russian and some others.  He was calm, with a slow fuse.  She was also calm, slow to anger, but could be very stubborn.  He laughed inwardly at her determined stance about something, only to later change her viewpoint entirely and then claim that she'd never really meant what she believed before.

"Thank you for bringing home this Merlot," she said, passing him a glass.  "I love red wine the best."

"Oh, you do, do you?" he teased her.  "I thought pinot grigio was your favorite."

She smiled at him.  She just loved him when he was like this. Of course he knew that Merlot was her favorite.  He must, that's why he had brought it home tonight.

"So, tell me how your meeting went this morning?"  she asked, sipping the wine.

"Where do I begin?" he said.  "It was a kind of less than supportive meeting, but turned into an extraordinary day."

He wondered what she would make of the old man, with one tooth, he'd met?

"Well, it was an alleluia morning.  Let me start there," he said, sipping his wine, knowing that she would love the story and listen deeply to every word of it.

"Day by Day, oh dear Lord .... follow thee more nearly..." flickered through his heart, as he reflected back on the homeless elder gentleman, who taught him something extraordinary earlier that morning.

Continued from He is You
Homecoming continues with Holy Moment.