I realize we form sacred pyramids with those we love. Right now, one pyramid of which I am a leg is with Karen and Jane. Perhaps, another is with Elaine and her experience with Carolyn at her birth. I am in a pyramid with my sons, and Steve. There are so many ways we triangulate, turn and connect.
This week feels, to me, sacred as can be. I feel the mountain strongly as my guide. It can be a rock from the mountain held in my hand or me tucked into mountain streams or standing on open slopes. I bought a book on Mt. Tam yesterday and I see that it is commonly known as "the mountain." I am not the only one, living embraced in its care, feeling no need to name it other than "mountain," no possessive, just "the mountain."
I open a book to these words, words from a book by Yehuda Amichai, Open, Closed, Open, and from the poem The Language of Love and Tea with Roasted Almonds.
And there's all that talk about Till death do us part,
Even death will not part us, it will bind us
somewhere in the universe
in a new encounter that has no end.
I think one reason this last week has felt so blessed is that I felt my mother connect with me on her birthday last week. She had 78 years here in this world, and now, two in the next, the opening, expanse. Sometimes I feel her close, and other times, I feel her exploring in the most wondrous ways, but this last week, she has given me an extra dose of compassion, openness, gentleness, and love.
Karen asks how we hear the voice who speaks to us. How do we talk to ourselves? I must admit that I am feeling quite loving to myself right now. I am treating myself like the mountain, open to receive the footsteps of ocean, wind, sand, rain, trees, sky.