A cell phone, utility bill, student loan statement, tax identification number, savings account, physical address, work desk, mailbox and business card; it’s amazing how many things can suddenly come under ones name in a single week living in the States. Acquired alongside nouns that the US ethic prides itself on — efficiency, ownership and responsibility — I, by association, pay respect to these new major life themes (for the time being).
I could call this phase of my life “temporary” but that would be a silly and redundant estimation of time, for if there is any one thing that I have come to finally and fully understand in this life, it’s that that’s exactly what every experience is: passing, momentary, phasing, transient, temporal. Trite yes. But as close to truth as I’ve come.
Life is picking up a pace on me; I can feel it. Having been out of step with the rhythm of the clock-working world for so long, I now find myself extra sensitive to its faintly familiar touch. Now I know where age comes from; not from birthdays, but born of routine, habit, pattern and a calendar watched.
But oh blessed “routine,” you look so sad all dressed down with complacency! Let me commit to thee with consciousness, make your process sacramental, and dress you up royally as a, “sacred rite” instead. For isn’t that the test? To make each day — within its habit — unique and sacred? Regardless of person, place or phase?
A challenge I accept. “Yes, I agree to those terms.” Take my memory of choosing to be in this place, and let me learn it, realize it, reveal it, recognize it and unfold the mystery for myself. Life, not even in the States, not even in a cubicle, is bordered or boxed. And I intend to seek and see those horizons; horizons that start and end where the sun rises and sets; a sun by which the grace of something certainly divine creates twice-daily opportunities to witness; opportunities to witness and participate in the original, final and ageless rite of the sacred passage of a simple day. My task is not to find the sacred where it is obviously so, but to discover the divine within that which it is hidden. A challenge lofty in mission, but surprisingly easy in vision – whenever I bother to clear my eyes of sleep and see…
The window over my bed looks upon a demolition zone where piles of mangled metal, earth upturned, ragged wires, scrapped steel, and crumbling concrete teeter on top of one other. And this spot — of all in the world — is where the indiscriminate rainbow chose to fall; reminding me that treasure is not for chasing, but for digging, underneath that which I have right in front of me. I recognize (in awe) my omen and pledge to practice The Way of the Rainbow – living, being, phasing and passing each moment indiscriminate of direction, destination and desire; seeking the sacred in every second. Eyes closed, I sigh; in relief and with full confidence, that it is in this spot — of all in the world — that I am supposed to be.