Stephanie Rutt

On the piano in our living room sits my favorite picture of my grandmother.  It was her 70^th birthday and she’s sitting in her stuffed rocker with her legs tucked up under her and arms folded across her chest.  And smiling that I’m so into trouble smile!  They say getting old is not for wimps.  I can relate.  But, in the face of the inevitable, I do believe I had the best of role models.  Recently, I had the great blessing and surprise to see her face again and I saw myself in a whole new way.

It happened in an exercise Tree of Life minister Rev. Amy Wood brought to us.  We were asked to simply stare at our reflection in a small mirror to just see if we could notice the Beloved there.  My first response was, Oh my, I’m looking old! Then, looking closer, I noticed the new, just barely forming, lines on each side of my mouth and suddenly, like a jolt from the past, right there starting back at me was my grandmother’s face.  And, in that exact moment, I could feel my ecstatic heart skip a beat as I realized that in not too long a time I, too, will have my grandmother’s face.

Yes, ecstatic!  You see, my grandmother was my bus driver.  What…you say?  Well, when I used to teach psychology, a study I enjoyed relaying to my students was one that followed a number of children, who had come from impoverished childhoods, into adulthood.  They wanted to find out what made some children grow up to repeat harmful familial patterns and others not and what variables made the difference.  One variable that showed up more often in the group that did not grow up to repeat harmful patterns was the experience of having had someone in their childhood who had been a very positive influence.  One man interviewed said this person for him had been his bus driver.  Jonathan, did you forget your lunch today?  Where is your coat?  Did you forget to put on your socks?  The man said that his fondest childhood memories were getting to see his bus driver every day.  His saddest days were when the weather was bad and school was canceled.

My grandmother was my bus driver.  Every summer, I got to spend time at my grandmother’s house and those times saved me.  And, as I have been sitting with the memories, what feels most poignant is what was not there, what was not necessary for her to so easily win the award for best bus driver ever.  There were no long walks together.  She never sat on the floor to play with me.  There were no toys, let alone special ones.  No full schedule with multiple activities designed to stimulate my developmental growth.  There was no set bedtime routine.  No intimate conversations or special moments of deep connection.  No special activities or projects.

No, none of the usual things we often think need to be present for building intimate relationships were there.  Ah, but what was there was that feeling I always had around her.  She always seemed happy to see me, just happy to have me around.  She would sometimes, just haphazardly, call me Baby.  No one had ever called me a special name.  So, every year I would count the months, weeks and then, finally, days until school was out so we could start heading back to my grandmother’s house.  Yep, she was my bus driver.

Then, one summer as I, my mom and other relatives were sitting around the old dining table, I witnessed the humanity of my grandmother for the first time.  I was a young woman by then and perhaps could then see what, of course, had always been there.  My mom happened to make some simple comment and, suddenly, my grandmother lashed out at her in exactly the same tone and language I had often heard growing up from my mom.  And, in a flash, I understood.  Later, after much personal inner work, I would come to have great compassion for my dear mom because, in part, I realized that she had never had a bus driver.  And, from that time on, my grandmother, who would remain my bus driver, lived ever more tenderly in my heart as I came to see the depth of those lines etched into her long lived face.

I am certain it is designed by Grace that, for those children picked up by bus drivers, perfection is not a job requirement.

I like to stress that we each have a role to play in the divine plan.  You will often hear me talk of the importance of doing our unique work in the world.  That we each have a sacred contract to fulfill.  I do believe so.  And, each day I go about my work with a deep and abiding gratitude and firm commitment to just being the best instrument I can be.  And, nothing feels more important.

Yet, in this moment, I am wondering.  Just wondering, aside from any good I may be able to leave behind, if anything could be sweeter than imagining that perhaps, just perhaps, one day one of my beautiful grandchildren may look in a mirror…long after I am gone…and, suddenly smiling, say…

I have my grandmother’s face.

Dr. George Washington Carver, 1861-1943, agricultural chemist and agronomist, is probably best known for discovering 300 new uses for the peanut and 150 new uses for the sweet potato. What is less known is exactly how he extracted all those new uses. Once, when asked how he had accomplished such a feat, he replied, “Here [his laboratory] is what I call God’s Little Workshop. No books are ever brought in here. What is the need of books? Here I talk to the peanut and the sweet potato and the clays of the hills and they talk back to me. Here great wonders are brought forth.” And, when asked how it was he could get the peanut or sweet potato to give up its secrets, he replied, “You have to love it enough. Anything will give up its secrets if you love it enough. I have found that when I silently commune with people they give up their secrets also – if you love them enough.” [From The Man Who Talks With the Flowers by Glenn Clark]

Recently, I bundled up to catch one of the season’s last slumbers in my hammock. I got to thinking about George Washington Carver as I gazed up at my familiar friends, the leaves. There they were, once again, just dancing above my head across that deep blue sky soaking up the sun’s rays. I thought about all the times I had reached up toward them, as if I could touch them with my fingers, yearning to join in their play. How I have loved those leaves.

So, I decided to try it out. What secrets might the leaves share with me today? Silently, I asked which leaf might be willing to be the spokesperson. It didn’t take long for one to emerge. As I held it in my gaze, I imagined it in my heart receiving all the love and gratitude I have long felt for its simple presence in my life. I am listening.

And, the following secrets were revealed…

We were born of the seed from Father Sun and nurtured in the womb of Mother Earth. When Father Sun illumines us, our differences are revealed which we all quite enjoy. You see, even though some of us may appear similar, there are actually no two of us alike. We are each unique like snowflakes in winter. We are fed each day from Mother Earth through the deep roots of our tree. We receive all we need. Sometimes our brother, wind, comes to play and blows through us. And, sometimes our sister rain comes to shower us with the water of life. From above and below, and from all around, we are nurtured and cared for.

We have a short life compared to you but, unlike you, we delight in our coming end. Why? Oh, because this is when we actually become the most extraordinary! Some of us will turn bright red, others golden and still others a deep orange. Some will delight in keeping their forever green. We never know how it will be. We just know it will be beautiful.

And, when it is time, we will gently let go of our branch and float down, back home, to Mother Earth. You see, she needs us to make good soil to grow new trees and to make more leaves like us. In this way, we get to be a part of, and live on through, all the leaves to come. Just like the veins that weave through each of us, we join the great web uniting all life. While you may fear death as a separation from life, we know that death unites us to all life.

Know, too, that we see you each time you come to play with us. And, together, we weave into the web of life all the love we enjoy.

And, all are blessed.

The leaf told me so…

It feels quite fortuitous to me. We have just celebrated the 50th year anniversary of the I Have a Dream speech and we now find ourselves as a nation forced to confront the fundamental question that the life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. so courageously yearned to answer: that is, how do we confront injustice, wrongdoing and evil without becoming unjust, wrongful and evil ourselves? How do we show up and act with clarity and compassion when wrongdoing appears on our doorstep instead of reacting with vengeance and retaliation to, sadly, become that which we would confront?

Make no mistake. Action is not a choice. Even inaction has its consequences. This is why Krishna in the beloved Bhagavad Gita does not coddle Arjuna when he sees him falter in the face of his duty to confront the injustice before him. Stand up scorcher of foes! This faintheartedness does not suit you! But, like us, Arjuna struggles with his inner enemies, doubts, fears and rationalizations and, as a result is, momentarily, unable to see clearly the path before him to right action.

Right action. Theologians and religious scholars have long debated the meaning of right action. It is hard to define yet, when we see it, we know it instantly by how it makes us feel. Instead of feeling the contraction of digging in, defending our point of view, acting against, we feel an expansion that provides both focus and freedom as we begin acting for.

Right action is able to transform actions of injustice to serve the common good of all. A good example was Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. declaring that Negroes would no longer agree to sit at the back of the bus. Averting the injustice would no longer be tolerated. Action was required. Yet, he warned against self-motivated righteousness. Instead, he preached tolerance and patience for his white brothers – even in the face of the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church that killed four children. In the face of injustice, he chose right action, to stand for justice, compassion and equal treatment for all.

Today, it is we who are confronted with images of dead children among many innocent victims of ruthless violence and injustice. What will we do? How will we respond? What an important opportunity to examine just what right action might look like when such injustice strikes. I invite us to explore together: What can we do here, as a community, to help promote right action when injustice strikes our brothers and sisters around the world? How may our voices for right action be heard?

And, let’s remember that any act, no matter how small, affects the whole. Perhaps in exploring the question globally, we will also find that some of our answers begin right here at home, locally, in serving our own communities and neighbors.

We are not asking that the world be different. We are asking that, with right action, we be different. And, in being so, we create the possibility that our world could be different.

Let’s question together. Stand tall together…Join our voices in right action together…

So all God’s children…far and near…may know the meaning of…Let freedom ring!

This past weekend I was blessed to preside over the memorial service and grave site ceremony for someone I’ve long loved. After the memorial service, we made our way some distance to where the burial would take place. It was a beautiful cemetery, one I had not seen before. There were no raised headstones. So, at first glance, it seemed more like being in an expansive beautiful park than being in a cemetery. As we slowly made our way around the winding curves to the burial site, just taking in the scenery, suddenly we saw a beautiful doe grazing a ways ahead of us.

But oh, this was no ordinary sighting. Soon the doe, seemingly unaware of us, just leaped into the air as if it were having its own private joy party! Guests, perhaps, welcome but not necessary! Some part of me knew I had just witnessed the most blessed of gifts. And, following the hearse, the message could not have been more vivid. On our Temple wall, there’s a small sign that says it all, Don’t postpone joy!

The laundry will get done. The house cleaned. Our jobs will carve out our days. The ‘to do’ lists will naturally rejuvenate. But, what about joy? We’ll make our appointments, transport loved ones, cook dinner. But, did we forget joy? Can we imagine our necessity driven, well choreographed, days suddenly punctuated with spontaneous leaps? Just the thought makes me giggle! After all, there are only so many days, hours, minutes, breaths left until it is we who are slowing making our way around to our own burial.

So, in the mean time, let’s savor the gift of the doe. Let’s just imagine joy, more often, having its way with us and…ummmmm…leaping us alive…!

I am still giggling since witnessing that leap. So, I wrote a poem about it. May it bless your day with imagining…with that pure, unbridled, uncensored joy, everywhere around us…

I do believe it’s what we’re made of…

You leaped into my heart when you didn’t know I was looking
and now my Soul has become your playground.
Suddenly, I am unable to stop grinning
and this spring in my step is attracting attention.
You, my deer, have completely taken me over
and I remain clueless in joy with you…
unable to fathom the blessed fate of my captivity.
Possessed by you, I am set free.
In the silent wonder of you, I sing aloud.
And now, in the heart of you,
I soar.

Signed,
Clueless

I recognize the feeling. Caught. Breathless. Remembering. Forgetting. Some unexpected and unforeseen yearning fulfilled. Suspended from knowing. Free falling, yet cradled, into the sweet abyss of unknowing.

I have been here before…when I first heard the long version of the Gayatri mantra in Sanskrit, the Kal Akal mantra in Gurmukhi, the Lord’s Prayer in Aramaic…and now, the 23rd Psalm in Hebrew. Last sounds before sleep. First sounds upon waking. And, each day carving deeper and deeper. I can’t remember how I was when I began and I don’t know where I may land. Yet, it no longer matters as I am held fast in the sweet care of roee, my shepherd.

And, I want nothing more but to be with You…
To lie down in the soft green pastures; to walk beside the still waters…
For only You can restore my soul and lead me in the paths of truth and Love.
As I walk through this valley of the shadow of death, I will fear not for You are with me…
Your rod and staff are a comfort to me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil.
My cup overflows.
Surely, goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life…
As I dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

And, like a bell echoes on the summer’s breeze, each sound calls me home from distant pastures and, together, they sing to me softly chiming in the wind…

A kind of lullaby known only to the Beloved.

And, I…I am rocked to sleep…even as I am waking…

Kosi r’vaya…
Kosi r’vaya…
My cup overflows…

For a long time we didn’t even know her name. We just knew that every Friday morning we’d get to hear that familiar voice, “Good morning! Welcome to Dunkin Donuts. May I take your order?” Stopping by was part of our weekly routine on the drive down to watch our grandbaby. And, over time, we got to be regulars. “Hi guys! How ya doin’?” she’d say handing us our coffee and sandwiches. And, we’d pull away smiling. It always made me chuckle how good I felt just driving through getting those sandwiches.

Then, one Friday, a strange voice. “Well”, we thought, “she’ll probably be at the window.” But, she wasn’t. “Gee, hope she’s not sick. Maybe she’s off today. We’ll see her next week.” But, we didn’t. And, not the next week either. Finally, we had to admit the inevitable – our sweet dose of Friday morning delight was gone forever from our lives. Would seem like such a small thing. It was and it wasn’t.

We all have people in our daily lives we see often, yet casually. But most of these encounters simply pass by unnoticed. They don’t linger. So, what is it about the ones that do? Funny, we knew absolutely nothing about our Friday morning server and each encounter was simply a replay of the same ole few seconds of rote dialogue. Yet, here she is still with me today.

As I sit with it, this lingering delight I feel seems to have something to do with kindness. Such a simple thing. But, she made us feel, with just that quick glancing smile, right there in the moment, that there was all the time in the world for us. Made us feel like something a little special was going on right there at the drive through. Imagine that!

Could it be that kindness is what is left when all else falls away? And, in those moments, could it be that simply our presence is all that is needed? Kindness, after all, requires no background check or personal knowledge. No special conditions or ritual. No particular reason. No long conversation or intimate understanding.

No, it seems kindness is the language of the Beloved so, graciously, is complete unto itself leaving only delight in its wake. We may not be able to predict when it will find us but, instantly, we know it has as we are not left where we were found. Even right in the middle of the most mundane circumstances we can find ourselves suddenly smitten and smiling.

Smitten and smiling indeed! Now, just imagine a world so smitten! I can see the new national campaign now – our server’s smiling face front and center and the slogan: America Runs On Delight! And, in fine print just below, the disclaimer: Warning – Contains Unrefined Kindness ~ May Cause Uncontrollable Smiling.

Think I’ll follow our server’s lead and go out and spread a little of that delight.

“Hi there, how ya do’in?”

This week the Supreme Court made an historic change to civil rights legislation causing much debate. It’s made me think of Mini and my heart wrote this in honor of her.

You could sit on my great-grandparent’s porch, deep in the southern woods, and count to at least 90 before the first faint sound of the next car to pass our way could be heard. The sound was something like the hum the wind makes as it is first gathering steam. As Don Williams once sung, I can still hear soft Southern winds in the live oak trees. This was where Joe grew up, the one to whom I dedicated my first book An Ordinary Life Transformed: Lessons for Everyone from the Bhagavad Gita. It’s also where Mini would come to cook and clean for us.

We were not the old money antebellum south. We were the other south, poor, yet fiercely proud. And, like such families, with many children to feed and crops to plow, extra hands were needed in the house and in the fields. And, those hands were black. Of course, by the time I was growing up and spending long, hot, pick-wild-flowers-in-the-field days there, an image of the those extra black hands in the fields could only be held alive in the vapors of memory. But, Mini, was no vapor. She was right there making the biscuits and, then, making my bed.

And so, she labored for our family for most of her long life. No doubt she would have said she loved us dearly, as we certainly felt so, and we always said we loved her like family. And, I believe, both were, unequivocally, true. Me, living in a different part of the country for the school year, did not have the long history with Mini. I was also part of a new generation enlivened by the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. So, though I was always happy to see her come through our back door (yes, only the back), mostly, I just tried to turn away and not think about it too much. But, sometimes I couldn’t and that sour feeling would come back again in my stomach, curdling.

I suppose I could have made it through without any unnecessary upheaval for those few short weeks each summer. After all, this was where my roots were, my home. This was my family, the only place I knew I belonged, and always a welcome respite from the difficult school year. My family was good, salt of the earth, and I loved them. And, of course, still do.

I could have had it not been for that outhouse at the outer edge of our back yard. Mini wasn’t allowed to use the indoor bathroom. The outhouse was for her. One day, as I watched her make her way out to that outhouse, I could feel that curdling again. But, this time the inevitable tide, like nausea, having festered for many summers, was not to be curtailed. I waited for her to return to the kitchen and, finding us alone, blurted out, Mini, why don’t you use the indoor bathroom?

And, exactly in that moment, would have given my life to take it all back. Her stunned, piercing glance felt volcanic, like hot embers, long dormant, suddenly now in real danger of erupting without regard to fallout. And I, in the wake, stopped breathing, paralyzed. Oh, but my young, naive, heart was screaming, But, Mini, it’s wrong! I’m so ashamed! I’m so sorry!

Gratefully, her lifetime of well adapted this is how you behave ‘round whites instinct kicked in and she quickly recovered but not before giving me a good tongue lashing. Youse knows better’in dat Miss Stetnee. Things is how they is. You best leave it ‘lone now! And, turning from me, she threw the dry cloth over her shoulder and flashed me one last clear look of warning, We be done w’ this Miss Stetnee. We be done w’ this. And, so we were.

Things is how they is. You best leave it ‘lone now! My family would have echoed the exact same sentiment. Still, since, I have winced every time I remember. Just what was she to do with that? In truth, none of us, least of all me, were equipped to do anything with, simply, yet regrettably, what was. It was more than what we did. It seemed to be who we were.

We never talked about it again. I returned to school and, in later summers, would come to see Mini less and less as age and health issues took hold. Still, over the years, I’ve often prayed that she knew what was in my heart that day in the kitchen. I have imagined being able to sit with her and to say please forgive me. I just couldn’t watch you walk out to that outhouse anymore. I just couldn’t. Still, I am sorry I was so unkind to you. I just so wanted you to know, dear Mini, that I ‘saw’ you…and so ‘felt’ for you. This was what was in my heart to say. I just didn’t know how.

Oh, dear Mini, thank you for your hands, sturdy and skilled, given in the long, faithful service to my family. Thank you for still making our biscuits and our beds, for loving us, even when we did not know how to best love you.

I am so grateful for all you were to us…even to have witnessed your long, heavy, walk across the yard to that outhouse…For, only in doing so, have I came to more fully appreciate the fullness of your gift to us…a gift born only of Grace.

I wonder what Mini would have to say about the Supreme Court ruling? I like to imagine that, with just her presence, she might remind us all of where we have been and where we would not want to return.

I can still hear the soft Southern winds in the live oak trees. And, when I close my eyes, I can see in the vapors dear Mini standing there in the kitchen.

Smiling at me. Unburdened and free.

It makes me smile to imagine what our postal delivery person must think. “What a strange mixture of folks live here. Stephanie Rutt and Doug Rutt. Stephanie Rutt is sometimes Reverend Stephanie Rutt. Then there is also someone called Sat Darshan Kaur and someone else called Saki.” How even further perplexed our dear mailperson might be realizing that all of the above, except Doug of course, are one in the same. At the risk of being perceived a spiritual name junky, I could imagine sitting on the grass having an earnest, heartfelt dialogue explaining how my years with each name has helped me to cultivate something unique – something that has helped me to become more me. But, then, all I can envision is an even greater look of polite, yet growing, perplexity on my mailperson’s face, just barely masking the desperate need to escape, “Hey lady, can I just go deliver the mail now?!”

Many faith traditions, of course, recommend taking on a new name as we journey along the spiritual path. In eastern traditions it is a well known practice. From my years with the Sikhs, I am lovingly called Sat Darshan and from my years with the Sufis, Saki. As an interfaith minister, I am called Reverend. Though less a Christian practice for lay people, in Hinds’ Feet on High Places, the beloved Christian allegory, Much Afraid is also given a new name as she moves onto the high places with the Good Shepherd.

I have a deep respect for the purpose of being given a new name. Such a name points us in the direction of being what we may become. But, today, I find myself looking back to where I first began. Sixty-three years ago, today actually, I was born a small, premature, child in Meridian, Mississippi and was given the name Stephanie. Like many of us with challenging childhoods, I spent most of my early years wishing I were someone else, or somewhere else, having a more normal, carefree life – someone who might even get to have some other new exotic name to match.

Today, I keep a childhood picture on my altar. There I am smiling back at me. What tender love and gratitude I have for her – this early image of me. It is because of her, I have truly been able to know I blossom not in spite of but because of. It is because of her, I can remember I am enough so I can be nothing. She is the one that teaches me, again and again, about ever deepening levels of forgiveness, healing and, especially, self-acceptance. And, she is the one, who has always known, right from the beginning, what I may be.

I still happily answer to my spiritual names and follow their impulse. But, today when I hear the Beloved’s call, I hear my name given all those years ago. And, I can imagine taking my little one by the hand as, together, we respond.

For it seems, only together, do we fully recognize to Whom we belong…

And, so it is together, we gladly answer…

To the only name that holds all we have been and will be.

This past weekend I was blessed to take my beloved Tree of Life Interfaith Seminary Class of 2013 on their final retreat before their ordination next Saturday. Every seminary class is, of course, uniquely special having its own energy, essence and presence. Witnessing this beloved Class of 2013, I have been most profoundly struck by their faith, individually and collectively. Along their two year journey, some have experienced life circumstances capable of derailing the most resolute in resolve. Yet, hand in hand, they have emerged full of Grace – strong, humble, and fully ready to say Yes! As I looked at each one, I felt such gratitude and blessing to be in their presence. Along with joyful hearts tuned in beauty’s way, they carry the gift of blossoming not in spite of…but because of into the world. They are my inspiration.

And, it’s an important reminder for all of us that, sometimes, seeking to live a more divinely inspired life, may not necessarily mean that life gets more joyous or even easier. Tests are an inherent part of the experience. But, I agree with Peace Pilgrim when she says that it is good to be tested as then we really get to find out just where we are.

But, here is the good news! As we are seeking to step into what’s next, it actually makes perfect sense that a kind of tune up would be in order. Why? New expressions of being require new expansions of awareness and energetic vibration. What we are cultivating next actually needs the essence and energy, held knotted in our fears, to blossom and thrive. This is why when we are allowing ourselves to be silently drawn toward what we truly love (Rumi sentiment), the fears often, suddenly, show up in tow: Can I really do this? Am I worthy? Will I be good enough? Saying Yes requires we love our self enough to untie the knots and get free from what binds us and this getting free is exactly what makes for good compost ready to nourish what is next. It’s a kind of transformation born of radical self-acceptance and it does, slowly yet surely, set us free.

So, while getting our spiritual engines cleaned and tuned may not be the fun part, we emerge better fit for the road and for what the journey may bring. We start to get that it’s not about perfection but authenticity. We start to know that we are not alone. We know now we are enough and we are nothing. And, most wondrous of all, Grace seems to have taken over our GPS! And, we gladly follow the Beloved’s directions. We know now that Love is the only destination there is.

This is faith. This is freedom.

Congratulations Class of 2013!

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean to your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him and he shall direct your paths…Proverbs 3:5

Last week, I had lunch with a friend I hadn’t seen in awhile. As we caught up, I shared my desire to finish up some writing projects and get my work out. One thing led to another and soon, quite casually, she mentioned an idea that I would never have thought of. And, soon that feeling was palpable. You may know the one. Synchronicity was at play and it felt as if the Beloved was afoot.  Even the message in my fortune cookie proclaimed, Your dearest wish will come true!

The next morning I went out onto my screen porch to do my practice and, suddenly, realized what I had not done. I had not come home from lunch the day before to immediately create a 40-day mantra practice to manifest this blessed new idea. No, instead, this morning, I found myself chanting parts of the beautiful hymn Lead Me Lord: Your plans for me are perfect. Lead me Lord, I will follow. Lead me Lord, I will go. You have called me. I will answer. Lead me Lord, I will go. And, my heart swelled wide.  That sweet kind of swelling that just happens when some place, deep, unexpectedly cracks open.

Now, just today, I thought about the monkey mind our Buddhist teacher talked of on Sunday and how very easy it is to attach to what we are wanting next. When our mind is in this state, we are not content to simply rest in the present moment as it is. Instead, we are off dreaming, chasing some imagined future. And, being asleep, sadly, we miss the true blessings right before us and within us – simple, yet eternal, as the rise and fall of our chest as we are breathed into life each moment.

Yet how tempting it is, with such excitement, to follow the monkey mind and lean on our own understanding. After all, it can feel so right! But, this morning, I remembered something beyond right or wrong. I remembered Grace…those moments that have found me, sometimes twirling me around in playful surprise, other times cradling me in my fear, but always emptying me, to satiate me, with that which passes all understanding. And how, in those moments, without effort, even my monkey mind rests.

Will I follow up on my dearest wish? You bet! Will I create a practice? Of course! It’s my job, after all, to follow the Love put in my heart. But, to where? Not my call. And, to what end? Don’t know. I just know my dear monkey mind can only imagine itself.

But, Grace does Know. So I put my trust there…

And, suddenly, I find myself on some field of wonder far beyond my dearest wish or imagination…afoot with my monkey mind…smiling.