Weeding out the truth. . .
“Step into the silence
Take it in your own two hands
And scatter it like diamonds
All across these lands
Blaze it in the morning
Wear it like an iron skin
Only things worth living for
Innocence and magic-amen
We were born with our eyes wide open
So alive with wild hope
Now can you tell me why
Time after time
They drag you down
Down in the darkness deep
Fools in their madness all around
Know that the light don’t sleep”
On Saturday morning I was out in the back yard painstakingly remaking a plot of land in my own image (i.e. “gardening”). It was a beautiful day, and a chance to clear my head. A carpet of weeds had taken over the ground we’d broken earlier this summer, so after working the compost pile with a hay fork, I set about moving buckets and pulling weeds.
The idea of Dark and Light energy has been with me a lot lately. Creative energy itself doesn’t care how it manifests, and each side will gladly sell you tickets to the ball. One faction would have you believe that infinite love is the only thing that’s real; that everything else is transient, and therefore an illusion. The other would have you turn aside from all the “spiritual crap” and deal with the world at hand. If you can’t measure it, then it doesn’t exist, and so it’s material things upon which our attention must be focused.
The truth of the matter, however, is that anyone blind to either side can never make a completely informed decision. Nor can they ever do anything else but bang the drum for their team. Those of us who walk the healing path must keep ourselves to the middle of the road. We understand that everything is composed of living energy, and that even words or thoughts can have dramatic effects.
At a workshop the other day the question of prayer came up. Wanting only what’s best for all our relations, how can we, in good conscience pray for others without their permission in such a way as not to impress our own designs upon them? Perhaps an illness or some other difficulty is a matter of their karma or a lesson they must endure, and sometimes it seems, we must simply understand this and be there to help support them through the journey of their affliction.
While bending down over the weeds and turning these thoughts over in my head, I was suddenly aware of a small shadow passing over the garden. I looked up to see a Monarch butterfly drift across the yard and land to the North, not 10 feet away from me. As I watched it opening and closing its wings in the morning sunlight, a Buckeye landed on the sandy soil beside me and spread its wings, revealing a beautiful mask. Then, out of nowhere, a common brown butterfly came tumbling through the air between us.
I found myself surrounded by butterflies.
I returned my attention to the Monarch who appeared to be struggling with the heat. I thought perhaps I should move it to the shade. Then, just as quickly, another thought arose. Perhaps its wings were damp with dew, and it was drying them off in the sun. Moving the butterfly to a shadier spot would prevent it from doing this. In that moment, I understood that I should simply sit and watch.
Immediately, the Monarch sprang up against the cloudless sky and continued off to the North. “Simply trust in God,” I heard a voice say, “and don’t worry about it.” I’d read those words or similar ones in countless books, but never had they rung as true as they did in the garden last Saturday morning.
This is the reason we do this work. This is the reason we gear ourselves up for the rigors of this path. We walk the fine line between light and dark, seeing each to either side of us, but never what’s in front – one foot first and then the other, on a tightrope woven of faith. . .