white linen
white linen, blank pages
the sunshine came out in Paris this week, and so did the people.
I walk along the seine, a couple exchanges kisses in a post-card like pose, while another sits separately apart, her stare blank and a bottle of rum half empty in his hands. Stories unfold as I walk slowly, looking and learning to see. A duet of sorts under pont neuf, two girls practicing opera without an audience. The shadows grow long along the walls. I linger in public space.
These walks in the city are research. I am in the education system of the Creator of the universe, the human heart is my text book. This education is both academic and experiential. There are tests and homework daily, but we are always on recess. Children go to school to learn, but how often to we forget that most of our learning happens on the playground and at home? We learn the harshness of humanity as well as what it means to be loved through living, not merely studying.
God gave me a personal Bach concert today in the arches of the louvre. I imagine this cellist, named Pablo from Brazil has been practicing over his lifetime for this moment. Sitting with an open case and eyes closed listening into the Spirit, my soul and tired feet sit down parallel to listen.
Perhaps an angel kissed the strings to speak through the wooden vessel, oh the beauty becomes thicker in between sets. Fingers that play and know our heart strings. The smell of roasting chestnuts and the harmony of heaven hits those who pass by: something we were created for. The worlds within, girls with purple hair blasting punk rock as Pablo continues the rigorous staccatos. As if stringed instruments know best the ways into the sweet spots of the soul. A halleluja of healing comes as I catch my breath, bending into the rests. Rest. For my soul.
"prenez le temps", take time
Perhaps an angel kissed the strings to speak through the wooden vessel, oh the beauty becomes thicker in between sets. Fingers that play and know our heart strings. The smell of roasting chestnuts and the harmony of heaven hits those who pass by: something we were created for. The worlds within, girls with purple hair blasting punk rock as Pablo continues the rigorous staccatos. As if stringed instruments know best the ways into the sweet spots of the soul. A halleluja of healing comes as I catch my breath, bending into the rests. Rest. For my soul.
His shoes are well worn, unlaced for comfort to play Bach by heart, eyes closed. Beyond brands names and bank accounts, we are the ones with worn out boots in the chasing of beauty. Going further and beyond, becoming broke while gaining the richness of what we seek. Bringing back the sacred secrets to the humans who have forgotten how to see and listen. There is something sacred indeed to be found as we lose ourselves in the chase.
Perhaps we may have never met before, but I think I know you: for I am getting to know better the one who made you.
Perhaps we may have never met before, but I think I know you: for I am getting to know better the one who made you.
I LACK NOTHING
Psalm 23 reflections
As I walk in a linen white dress through lush meadows
Drinking mountain fresh water
Catching the fresh breath of life again
Walking side by side
With the one who is secure
He holds my heavy hands and head is his arms
Light comes forth
Held tight in freedom
Brimming with blessing
Heading home through the scenic valley of Life Abundant
Lead by the voice and vision
That comes from the mountain high
Heading higher
Knowing who we are as we climb
Higher still
Shadows shift as I walk onward
Seeing the valley below had beauty carved out of light
Knowing fully who I am
Known by name
I am seen as who I am
Lacking nothing
Following me is goodness and grace
Ahead is love and life
Surrounded by steadfastness
Sit
Stop
Soak
Eat at the table
Wearing a white linen dress
Coming from the lush meadows of harvest
Into the home of the Father
Home at last
