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Today the snow speaks Spirit to me. I am sitting at my
desk, and an unseasonable snow is falling outside my window. One moment
it drifts out of the sky like wandering confetti, another moment it
swirls and swoops across the landscape like a huge flock of tiny white
birds. The snow is soft and gentle like the fur on the bunny that right
now twitches his flake-ticked nose under one of the bushes in our front
lawn.
It's carrying a lovely metaphor for me, because it's reminding me of
how spiritual inspiration feels. Sometimes spiritual ideas waft into my
mind as softly as this snow falls, comforting and guiding me through any
troubling problem.
Like life and death, what I had been thinking about earlier. It's a
subject that gives me pause because it's often wrapped in harsh images
of hell and judgment, oblivion and the unknowable. I've had to deal with
the deaths of dear family members and a very dear friend. I miss them. I
wonder about them now and then. Today, for instance, I've been
wondering, "Where are they now and what are they doing?"
I can't figure it out. There are too many unknowns. Like today's
snowfall—how much snow will pile on the roof, and where will the
busy-body sparrows find nourishment?
In a way, I need nourishment, too. Mental nourishment. Fresh ideas.
Answers. From God .
Those ideas settle into my thinking as softly as the snow
settles on the earth.
They come as the gentle presence of
spiritual ideas, something like the snow that is caressing my little
world.
And as I listen, those ideas settle into my thinking as softly as the
snow settles on the earth. Poring over my spiritual guide book,
Science and Health, I read: "Life is eternal. We should find this
out, and begin the demonstration thereof."
This statement falls gently on my thoughts, and the conviction grows
that I can find answers to questions about my friends who have gone, and
about my own life right now.
From another page in Science and Health comes this thought,
swirling, swirling and finally touching me, "For right reasoning there
should be but one fact before the thought, namely, spiritual existence.
In reality there is no other existence, since Life cannot be united to
its unlikeness, mortality."
Yes, there is more to the story of my life and my loved ones. It is
in the spiritual dimension.
I realize my thought has
become as quiet as the outside.
The snow continues to fall as do these spiritual
messages. Steadily, softly, impartially, beautifully. The snow shower's
simplicity, purity and grace speaks to me again. I realize my thought
has become as quiet as the outside and as receptive as the earth opening
its crannies to trillions of tiny flakes.
I'd never considered that snow could speak. But the way it is now
reshaping my landscape, slowly, gently, even kindly, it is speaking to
me, with unmistakable, yet quiet spiritual meaning.
It tells me that answers to those hard questions about death and life
come through gentleness, quietness and softness, humbly receiving grace
in the form of spiritual ideas about God's infinite universe. I don't
have to think of myself or others as living in a limited world, but in
the infinite universe of God's goodness.
God speaks to me through spiritual awakening rather than human
intellect. The cascade of spiritual messages brushes me with an
awareness that I can never figure out the things of God, divine
Love. This Love dissolves the will that resists spiritual inspiration,
this shower of holy meaning gets to me through thoughts as quiet and as
pure as this fresh snowfall .
I don't need to be
sorrowful. I can have peace.
"Sorrow is turned into joy when the body is
controlled by spiritual Life, Truth, and Love." The ideas from
Science and Health continue to accumulate in me as steadily as the
pure, fluffy snow now builds up on the branches and twigs of the dogwood
tree just outside my window. I know better now that those dear friends
and family who are not within my view are embraced by spiritual Life and
Love. I don't need to be sorrowful. I can have peace.
A pine tree across the yard, its boughs humbly bending under two
inches of new snow and swaying gracefully in the breeze, speaks to me to
be just as serene.
This day, I'm a part of this image. The snow-covered scene outside my
window is one of peace, and inside me there is peace, even about death.
My friends' lives have moved out of my sight, but have not really gone
anywhere—unless, perhaps, for a quiet stroll through some gentle
snowfall somewhere else.
Another page of Science and Health turns and this idea falls
easily into my understanding. "Life, Love, Truth is the only proof of
immortality." Wherever I find evidence of divine goodness there are
gentle lessons to be learned about the eternal spiritual universe and
everyone's sacred place in it, like each unique snowflake blending into
the blanket of harmony and beauty that is effortlessly covering the
earth today outside my window. |
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