The sun blazes white light in a deep blue sky. Only a few whips of white clouds dot the heavens. Fran's thousand shades of green hang gloriously above waving every so slightly in the ocean breeze. The pungent aroma of the marsh is intoxicating. Birds sing solos as yellow butterflies make love to purple blossoms of the petunia.It's quite the contrast from things going on in the world.
Government employees return to work because the bastards we've elected orchestrated yet another crisis so they could again save the day.
If the Bible were still being written, prophets would rise against the Pharisees and Sadducees governing by lavishing riches upon themselves while overseeing famine throughout the land proclaiming to do it in the name of God.
I believe in Hell because of every damn one of them.
And I pray every damn one of them goes to Hell.
That's a harsh beginning to a spectacular day.
The birds form themselves in a choir forcing me to pause from dark thoughts and enjoy their Hallelujah Chorus.
I stand applauding and they bow before flying away into the glorious day.
Returning to the darkness, people I love are hurting flash across my brain and heart. Their lives are fragile as the spider web I stare at running from the gutter to the Hibiscus plant on the back deck.
Glancing away I realize I've stared at it for 20 minutes completely engulfed in prayer for those I love with no cognition whatsoever of the fact I'd been transported to another universe. I think that's what prayer really is ... losing ourselves in God ... completely leaving our bodies only to snap awake and wonder what happened to the last 20 minutes.
The choir of cicada begin their Hymns and I listen.
My friend Kyle Shiver recently sent me a recording of Cicada singing on two tracks. The first in real time but the second is slowed sounding like Angels chanting. It's incredible! I always though Cicada sound holy when they sing. Now I'm convinced.
I come out of another prayer trance. Fifteen minutes has passed.
"Dammit Scotty," I say out loud. "Stop beaming me up!"
Then I wonder if it's Scotty at all.
It may be God.
"Do not worry about tomorrow," inexpiably runs through my head. "for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."
I have no doubt about the second part of that. Every day's got troubles.
It's the first part I struggle with. Don't worry about tomorrow. Let it worry about itself.
What I've got is today.
Don't worry about it.
Enjoy it.
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There is still time to register for my Writing Workshop beginning in November! Let the stories you're holding inside come to the light of day and share them with the world. Register at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/writingworkshop/
