Resting
there, I thought about something I had done earlier in the
week which I now wished I hadn't. It was a minor
offense, but it had left a sharp sting in the base of my
neck; that's how I knew I shouldn't have done it.
So
this is what it was: I had been thoughtless to
someone I don't like very well. This person came up
and requested a certain file while I was focused hard on
another project. My response was - and there is no
other way to say this - abrupt and rude. And I
wasn't rude because of the interruption, I was rude
because I don't like the person very well, and the
interruption gave me an excuse to express it.
Shortly
afterwards I saw what I had done, got up and took the file
over to the person and apologized for my earlier
response. All was well.
All
was well, except that I was left with noticing how easily
I can still be small. That is a very, very
uncomfortable feeling. Here I am, walking on the
path, closing my eyes each morning to allow in some Light
from not-here, and yet here was an opportunity to be
slighting and I took it without batting an eye.
You
may say: but that is such a small thing. No
harm done. And you are right, except we all know it
is the small inelegancies which breed our larger
ones. And so it is the tiny mistakes that need
noticing, as well as the large ones.
So
there I was on the deck, looking at how small I had been
in that one moment. I don't mean I was calling
myself a bad person; I mean I was looking at how small I
had been in that one moment.
Meanwhile,
despite this earlier mis-step, the sun was still pouring
itself over me in great unbroken waves of affection.
That's the sun for you: unconditional heat.
Even
the bench I sat on was warm and alive. The spray
kept saying hello, hello, hello, on my nose and cheeks;
not once did it say goodbye.
At
one point I sensed a presence quite near to me. I
opened my eyes slowly into the brilliant light and there
was a lone seagull, settled close to my feet, about to
lunch on a stray piece of bread that had fallen down from
the deck above.
I
looked at the seagull, and it looked right back at me for
at least one full minute. I can't actually swear to
this, but in the last second, before the seagull shot back
into the blue sea above us, I think it winked.
And
I knew I had been forgiven.
Visit
Elsa at her tremendous "Spiritual Growth"
website: "This
is a chapel without walls. Our purpose is to offer daily
spiritual inspiration & healing to all who stop
by. This teaching is non-sectarian and
interfaith. We believe that you are a holy &
loving being, and that your greatest task in life is to
discover your own sacred self, and your own sacred
purpose." elsjoy.com.
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