As We Walk Upon The Water

 The following is a true story.  And it is a story that asked me to drop all stories I had ever thought I’d known before. I ask only that you read it with the eyes of the heart, so that its grace can be felt and its message received  deep within you.  Some background information before we begin.  I grew up with two of the most loving parents I could ever have hoped for. I lived in a city suburb and was taught by the Nuns of the Roman Catholic Church. I was the oldest of three children and our lives were carefree until the day our parents divorced. We were so young and we misunderstood and misinterpreted the events that unfolded. My Father was the North Star and guiding light for every one who knew him. He was the love of my life and the love of the lives of all those that he touched. The ever charismatic Irishman. The bagpiper, police man and protector of hearts. He simply shined.  My father remarried. His new wife and her five children would become his wedded family. As young children

 The seasons of life change so quickly on Earth. Like a slow, steady cycle and spiral of unending birth. September and I have established a new relationship. I have had to learn how to walk on my knees, as I learn deep surrender enough to withstand the slow fall of my leaves. I confess that I still cling to the enchanting summer winds that always seem to end too soon. This fleeting season of the sun now passes by more quickly than it ever had begun. Yet, such a wild and wondrous harvest I have gathered in my grateful, honored arms. I have been so safely held and deeply blessed. I can feel the love of my children as if their heartbeats drummed in sync with my own breath. I have been visited by friends both old and new, who’ve come to sit awhile and rest and share the view.  There’ve been new layers added to the tapestry of those I hold so dear. New weavings and new patterns of a great design, unfolding now and through the tapestries of space and time.  And yet, amidst this grace, there

 Many years ago, I was blessed to attend a gathering. It was held within the ancient embrace of an old Episcopal Church in the heart of my city. The landscape could not have been more perfect, as this was a gathering called together for purposes of entering the deep heart itself. A most wise and gentle Shaman gathered us into the heartbeat of the drum, and then set us free to find our own footing on the painted  Labyrinth of the old stone church. I stood transfixed and yearning for my arrival at The Center of it all. The Home I craved. The enlightenment I longed for. I leaned into the Shaman’s guidance. He told me that there were no rules. I was free. And I could choose my path. My heart leapt as I headed straight for the core of the Labyrinth. I almost ran to the center , falling on my knees when I thought I’d arrived at the Heart of it all. But the moment split open. I had bypassed the Journey.  Seeking Heaven without the deep lessons of Heaven as Earth. And its spiraling, glistening