Just Here. Just Now.

I am suspended in the space of quiet occupation on the part of everyone else in the cottage, when I catch myself ‘listing’ again.  I don’t mean leaning to one side.  I mean that unending mental habit of thinking through to the ‘next thing’ to make sure I’m ready.  What’s next on the list?

By now I’ve checked off so many things.  It was our annual trip into town with the grandkids, complete with a visit to Mind’s Alive on the main street in old downtown for the birthday splurge.  This year’s choices include a 3D Harry Potter puzzle, and some spy equipment, hence the quiet occupation of everyone else.   I should be thinking of supper, but actually it’s just a tad early yet.  All the groceries are put away.  I think we’ll just have sandwiches with some of the new fresh bread we bought.

So I’m here, suspended.  And it occurs to me to pitch the list for now and just be.

The wind over the water, playing in the trees.  The way the breeze dances with my long cotton dress, so colourful in the bright and early evening sun.   The jenny wren on the post cap telling me something very happy and important.   Seagulls calling in conversation with each other, and most likely, I imagine, laying claim to some find of food.  The chipmunk the children have named Gray, come to see if we fetched more peanuts when we were in town (which we did but I’m not bringing them out right this minute). Clouds stretched thin across the blue of sky.  The way the sun feels on my skin. 

In these moments I just am.  A human being, not a human doing.

Not planning ahead.

Not remembering behind.

Just here.
Just now.

There is certainly enough to draw me backwards.  Over the past year.  Over the past seven weeks.  And process I will.  It’s why I keep a journal; to be able to read through the year past and listen to how the Spirit might want to teach me, rebuke me, cheer me, remind me.   But in this moment, right here and right now, I realize that with all the fuss of everything, the past seven weeks in particular, and with arriving at the same time as the children more or less, I haven’t done any of this since arriving to the bay.  This ‘just being’ thing.

And it also occurs to me -- and I’m thanking my journal reflections for this revelation – that the times I would claim to have heard God’s voice the clearest is when I’m like this.  Fully present in this moment, right now.

Beloved author and Christian activist Henri Nouwen liked to speak of “sacred spaces” where the place between humanity and divinity is “thin”.

This is one.

This environment, this place, yes.

But more.

In concert with a state of mindfulness, or presence, of presence, some sacred comes to me.

‘Be still and know that I am God.’ Psalm 46:10

“Receive” I hear now.  And the sunlight dances, giggling, over the water.