Let me start by saying I’m not a ritualistic person in terms of “having to do something” to make a point, follow a religion, or feel OK about myself.
Having said that, I really, really love the early morning when I can follow a few soul-satisfying rituals that tune me into my day. One of my favorite focuses on coffee … the way I make it, inhale it, vibe with it, and savor it. There are many legends surrounding this taken for granted drink. The one I think about a lot is that coffee was a gift from God — a drink savored by the Divine, and shared with the creation.
Once I have my cup, I love to sit and simply listen to the world. To breathe, deep, satisfying, long. I am a person “in-tune” with my surroundings, and to have the opportunity to just feel the breath of creation on my skin … to listen to the songs of the birds (because if you listen long enough, you’ll hear the composition of the cosmos — no joke). If I can sit still long enough, undisturbed and focuses, I can hear God talking to my soul. Mystical? Yeah. Crazy? Your opinion.
The other ritual I love is sitting at my husband’s laptop, and feeling the keys under my fingers as I rattle off some deep but meaningless thougths to random readers of this blog. Blogging is a ritual that’s tough to define, unless you are one of those who thrive in this environment. I’ve had people try to figure out why I blog, and even intimate that it’s meaningless — a waste of time. Those people I have to smile at, because it’s one of those things that if you don’t get it– you just don’t get it.
Most of the rituals I relish in are like that. But the older I get, the more I’m OK with that. At one time, I desired to influence — to “make a difference” on the grand scheme of things. But in that process, I lost who I was. I know each of us make adjustments to live in the world around us. But is it right? Should be prostitue ourselves — our being at the deepest levels of who we are — simply to be counted among the “normal”?
These days, I’m satisfied to simply “be” and let the things I do and say speak for themselves. If I influence, OK. If I don’t, that’s OK, too.
I pretended so long, trying to win the approval of people I thought I needed to love and appreciate me. Now, I find that the people who care about me the most could care less what I “do,” and many times, even who I am. Love is one of those weird, unpredictable things that we cannot ritualize, regardless of how hard we try. It’s like things of the spirit. If God is who we say, ”he” is unpredictable and does not respond to our beconing. Love is the same. It just IS, and we spend so much time trying to figure it all out. Crazy.
So I’m done philosophising for now, because the coffee water is ready. And the residual smell of lavender from my morning shower is causing me to breathe deep and focus on the way it intermingles with the essence of morning gently blowing in my living room window. The birds are calling; the leaves barely rustling. They are inviting me to partake in the ritual of existing simply for the treasured moment.
Peace.



