I turn a corner. I accept payment for energy work ( a first). I wait. I breathe. I live. I watch Inertia's sales rise, continue to receive feedback from readers--always the same: read it in one sitting, couldn't put it down, the characters lived with me for days after I finished reading. I think about the ways its story heals. Open myself to its miracle, because indeed my own heart, my own family, have been healed through its birth. Its arrival. Its steadfast message.
Oh. It was always a syllable of exasperation, of longing or despair. Now it is clipped at the end and round like its letters: Oh! Now it is an expression of delight. My surprise in seeing that life is good. Abundant. Real. Yes, all of it real in a way that I never knew. "Mother I never knew,/ every time I see the ocean,/ every time--" (Basho). All of it grounded and whole and laden with life's many truths--not insubstantial, as I had thought, but corporeal, it seems. Here and here. In this stone. In this leaf. In the light reflecting off the water as it moves... It only appears to be elusive; a little contemplation, a little observation, reveals that the source is constant and continuous. Though we in our fixed position on the earth may turn away from it for half of our living hours, that light doesn't abandon us but rather whispers its steadfastness by lighting the moon as we sleep to dream.
Oh. It is the shape of the sun, the moon, the planet we inhabit, and it begins the sacred syllable that closes my wonder now with the sound of pleasure: mmmmmm. Om. It is the sound of this, and every other, completion. It is a promise and a consummation at once. It is the syllable of our wholeness. It sets the vibration of our love. Ever.