In the morning
When I began to wake,
It happened again-
That feeling
That You, Beloved,
Had stood over me all night
Keeping watch,
That feeling
That as soon as I began to stir
You put Your lips on my forehead
And lit a Holy Lamp
Inside my heart.”
Hafiz
On my way home the other day from town to the rural area where we live, I decided to take the back road home. Although a little longer, its quiet and winding roads serve as the buffer I sometimes need between the busy city streets and the idle surroundings of where we live. The road is curving and hilly, a valley separating one end of the path to the other. The slopes on either side of the valley are long and steep, their edges on either side dropping to wooded hollars and icy streams.
As my car approaches the hill to descend into the valley on my way home, I begin to ease onto my brakes, pumping them slightly in preparation for the decline. Even so, once I reach the top of the hill and begin to descend, the car makes up its mind to shift into a lower gear to assist the brakes in the slowing of the car, the momentum downward steep and fast. Because of the shift in gears, the engine’s voice changes from a calm pitch to a higher song. It is working harder to resist the forces of gravity that pull it to the bottom of the hill, the wheels naturally wanting to move faster and faster. The car is ready to take the hill as fast as she can, the engine responding by slowing her down, sharing the workload of the braking system. The engine says, “I am the energy center of this creation. Let me support you in the work of this.”
My feet touch the floor, moving out of bed before the sun rises. The house is quiet and dark. I climb the stairs and sit on my mat. I light a candle. I sit and place my palms on my knees. “Help me in this work,” I ask the flame, hoping the energy with which it burns hears my prayer. “Help me in this work of living.” I bow and blow out the flame. I kiss my youngest child on the forehead, now almost an adult herself, before she wakes for school. I hug my oldest and my husband, walk my dog, feed my cats. I go to my workshop where I bend and twist and burn metal. I hold my mother a few roads over and the hearts of those thousands of miles away with no homes, no more child to kiss good morning. I walk outside and look at the open sky. I feel free and the weight of the world simultaneously, the earth both holding us and asking us to love her. I see the hawk sitting on the top branch of the walnut tree and wonder if he feels any weight on his wings or does he only feel the breeze? I read the headlines, the bylines, drink my coffee. What will this world be when it is all said and done? Will I curse the free will given to harm and hate or instead be grateful, the other side to create and love? Will I cry for what was done or for all of the beauty or both? I feel a movement in my chest. I close my eyes. “Help me in this work”, I pray.
What fuels us when the weight of the outside world takes more than it gives? When the air is filled with the weight of more questions than answers, more partitioning than peace? Where is our engine that supports us when the car is moving faster than the brakes can manage? Where do we find respite in the tumult? I picture the flame from my morning in the dark, the flicker, the back and forth. I picture it in my center, just below the center of my rib cage. It is an engine on the way down the hill. When this beautiful work of being alive requires more than our minds can manage, it is the flame, the engine within, that says, “I am the energy center of this creation. Let me support you in the work of this.” We can give it our dreams to make manifest, our worries to burn. We do not have to tend to it for it always burns, like our breath coming and going, our heart beating without thought or effort. It is the life force that came into this world with us and continues on when we leave. It is the eternal part of us that is always steady, always loving, always there to support us when we cannot feel the ground beneath our feet. It is the force that keeps us tender, open, when we want to close and harden ourselves off. It is the place within that is unaffected, untouched by the whims of the outside world. When anger rises, when sorrow comes, the flame does not flicker. She continues to burn through it all. She is the respite within, the well of life that flows through our veins and cells, giving us a place to rest and replenish when needed.
The work of living in this world. We are not exempt from any part of it. We came to this earth and are here to bear the fruits of all it has to offer. Events and circumstances will push and pull emotion from us, leaving us at times angry, sad, depleted, feeling like each muscle, each cell has been caught up in our reaction. Save one place. This sacred center flame. She is our respite and our fuel. We may feel as though we are blowing in the breeze of this world, and yet we know there is the strong center of us that will not bend to any wind nor breeze nor storm. She is our sacred home, our safe haven, our soul.