Friend, we’re traveling together.
Throw off your tiredness.
Let me show you one tiny spot of the beauty that cannot be spoken.
I’m like an ant that’s gotten into the granary, ludicrously happy, and trying to lug out a grain that’s way too big.
We are all traveling together, friend and foe, daughters and fathers, mothers and sons, victims and perpetrators, friends and lovers, christians and pagans, muslims and hindus, gay and straight,
One of my favorite Krishna Das stories is how he realized one day that even though he was often in resistance and running as fast as he could towards the back of the train, he was still on the train. And there was only one destination.
No matter how much we resist, separate, or judge we are still on the train. Destination God. Or whatever you want to call that divine life force that moves through all of us.
In traditional tarot the ace of each suite is a glorious mystery: the initial expression of the energies of air, fire, water, and earth. The image is of a hand coming out of the sky gifting the quality of each element.
I like to imagine (it is an impossible, silly image but stay with me…) that long, long ago the train started off with separate cars that were the initial gift of human expression handed down from the skies: atheists here, Zoroastrians there, native americans here, africans there, gay men here, straight women there. And then the party began. Colors, religions, sexual expression, gender, you name it started raising their glasses to each other and blending. Now that the celebration continues to ripple from engine to caboose all the doors are open wide and people are a wonderful blend of creative magic.
I am a white, bisexual, agnostic raised pagan-Toltec-rosary wielding woman raised in Asia with a touch of African and Native American blood. I love people who are transgender, latino former catholics, african-native-white lesbians who work in construction, and mormon-turned-buddhist moms married to jewish atheists. Glorious.
Of course there are still some cars on the train pretending like they are separate, singular, superior. But they are on the same train, too.
There are some who say, this train belongs to me!
There are some who proclaim, there is no train, and they are right, but often not in the way they think.
We are all traveling together, friends.
Look for the tiny spots of beauty that cannot be spoken.
And today be ludicrously happy. Wrap your arms around the biggest grain and hug tight.