I Dare You

I dare you…

…to look into the eyes of this turtle, with her broken shell and the strand of grass poking out, and tell me you do not see the Radiance.
*****

I dare you…

…to peer into the sapphire and emerald pools of the dragonfly (I met him last week in a wheat field), and tell me the Temple of Life is not open and wide and shimmering.
*****

I dare you…

… to look into the eyes of the little girl I travel with and tell me you don’t see angel-hood. Surely you see it. Not because I am hers but because her entire being sings the angel. It is exactly the same with the one you belong to.

Stop reading. Go and see for yourself.

Go now.
*****

Here is an invitation. Come with me…

…kneel at my side in a desert wash. Wait quietly as a herd of javelina rounds a bend of volcanic rock. Breathe in the thunder of your fear as you meet one eye-to-eye. Then tell me that your beauty, or mine, is greater than hers. I dare you.
*****

Here is another invitation. There are so many…

…go out and kneel in the forest when the spring symphony is tuning up. Find a fern like the one I met a few weeks back. Look closely. Tell me the sac sheltering him, before his unfurling into a brand new world, is different than the sac you broke through—or I broke through—to burst into the sunlit land.

We are made of the very same juice. The burden is yours to tell me how different we are. Will you try?

*****

I dare you…

…to live a life as intimate as this, to sleep with someone else’s feet in your face. To trust like this. To dream like this.

I dare you to tell me this is not exactly what the Divine Spirit offers us every day, were we brave enough. It takes so little to open the heart-door and so much to keep it closed.

(I must add a little more to this picture: these four-legged friends live with a couple of two-legged Tucsonans who live on the City’s streets).

Do you think these four-leggeds are homeless, then?

Have you ever trusted like this in your entire life?

Have you?
*****

I dare you…

…to look into the galaxy of this raven’s eye. I met her in the Grand Canyon on Christmas Day. Convince me she has nothing to teach you and me. Get closer. Peer into the tiny glimmer. She will let you. I promise she is more curious about you, than you are learning to be about her.

Do you see yourself?

Give it another try.
Soften your gaze.
Breathe deeply.
Just for a moment, let everything else disappear.
Can you feel the knowing in you rise up, shake itself awake, shout : “At Last!”
*****

There is always time to begin. Begin now.

Say to the turtle: How beautiful you are in your cracked shell with the bit of grass sticking out. Your eyes glow like moonlight.

And to the dragonfly: Hover a moment and tell me a story of what it is like to soar each day over a golden field of wheat.

And to your beloved four-legged: Train me to see my angel-hood, too. Laugh at me when I take you to a Blessing of the Animals, you who never left the Blessing: not for a single minute of a single hour of a single day. Help me to see I live in the Blessing, too. I forget sometimes. Lick me whenever I forget.

Actually, you lick me a lot already.

*****

Open your heart.

Try being brave.

Sleep with feet in your face.

I dare you.

No, I double-dare you.

June 7, 2013 | Categories: Mysticism, Nature, Nones, Spirituality | Tags: Blessing of the Animals, box turtle, desert wash, dragonfly, javelina, nature, raven, Sonoran desert, trust, Tucson homeless | 9 Comments