Turning a Corner

by ali

I walk a lakeside, wooded trail several times a week. In fact, I’ve traversed this particular 1.5 mile loop in every season and at every time of day. The lake is lovely, with swans or blue heron, turtles or fish; I even saw an otter once. But this day, I struggled with inner silence. My mind raced from perceived mistakes of the past to worries about the future. I wanted to practice shifting from the worried mind into the serenity of present time—the sweet, eternal moment of Soul itself.

It was a sunny, cool spring morning with azure sky and puffy white clouds that reflected on the lake’s surface. Half an hour into my walk, I rounded a corner to see two geese sitting in the water close to shore. Their stillness surprised me, so I paused to watch and listen. That’s when I saw the reason for their soft, throaty sounds and perfect stillness. Six puffball goslings were pecking at the shore, eating just as fast as they could, sometimes swimming close to the edge just to climb up slightly farther away.

Surprised, I inhaled audibly. Now I stood completely still so the parents would know I was safe. The goslings had their full attention on food, and I had my full attention on their yellow fluffy cuteness.

After several minutes, the gander began very slowly turning to the center of the lake and moving out. The goose did the same, and the goslings gathered to re-enter the water, following mom and dad. One remained in the water close to shore, seeking snacks on the surface of the lake. By the time he looked up, his family had swum a way’s away. He paddled with the effort of his whole body to catch up with his siblings, swaying side to side as he left a wake in his path.

As they all gathered to swim to another feeding spot, I resumed my walk on the trail. May the blessings be, family, I said quietly, and I thanked them for sharing a moment of life’s journey. Just their presence had lifted me up and put me into present time.

Mirabel

by ali

It was closing night of a one-act play festival in the small town of South Salem. A theater company set up in the basement of an Episcopal Church mounted seven short plays about different kinds of love. Ten-year-old Mirabel [not her real name or photo] stood in the dressing room area just off stage left. As the second play performed, she stepped into her bulky, white snowsuit costume to be ready in time, for she was on next.

Mirabel struggled throughout the run with the snow jacket’s zipper. A seasoned actress who used to teach first grade (and was good with zippers) often helped her complete the task. But tonight, something subtle was about to shift.

We had to be very quiet backstage. Mirabel made a face as she struggled with the zipper, then looked at me and laughed a silent laugh. She tried again—expressing more comedic frustration. I moved ever so slightly towards her with eyebrows raised in the unspoken question, would you like some help? She shook her head no and mouthed, I want to get it myself.

That’s when I recognized what I call a God moment—an experience outside of time and space where we have the opportunity to hold and wait while divine love steps in. I stood still and went silent inside. I breathed. I held space in my heart, space for Mirabel to find her own unique way to meet her challenge. The world went into slow motion, like a feeling of suspended animation. I knew only unconditional love for the Soul in front of me and how precious she was to the Divine.

On her next attempt, the bottom of the zipper caught the track. She looked up at me, mouth open in surprise and delight. I smiled back.

Minutes later, that young actress took the stage with the confidence of a champion. Lines? Easy. Character? No problem. Zipper? Conquered.

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Heaven on Earth

by ali

Do heaven and earth ever meet?

I look out from my office window onto the fresh, white barn and newly mown field. A tree across the way lets go a few leaves, and I watch as they float on a soft breeze. It’s August—summer with a promise of fall, changing colors, and letting go.

This past year has been filled with endings—death of step-father, father, mother, marriage. Selling a house and moving three times in seven months. Two significant health challenges that brought me to the edge. Letting go of dreams and hopes and people and interpretations, of ways I identified myself and perceived this moment.

Letting go, too, of harsh self-criticism, abandonment, attempts to control others and the stories they choose, of expecting anything of anyone. In sum, growing up to the reality that life owes me nothing and everything can change in a heartbeat.

During this time of intense purification, I found a unexpected gem. It’s something I call a God moment—an experience outside of time and space where divine love makes itself known. To access the opportunity to perceive these moments in daily life required inner stillness and silence on my part. A kind of quiet expectation that truth or love might at any moment be revealed. And I would be present to It.

Writing about these moments every week changed me. I was getting direct spiritual nutrition without needing to depend on anyone or anything else. I only needed to lean on Life Itself to show me its secrets. I once told a friend that without a certain conscious awareness, we literally miss the miracles. We can’t perceive them; it’s as if we’re living in a parallel reality where they are invisible.

But just because you can’t see something, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Or exist for you—yet. My coaching practice is built on the moment that has yet to be revealed. Where heaven and earth meet in a transcendent experience of awe and respect for this that we call Life.

Watch what I mean in the coming weeks as I post God-moment stories in flash non-fiction format to inspire you to find your own. I welcome you to share yours with everyone you meet and help awaken us all.