A Meditation on the East
Oh the thrill of standing still at day break
Facing the East and drinking in the golden beams
That pierce morning cloud and gild my face, even the lilies,
As the dawn proclaims a new day, this shiny penny placed in my palm by grandfather sky.
How will I spend it, this marvelous gift?
I must choose wisely, for grandfather's great eye sees all.
Today is the day I will climb higher, see more, do better,
Embrace more, love more, know more, taste more and ponder all the verbs that God is.
The ball of fire rises and warms the air,
Ecstatic molecules swirling and swooping up mountains, through valleys,
Careening off cliffs, sailing verdant plains and soaring over searing deserts,
Lifting birds, filling sails, flying kites, turning windmills and filling my lungs until I think they will burst.
Like Black Elk, I see from the mountaintop the sacred hoop of my people below,
And with ascending consciousness circling on feathered wings, I see ever more hoops loom into view,
Revealing for all who can see that the many hoops are one great circle.
At that moment Grandfather sky whispers in my ear the sacred truth that all creation is one.
Just for a moment, let me be the eagle who knows the secret in her mind's eye
As she touches the earth here, the water there and now the bluest sky
Refusing to choose only one.
For life is seeing, seeking and soaring—and most of all—hoping at sunrise.
Facing the East and drinking in the golden beams
That pierce morning cloud and gild my face, even the lilies,
As the dawn proclaims a new day, this shiny penny placed in my palm by grandfather sky.
How will I spend it, this marvelous gift?
I must choose wisely, for grandfather's great eye sees all.
Today is the day I will climb higher, see more, do better,
Embrace more, love more, know more, taste more and ponder all the verbs that God is.
The ball of fire rises and warms the air,
Ecstatic molecules swirling and swooping up mountains, through valleys,
Careening off cliffs, sailing verdant plains and soaring over searing deserts,
Lifting birds, filling sails, flying kites, turning windmills and filling my lungs until I think they will burst.
Like Black Elk, I see from the mountaintop the sacred hoop of my people below,
And with ascending consciousness circling on feathered wings, I see ever more hoops loom into view,
Revealing for all who can see that the many hoops are one great circle.
At that moment Grandfather sky whispers in my ear the sacred truth that all creation is one.
Just for a moment, let me be the eagle who knows the secret in her mind's eye
As she touches the earth here, the water there and now the bluest sky
Refusing to choose only one.
For life is seeing, seeking and soaring—and most of all—hoping at sunrise.
