The sphere of life stops when a miracle happens,
pauses fully on its axis to say “What was that?”.
Albeit brief, we rarely notice the monumental moment,
for we speed on even when we get nowhere.
A miracle,
this thing that leaves a tiny gold dust pile on the knees of a healer,
awakens a life just before the door of death,
graces the sky blue sky with a rainbow on a sunny day-
and we just keep moving.
This sphere we ride on
rotates at the exact rate needed
to paint the seasons,
stun us with eclipses,
and keep us from all falling off.
This sphere we ride on
with its raucous hot, bubbling center,
jostling for position tectonic plates,
and mountain building rebel heart
slowly shows her majesty one layer of life at a time.
She stuns us
to awaken us
from this deep sleep
of vacillation between control and out of control.
Her billions year old self,
she tells a story about
our silliness,
our righteousness,
our huff and puff as if the house is ours to blow down,
but it’s not.
So let’s sit
for one minute
and ponder how the gold dust fell onto the healers knees
until we realize
that
we
are
just
too
small
to ever really get it.
Then,
we can just ride the sphere,
before the sun,
and
shine humbly
right here
just
because.
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