When It Happens

When it happens:

it's when it happens by itself, let's call it grace, and most often it's in those early hours before the hint of dawn, sky still holding to the edge of night, yet the world seems to know that light is soon. There's a sense of shifting patterns, time is different at this hour, things  seem to linger for a last embrace of dark before morning parts its way. 

secrets are shared and grace is given.

when it happens.

for me, this is the hour of a quiet mind, and not just for myself alone but for the world it seems. There's a collective hush, as if we're afraid to startle ourselves and move too soon from this place between realms. Night still holds a certain claim to those awake now, the mind is slower, thoughts not yet prevalent in their normal sense of rush. Nothing is hurried. And this is when it sometimes happens, grace appears, and everything seems to settle to a point of letting go, appearance and surrender happening at once and seen now as the very same, nothing lasting beyond the span of a single breath taken, and yet nothing lost as well. Whatever's found within this moment truly belongs, completely as it is, exact, and is immediately let go to become a new appearance, something other, but somehow still the same, remaining true as essence, the energy of some singular expression. Breathing in...I am...and with this comes an identity of self and history, a future full of hope and expectations. Breathing out and suddenly I'm gone, surrendered to the moment, only presence now, aware, accepting. 

with another breath...

and I'm everything at once.

self and selfless, presence, appearance as well as the motion of its surrender. There's just no difference any longer, no, it's always been a seamless moment, and only now it's seen. It's grace, and it happens by itself, most often in those morning hours before the hint of dawn. But of course it's always this way and these early hours before dawn only reveal the open secret of existence. 

it's when it happens by itself, seeing, spontaneous in my surrender, grace - and this is why I wake so early, to have my own secret whispered to me again through the voiceless language spoken and heard only in the hours before dawn. It can happen anytime, every moment is its own revelation. Yet it's those early hours that draw me from bed, urging my awakening...

whispering. 

and I listen.

~

Peace, Eric