Ice Storm

Reflections on an Ice Storm



December 16 2010



We are a spark of God

Encapsulated for a moment in our body --

Atoms borrowed from the earth.

As light flashes from a drop of ice clinging to a branch --

Transient twinkling matter within the swirl of vast, eternal love --

Our body channels spirit, revealing endless beauty:

Singing, working, moving, making, feeding, resting –

Our every act is prayer, proclaiming God.



Reflection:

This morning has been icy. The canvas was primed before dawn with an inch of beautiful white snow, and then the ice started falling. I love the fleeting beauty of the bare winter trees whose branches are suddenly coated with dangling ice diamonds. Their splendor seems like an answer to the prayers I’ve uttered in seeking to understand the purpose of my time on earth within the context of eternal spirit. The holidays this year engender sadness – regret for things that are no more. In contrast, God produces a sparkling canvas of transient loveliness, reminding me that I can experience this winter moment in many ways. I find sadness in a day spent housebound by the frailties of an aging body in relation to the risks posed by ice. But I can’t help but smile and feel the inner joy of spirit when I look out the window at the bountiful and gratuitous beauty to be found there. Ice droplets remind me to smile with joy.

Broadway Bus

The Broadway Bus December 5 2010


God was riding on the bus tonight.

Our uptown bus, near midnight,

Was filled with people going home:

The woman with the inch long lashes and the crimson nails

Sitting opposite, talking on her shiny bright red phone,

Telling someone she was Disney’s newest princess

And that when she sent her picture in they’d animate her;

The mother with the tired child -- A six year old swathed in

Hat and hood and gloves who stumbled as she grabbed his arm

Saying that he had to stay awake and walk;

The florid, smiling gent who strode through toward the rear,

His plaid Dickensian cape billowing across our seats,

His top hat gleaming;

The follower of Krishna in his orange garb,

The robe parting in the middle from behind to show his lean and hairy legs

Emerging out of sagging socks and hiking boots;

The tiny, smiling woman with gray hair and cane,

Falling into the seat beside me as the bus lurched forward;

Older couples, bundled up against the cold, eyelids drooping even as they

Smiled and talked about the shows they’d seen.

In our tired diversity, we showed our human side,

Our illusions about our lives and why they matter.

Yet God is all and all is God, and

Together, sparks of God, we shared divinity diversely riding on the bus uptown.


Reflection:

New York is nothing if not diverse. Every trip, no matter what the way of traveling, is an adventure, an encounter with the unexpected, the lavish wealth of human expression. I had spent the weekend at my seminary classes, contemplating “Who am I?” and “Who is God?” -- learning that in the Jewish tradition, God is one with all creation, that our majestic diversity of expression comes entirely from the divine source and expresses divine nature. Within that context, our lumbering, lurching bus began to seem like Noah’s Ark, carrying forward into the future a random assortment of God’s human expressions. I was fascinated, as always, with our infinite variety and our sublime godness. It was a moment of prayerful gratitude for having this experience.