We have been nesting since Wednesday. We celebrated thanks and abundance on Thursday. We shared leftovers with neighbors and were free from shopping on Friday. At night we sat out by our backyard fire. We watched the moon, the lights on the water, free from ‘to do’s,’ ‘got to,’ or even a ‘want to.’ Our state evolved into questions from our harvest.
What is our plenty? What can we share? Where have we been? Where might we go? What are our wishes?
We realized the power of our words.
Our thoughts are continually flowing with words. Sometimes with messages, sometimes distractions, like letters meaninglessly popping out of a lottery basket.
At worst, our words are an insult to our integrity. At best, a chance to make sense, a recapitulation, of all the
best we have learned and dreamed.
Words with value that connect us to higher forces. Essence words like Grace that raise our spirit, soften our edges, and light our path, bringing curiosity, interest, and appreciation worthy of joy and gratitude.
Words of kindness we offer to each other that shine back on us. It is our spoken words that make us communicators and creators. That free us to choose, decide and act. It is our words that bring us into participation, the verb that makes life a party.
Words of mercy and forgiveness, of wishes and hope, words of questioning the age-long and ageless meanings reflected back in prayer’s asking for guidance and peace.
On Thanksgiving, Grace is said as a prayer. Not a petition of want, but words that connect our feet to the earth, our hearts with each other and heads on the heavens. These words of Grace connect our journey with our aspirations. A remembrance of how in this moment life fits together.
The word Namaste is that word, this day and always.
