A Moment of Reverence

How do you show reverence for life? How do you not let all your attention land on the what’s for dinner decision, the who gets the car dilemma, the leaking faucet, the constant demands for attention to things that are of such low stakes you despair of wasting even a glance at them, and yet are forced into deep, intensely debated, agonizingly long discussions that suck out all your carefully collected energy?

I hear a smash, clearly broken glass, outside of my carefully locked study door.

I drop a stitch in the story I’m writing, my heroine abandoned mid-sentence. I hear arguments, wisps of the discussion float through. The bowl for a visiting cat, an unaware kick, an unintentional breaking. Yelling and ‘hold the dog’ and ‘grab the cat’ and ‘put on shoes.’ And then the sound of a vacuum cleaner. More arguing. Accusations made. Defenses offered. Me half out of my chair, ready to go help, and yet.

And yet.

And yet. I was showing reverence for life, just then. In my way.

So I sat down, fought my way back to my heroine, found the rest of her sentence. And then the next one.

Sometimes my reverence for life is to clean up the broken bowl.

Sometimes, though, my reverence is to not clean up the broken bowl.

“There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.”  -Rumi

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