It is not everyday I hear the universe speaks directly to me. That's probably because I don't listen most of the time. The rare moments I think I hear something, I pretend she is not speaking to me. I think because I am afraid. I am constantly afraid of something. Perhaps it's why I like my life status quo: Predictable. Comfortable. Secure. Adult-like. Mature.
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The universe spoke loudly at me today. She told me in my face - again - that I could not possibly fail if I do things out of love. And then she showed me Rumi's teaching that I was born with wings, and that I am to learn to use them, and fly. It all sounds really New Age-y, very ethereal. But it is not like that. Let me tell you today's story.
I baked a loaf of cinnamon swirl bread for my good friend Mo this weekend. What I didn't know was that Mo's older boy is constantly on medication for certain conditions. As a result and a side effect, the boy is very particular about his food. In Mo's words, getting the boy to approve a food item is harder than winning an Oscar. It is a constant challenge.
The boy absolutely loved my bread. Gobbled it all up. Asked for more, only to face disappointment that they have finished the whole loaf overnight.
My bread won the People's Choice compared to the "super premium" cinnamon bread that costs $7 a loaf at the upscale Metropolitan Market. I saw in my head the thrill and joy on my friend's - a caring mother's - face, watching her boy devoured a wholesome plate of food with glee.
Now, I don't know why my bread tastes so good. I REALLY don't. I am not professionally trained. These are not recipes I developed. These are recipes I found on the internet; anybody who is able to follow instructions carefully can replicate. I am not a specially skilled baker. I am a novice home-baker. No more and no less. There is nothing self-deprecating about these facts.
But today, more than any day, I get it. The magic has always been my heart. The healing powers have always been love, care, and passion. The bread is just a vessel that carries the magic. We cannot possibly fail when we do things out of love, care, and passion.
When we care deeply about something, yet doing it with no attachment to the outcome, that's where magic happens.
A million reasons to turn to my deaf ears, and pretend not to listen. A million reasons to stay predictable, comfortable, adult. A million reasons to be afraid. What would be the one reason to say "yes"? When do I use my wings? And fly?
This is where a chapter's finale becomes another's beginning.
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