Who really knows if we find words or if words find us. Sometimes I almost feel as though I am made for a moment and in that moment, if I surrender to it, a beauty takes shape. I experience this all the time when I am teaching - as though the words and the lessons just come, flowing out without effort.

When life is like this, we are channelers of sorts. Moved through. Moved with. Moved by. Maybe this explains why I have always loved my river so much. My whole life, it has carried me places, no effort.

Tonight after yoga I felt restored having practiced many poses of surrender. These are my favorite. Where you lay it down on the mat. You be a witness to your conscious mind and possess the unconscious, the failing, the yeilding, the exposing. You let those things that hold you down go with gravity and return to the earth. In the end it makes you lighter. Your eyes clearer. Your heart wiser.

Before I sat to write tonight the verse "you anoint my head with oil, my cup runs over, goodness and mercies follow me and I forever dwell in the house of a most high god" was very strong in me. As though I could not escape it. Earlier today, I was bogged down, having spent the last several days feeling rushed and pulled and trying to catch up.

I'm not sure why we choose the illusions of life. When instead we should acknowledge that our dwelling is a house with a most high god. This god anoints us with oil, a sacred and very personal spiritual practice. In fact, my life cannot contain the goodness, it overflows on every side.

My practice dispels the fear that the world wants me to take on. We can live where we want to live. There are no strong men holding us to one place. We should flow and move. We should graciously give and recive alabastar jars full of precious oils.

*** After just visiting George, I've decided to post a prayer from his new zenbaptist blog that fits nicely here:

I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.

I want to free what waits within me

so that what no one has dared to wish for

may for once spring clear

without my contriving.

*

If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,

but this is what I need to say.

May what I do flow from me like a river,

no forcing and no holding back,

the way it is with children.

*

Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,

these deepening tides moving out, returning,

I will sing you as no one ever has,

streaming through widening channels

into the open sea.

*

Rilke