I. The
Searching

I have been
following the Mystery for years.  Every
now and again I catch a glimpse of it in unexpected places: the patterns of
roots spreading through the ground, the swirl of milk in a cup of coffee.  Of course I discern the Mystery in the places
one would figure it resides: your eyes, for example, reflect luminous aspects
of the Mystery; the faces of the flowers nodding as you pass, reveal the
reverence the Mystery feels for all things; and the voices of children singing
rings out the Mystery clearer perhaps than anything else—for me, that is. 

There have
been however, exquisitely surprising and terrible moments when the Mystery sneaks
up on me when I least expect it and blankets me with wonder.  Exquisite because the warmth of being held in
the Mystery is like being surrounded by the softest glow of the kindest hands;
terrible because the light it brings exposes my frailties and my hypocrisies
and I am forced to rethink, relive, and once again, allow myself to be reborn,
which is rarely easy. 

The Mystery
also swathes me in darkness.  When I am
open, the Mystery descends (or rises, depending on where it is traveling from)
and surrounds me like a moon-lit night, where the darkness is deep, yet tinged silver
with the light of the moon and the encouraging faces of the stars.  It is then, when I am able to sink into the
mystery and let it enfold me.  And I
needn’t worry about the opinions of others. 
I can just be myself. 

Some would
say this vision stems from a mother-hunger, a yearning to return to the womb,
and I wouldn’t argue.  The Mystery is the
Divine Mother—Mother Nature, Mother Moon, Mother of God, Mother Lakshmi, Mother
Ocean, Mother of All Flowers and Wings. 
And so the Mystery seeks to enshroud me with soul-nourishing darkness,
not to smother or possess me, but to set me free—to allow me to be born into the
freedom that the owl enjoys, that the manta ray enjoys,
that the tiger enjoys, that the frog enjoys—the
Mystery wants me drenched with bliss, like morning grass kissed with dew.  It wants me cleansed of all fear and rage and
prejudices.  It wants me free to explore
the dark waters that it pours unceasingly and graciously into my being—for many
gifts and provisions are gathered in the folds of these night waters.

And yes, the
Mystery is the Father of Light.  It
radiates the dawn when I am most lost and unsure of myself.  It ignites fires in my mind and heart and
stories flood across the page.  The
Father-hunger that rumbles through my insides is also filled by the Mystery.  For the Mystery is Father Sky, Father Sun,
Father God, Father Mountain, Father Buffalo, and Father Whale.  

And the
Mystery is the Holy Child roaming through the fields of my soul hiding
treasures for me to discover, healing each bud and leaf with the touch of His
hand.  The best is when I let Him find
me; let Him sidle up beside me unannounced and slip His hand in mine; let Him
appear in my dreams, like an angel and tell me secrets; let His faith burrow
into my doubts and upturn them like soil needing to be tilled; let His singing
thread through my fears like golden light. 
He loves to visit mostly when I am creating (playing) writing, chanting,
or playing with children.  Sometimes He
appears while I’m sweeping the floor or driving the kids to one thing or another
and suddenly the road floods with gratitude because He has seen a marvelous
sunset through my eyes.

And so I seek the Mystery…I seek it because it
gives me joy—this adventure of spirit and of bones, fossils and of flowers.  It awakens things within me; a yearning to be
born, to blossom, to be ignited, and to shine.

II. The Sharing

So when the
Mystery comes, let us walk from our places of worship or rise from reading our
holy books, and walk gently, for we hold within the cup of our hands the
tiniest flame, the littlest mustard seed…and it is ours, and it is real.  Share it with the awesome responsibility of
being truly loving, truly kind, and truly compassionate.  Let us turn to our neighbor and offer the fruits
of the Mystery that we have gathered, the ones given to us, the ones we’ve
discovered after years of searching.  Let
us offer them with patience, the patience of the night, the patience of the
horizon, the patience of the lighthouse. 
And since our eyes are mirrors, when we share our gifts, let us look for
ourselves in the eyes of the other, look for how we would like to be treated—look
for the dignity and the gentleness; the unyielding, fierce wisdom; truly see
each other, see each other’s suffering and pain, see each other’s little (and
grand) victories, so when we offer our cup of revelations, it may be welcomed and
nurturing, sweet, and refreshing.  Let
the Mystery speak through us so that all beings may live freely and securely,
nestled in the endlessly spreading wings of the Divine.

Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog