My orchid in 2012 with one bloom stalk. It is beginning its blooming now and has 20 bloom stalks. It likes its present site in my window near the computer.
GIFTS I. Easter Sunday, April 20, 2014
The only essential is this: the gift must always move.–Lewis Hyde
I describe myself as gifted, but what
are my gifts? First, my Deep Self
guides me. I follow, even when
bewildered. My words resonate
with a power given to me, and I
must give them away. Some people
brush past me, look the other way,
even castigate me behind my back,
fearing my power, which I scarcely
notice. I’m seeing what’s there
and speaking out. When my mind
gets foggy and I’m discouraged,
something mysterious breaks through.
Suddenly the yellow green leaves
in the awakening woods are
illumined by morning sun, a gift
that dissipates the fog. Or I meet
a woman who knows who I am,
and her words rush out. “I want
to take a class with you, even
a chicken workshop. I want to
write.” I hand her my supper tray
to hold while I dig out a pen and
write down her email on a paper
napkin. She knows what I give.
Parents, grandparents, wise
teachers, and elders have given
to me, and I have used those
gifts well. I’ve written books,
shared how I think and live.
Sometimes it feels like no one
notices, but then someone holds
my new book up and calls it
“fascinating.” I must give my
gifts away as fast as I can while
I have breath. I see people
more accurately now, see them
whole, tragic flaws and all.
I see myself as others see me.
Some shy away as if afraid
to be scorched by my inner
sun which keeps burning
in my being’s core.