FADING GLORY

All glory fades, and rises again in a different form. Currently it is summer blossoms. Last week it was a particularly lovely Sufi Dance. Outside in the yard the glory of my son's odd dog, Oliver, is fading...yet he valiantly tries to play with the other dogs, and hoarsely requests my attention. (He is basset hound and blue healer, resembling a pig in size, increasingly deaf and simply adores being petted.)

Has my own glory faded? I rather think it has changed. Just yesterday I noticed my ambition has receded. Where once I would jump at the chance to have input on state legislation that is being considered for Guardian ad Litems, I chose to send a note to my younger GAL buddy, encouraging her to "be in on the ground floor!" My drive to influence, shape, contribute to local causes is all but gone. Guilt arises sometimes because I have been a mover and shaker in both Missoula and Hamilton on various issues. But even the guilt subsides! I am moved to do exactly what I'm doing.

Has my "personal" radiance/glory changed? I imagine it has changed color, probably increased in its subtle vibrance in the world. My mission each day beyond my family is to be patient in stores, be kind to drivers, encourage babies to smile and play, and thank parents with babies for doing such hard work. And the other, equally important mission, is to write, write, write...whatever comes to mind, in whatever form, with or without goal. It has been such a long held dream, for a half century, and now it manifests: time for writing! Like autumn crocus, bearer of precious saffron, I arise through the chilling soil to offer soft purple pink petals and five tiny stamens bearing tasty yellow pollen, prized the world over.

My pride in "my" glory is definitely fading fast. Not much is really mine...a few cells, a fragile identity. The strong driving force moving me from day to day arrives from some other unknown but beneficent benefactor, to whom I am increasingly surrendered. Without that One, I wilt, like the squash leaves this morning, that overnight turned into brown umbrellas for the chickadees as they search for seeds.
That One Glory never fades; the fading only occurs in the vessels it uses. That Glory sends a continuous stream of Life to musicians, artists, writers, children, healers, doctors, researchers, politicians, generals, mothers, farmers, harvesters and monks...oh the list is endless through how many years now? Eight thousand? And moving right along, through me, and you, and your arch enemy.

As the earth rolls on, into the dark each day, my energy diminishes, more dramatically now than it did in summer. Then comes another sunrise. Glory be, I'm here again! On we go!