Borrowed Bones

Once in a while, we are given moments of real grace. Moments of knowing who we are, not by surface markers of identity, not by where we work or how we dress, but by feeling our tender place in this world. And rather than finding ourselves in everything, we find everything in ourselves.

In the end, nobody keeps any of what they have. Life is only a borrowing of bones. And so, while our hearts still beat, we must remember that everything is right where we are. All of life is in whatever moment we wake to. 

We try so hard to find what we need - what we want - outside of ourselves. We chase after objects, people, experiences. We become masters at climbing the mountains of the world instead of breaking trail into our center. We become masters at seducing strangers to feel loved instead of embracing the softer, less perfect aspects of who we are. 

In the end, seeking only brings us to the edge of knowing ourselves. If we never look inward we become experts of life on the edge. We become chronic amnesiacs of spirit, seldomly unlocking what all our seeking means. 

In order to find true peace - true grace - we must take a genuine risk inside. 

Our aliveness depends on our ability to generate and sustain wonder inside ourselves, for ourselves. To lengthen the moments we are truly uncovered, beneath our borrowed bones. To be still and quiet until all of the elements and activity of this earth stir the facets of infinite, boundless life waiting within us.