When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
What was your earliest experience of The Unknowable, of The One, of God? How old were you when you first came to know that you were a part of something great and magnificent, vast, wondrous and loving?
I am not sure how old I was, but I was young, very young, perhaps, four- or five-years-old. My holy habit was to lay on my stomach in the green grass of our well-kept yard and look for Four Leaf Clovers. I still remember how soft the grass felt, how sweet it smelled, and how much fun it was to gently separate the longer pieces with my fingers in the hope of finding a tiny treasure tucked in there somewhere. Eureka! To find such a gem was the hallmark of my day.
Yet, more was stirring beneath the skies on those days, a feeling within me as I rested there—body cradled by earth and caressed by sun—of complete well being and belonging. A sense of being connected to everything, and that this everything was perfect just as it was. And Something, Something, had put this whole majestic scene together, including me. We all belonged together—earth and sky, Something and me.
Since those early days of clover hunting, Nature has consistently served as the portal for my connection to the Divine. And today was no exception.
Decades later, I find myself on the grass again. This time on a protective blanket, pillow under my head (because comfort matters more today than when I was young), gazing up at three sister maples, azure blue sky in the background, with nuthatches and chickadees darting up and down their branches. It has been years—eons, it seems—since I have rested under the firmament this way. No clock, no sense of time, only the movement of the sun across the sky. I turn on my side and surrender to the hum of cicadas, a sweet lullaby for the woman child in me who longs to connect with the Something on this most perfect of days; to remember the Oneness, the feeling of timeless belonging to Something so much grander than myself, and give myself over to its embrace.
Eyes closing, I drift and surrender to the song. I am a child again and the Divine One welcomes me as I am. Glory be.
I no longer search for Four Leaf Clovers. In fact, I stopped searching for anything a long time ago. Today, on this most precious blue-sky day, I simply let me go, for the only thing that prevents me from feeling the blessing of oneness is myself.
The child we were, the one who knew the hug of earth and kiss of sky, still lives in us, and is eager to reconnect with the Sacred as we did then. All we have to do is get our adult (oh, so mature) self out of the way and let go. Let go into Something. Or Nothing. Or Everything.
What was your earliest experience of the Sacred as a child? How did this experience shape your adult spirituality?
is a touchpoint. a resting place, a "remembering" of who we really are and how we are meant to live.
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Janice Lynne Lundy, DMin
is an educator, interspiritual director/guide and retreat leader who has been pointing people back toward the Sacred for more than twenty years. She is the author of several spiritual growth books, including Your Truest Self, My Deepest Me and Portable Peace., and is the co-founder and director of the Spiritual Guidance Training Institute.