The Aroma of God

Today I mowed the lawn. I have always loved the smell of freshly cut grass, and have never met anyone who did not, despite allergies. The other night on my way home from Wichita I drove with the windows down. I made a mental inventory of the smells that delighted me.
The first was the odor of oil being pumped out of the ground just north of Park City. Northbound on K15 I smelled the freshly plowed earth with its deep hardy redolence; newly cut hay and alfalfa; and skunk, of course. When I buy feed for the horses, goats, and chickens I do not always get it into the barn the same afternoon. After a day or so the whole car is saturated with the sweet smell of feed. Around "Soggy Bottom" there are lots of other smells from all the animals, their barns, and manure. An old friend of mine, Ray Haynes" always said his dairy barn smelled like money to him.
I also love the smell of ink in a new book; the blend of coffee, bacon, and homemade biscuits; fresh rain; new babies; and night blooming jasmine that bloomed outside my window when I was a boy.
Olfactory senses must have memory. There are times when I suddenly smell my grandfather's pipe, even though no one is smoking around me. I also smell the cane syrup my grandmother served with her pancakes on Saturday morning. Sometimes these are combined and I am flooded with wonderful memories and comfort.
I dare say, these are the aromas of God, like the scent of a woman. It is a scent that is unique to each and all of her parts - natural and artificial. Combined they offer the bouquet of Mother Earth, the very manifestation of the Sacred One. What is God like? Go outside and take a deep breath. I close with this bit of Celtic blessing from G.R.D. McLean's Celtic Spiritual Verse.
O God, bless my homestead,
Bless thou all in there.
O God, bless my kindred
Bless thou my life share.

Transformation

The first-planted milo is now a burnt umber. Soy plants are turning yellow. Feed corn stand in faded brown. Sumac, maples, and locust trees offer a pale golden hint of red and orange. The Jerusalem Artichokes are a riot of bright sun blossoms against the blue Kansas sky. The ones pictured here grow close to our house. The sunflower plants are in full head facing the east, waiting for the resurrection. I saw the first wooly worm when I was mowing yesterday. My friend, Karen, says that she is seeing the first signs of winter coat on her horses.
Something is changing this mid-September. The Farmer's Almanac says that it will be a long and cold winter with lots of snow.
What the Buddhists teach me is the impermanence of life. Life is always changing. So much suffering is self-inflicted as we grab hold of some one, some idea, some thing, and hold on to it for dear life. Of course we do not understand that we strangle the dear life out of her in the process of holding on.
My Christian tradition teaches me that our lives are sacred journeys and every day is a gift to discern how we are traveling and to what destiny does God intend us? We are always on the move. We often get blown off course, of course. We sometimes go the wrong direction. And there are all kinds of things to worry about like storms, shoals, and an unruly crew. The worst mistake that we can make is to stay anchored in harbor, as if harbors never change.
I have certainly made many mistakes on my journey. There were missed career opportunities, moral lapses, and just plumb dumb decisions. It is not a good thing when the crew mutinies and you are the crew! But despite all of that, the Spirit of God still fills my sails and moves me in the right direction. I am learning to sail deeper currents, when to change course, and when to tack. And yes, there is a time to drop anchor and rest and resupply - for the next voyage.
Change has brought heartache and wonderful gifts. In the course of my life's changes I have met and married Mimi, we have a beautiful daughter, an expanding family, and so many gifts I cannot list them all here.
From the book of Judith we read, "A new song we will sing to You."

The Transparent Soul

As a child growing up in Florida, I would often lie down on the grass under the bright sun. After a time it seemed to me that the light and warmth of the sun flowed right through me into the soil. I could not tell a difference between the sun, my body, and the earth. It was very much like leaning my head on my mother's breast as she sang Judy Garland songs.
I had a similar experience snorkeling off of Spanish Wells, Bahamas. The surf that surrounds that island is relatively shallow. I was right on the surface of the water, peering down onto a large colony of sea urchins, like the one pictured here from the University of Massachusetts. Again, the sun was shining on my back. I could feel and see a change of light as a small rain cloud passed overhead. In the distance the pitter-patter of rain could be heard. It danced with cold feet on my back. The cloud moved on and the heat returned. In the meantime I watched the silent world below me as black tentacles swayed in the current.
There was no distinction between ocean, urchin, body, sun, cloud, and rain. Everything was one whole piece of life. My mind was the sieve that observed the harmony and beauty that flowed through it. I do not presume to call this enlightenment, but it was a profoundly religious experience that still inspires me.
Paul wrote to the Ephesians (4:6): "Everything you are and think and do is permeated with Oneness." (This rendering by Eugene H. Peterson, The Message.
Today the church celebrates Cuthburga, who founded the nunnery in Wimborne, England in 725 A.D. Cuthburga was said to be quite severe with self discipline but kind to her nuns, who were exceptionally well educated.