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The rule of three

Three is the number of holiness
Of wholeness

One plus one is two
And some say that two is magic
And perhaps it is

One plus one is roses and candle light and sunsets on beaches


When one plus one becomes three
Roses turn to baby's smiles and candle light turns to night lights and sunsets turn to sunrises after sleepless nights

A blazing fire turns to hot coals and wonder is no longer found in the fireworks
But in the quiet beauty of the everyday miracles around us

Some which inspire as much as the exasperate
Some who are as likely to make art with crayons as with **** from their diaper

The creation of three is messy and it is so ordinary as to seem mundane

But with the third comes the eyes to see beyond the mundane to see the ordinary miracles who, if you let them, will show you a glimpse of the face of God
There is no such thing as true silence
At least not on this earth
For the earth itself has sound
It hums
But it is often covered

By the sounds of people and of grass or pavement under feet
Of water or cars rushing by
Of the wind whispering through leaves of trees

But in the lonely places of the world
Where for miles and miles there is nothing but dirt
and nothing -or almost nothing-grows
Where, if you stand on a hill and listen closely
You can hear the muffled voices of those a mile away

In those places you can hear the earth
Deep and low and full
A sound silenced by the culmination of other sounds
Which are themselves mistaken for silence
A sound that when heard, though quiet enough to be drowned out by whispering  trees, fills the void with sound
The sound of Earth singing
A word for curiosity
And for awe

Rarely at the same time, but what if we were filled
With awe-filled curiosity

What if we looked at the world through the lens of wonder
Of awe at the way trees transform light and water and minerals into something
Green and pure and alive

What if we were filled with curiosity
At the way all things somehow connect to each other
And awe at the way something as simple as a smile
Can grow into something as beautiful as friendship

What if instead of apathy and cynicism
We looked to understand and to see the wonder-filling things around us
That are so a part of our everyday lives
That we miss the insanely beautiful complexity of what it took
For something as extraordinarily improbable as a flower or a sparrow
To become ordinary

I wonder
What would happen if we started to fill ourselves
With wonder
It is amazing
The difference between hate
And love
Both like fire
One rampant and destructive
Scarring everything it touches, turning everything it touches into ashes
The other-soft and warm like sun kissing your skin
Safe as an evening inside by a hearth on cold snowy night

Nurturing everything it touches
Healing wounds that cannot be seen or touched
Only felt

Not caring for anyone or anything
Wounding everything and everyone it touches
But mostly
Hurting those who hate most

If only they could see the burden they carry
If only they could see their hearts turning to ashes
But they are blind and the fire is strong and hard to put out
Even if they wanted to

And they keep feeding and feeding and feeding the inferno

If only they turned to a different kind of flame
If only they could let their heart be turned to an everlasting flame
One that lets them see beyond what meets the eye into the reality of shared humanity
If only
They could see beyond their blindness and see the light and colour of our shared existence
And see
That thing that makes life mean something
Grace is undeserved
It is never earned
If it were, how could it be grace?
Justice is fine but without mercy
What hope is there for you or I?
For we are all human
And to be human, is to fall short
Of who we were made to be

But take heart!
For to be human is also to be loved
By the One who made you and I
And though he judges us for what we do
He takes the sentence we deserve
He becomes human, as we were met to be,
And takes on our inadequacy
The judgement we deserved He gave himself
And instead He gave us
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if you did an archeological dig
On me
If you dug up my soul and my heart and everything that makes up my non-physical being

Would you find the scars of the major hurts in my life?
The abuse, the loneliness, and the self doubt?

Would you, upon further inspection, see that the former two are formed,
Not only by the first, but by what should be  insignificant actions done by other people
That hammer at my heart
Putting cracks in my self confidence and my self worth
I don't want to hide it, but I do because I don't want you to see this part of me

And if you dug up and analyzed my mind,
would you see all the unkind thoughts I think-
All the pride I carry with me-
in contrast to the constant feeling that
For some reason
I'm not good enough
And the fear

That if you really knew me you would walk, or even run,
In the opposite direction

If you were able to dig into my spirit, and see me
Really see me
And dig up all my thoughts and feelings and secrets
What would you find?
What would you discover that would make you see me differently?
If I were to do the same for you
what would I find?
I'm not quite sure, but what  I do know is this:

That whatever I found, and whatever I discovered, and however differently I saw you


I would still love you

And sometimes
I wonder
If you dug me up and saw


Would you still love me?
I wanted to tell you how I felt
I wanted you to know what was going through mind, but. . . .
I was afraid
You see,
Being me,
I was afraid
Afraid you won't really understand
Afraid that you have other things on your mind more important than what I'm going through
I was afraid that you would no longer look at me the same way
I was afraid

And so I was silent
I said nothing

And the unspoken words welled up as tears as I lay by myself in bed that night
As they always do when I don't say
What I want to say
What I need to say

It's lonely being afraid
And it's scary to tell someone
That you feel so alone

That's what I was afraid to tell you,
And I was afraid to ask you
"Are you lonely too?"
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