"the still point of the turning world"

I've plunged back into writing my novel. Last night I was up late doing some background research, and I got swept away reading about God and the creation of the soul. In the book, The Power of Myth by Joseph  Campbell and Bill Moyers, they talk about how we are made in the image of God. In the last chapter, they discuss the poem "Four Quartets" in which T.S Eliot writes "about the still point of the turning world, were motion and stasis are together, the hub where the movement of time and the stillness of eternity are together. " Campbell interprets this "still point" as the place or moment of our becoming or "the source." This image carried itself through my dreams. For most of the night, I slept soundly--blanketed in a lovely dream about my husband and our romantic love--but then I woke very suddenly when I dreamed that my son drowned in a swimming pool. It was a terrible dream, and my heart ached. Then I remembered the sweetness of the dream from earlier in the night. Perhaps my subsconcious interpreted this image of Eliot's in my dream. Eternal love releases us from the fear of mortal death. The peace this brings is that still point. We remember our original becoming--the source of our existence--God. Stillness and motion together. It seems like such a contradiction and yet makes exact sense.

What do you think?

from Random Thoughts on the Love of God

"Our soul makes a constant noise, but it has a silent place we never hear. When the silence of God enters us, pierces our soul and joins its silent secret place, then God is our treasure and our heart. And space opens before us like a fruit that breaks in two. Then we see the universe from a point beyond space."

- Simon Weil

communion

Yesterday at Church, I was one of the first to take communion (as I sit in the first pew as a choir member). After I returned to my seat, I watched as the rest of the congregation proceeded down the aisles and to the front of the sanctuary to dip their bread in the cup. At the end, our pastor walked over to the Praise Band, and offered them their communion. One at a time, each person stopped playing their instrument so they could receive their symbolic bread and juice. It was one of those moments for me. The beautiful way the music changed when the piano dropped out but then resumed, and then the guitar went silent for a second, and then the bass guitar drifted off. And then all three instruments came together again.

More than any other, it was such a symbol of the theme of the day: the word made flesh. Communion is more than a ritual to enter. It's a tender, loving expression of love and remembrance, and each person can come to the table freely without worry of where they are, or where they have been.  In this very moment, the music stops, and we remember the body and blood of Christ.

a new year

Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt--marvelous error!--
that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures.

- Antonio Machado