Walking the Pathway of Gold

A golden opportunity presented itself this morning at sunrise. Literally. Knowing the golden colors of fall would soon be fading, I took my camera, Leo, my flute, and an eager eye on an early walk out in a meadow nearby. From the time I set foot on the path towards the meadow, and all the way through it, everywhere I looked I was surrounded by gold---foliage of gold, flowers of gold, the gold light of the rising sun. I was walking a pathway of gold, though not the kind of gold men came out west for during the gold rush, which brought in its wake the sad consequences of greed and violence, ruined lives, and grievous damage to mother earth. The glorious glow of of gold that gladdened my heart this morning came from the heart and imagination of the Creator of all, bringing nothing but joy.

I saw what I considered a sign of this when I spied a great black desert raven sitting on the tippy top of a tall pine tree along the trail, facing the sun, and cawing in a soft and curiously beautiful way as the sun rose. I took out my flute and joined in the praise. It was a truly magical moment. When the sun had cleared the horizon, the raven flew off, and I kept walking through the world of gold about me, reflecting.

It struck me how full of joy and comfort the beauty of nature is, given so freely and grace-fully to us in so many ways. It is always there for us, whatever may be happening in our lives, and all we have to do is become aware of it and receive the gift--far more precious than metal

gold. And I also realized that the path of life I walk can also be a path of gold if it is the gold in all that I see, in all that happens, that I focus on with a grateful heart.

I could say more, but want instead to share a poem from a wonderful book of poems entitled "Why I Wake Early" by Mary Oliver, one of my favorite poets. She says so eloquently what I have stammered to say. Listen to her......

MINDFUL

Every day

I see or I hear

something

that more or less

kills me

with delight,

that leaves me

like a needle

in the haystack

of light.

It is what I was born for----

to look, to listen,

to lose myself

inside this soft world---

to instruct myself

over and over

in joy,

and acclamation.

Nor am I talking

about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,

the very extravagant---

but of the ordinary,

the common,

the daily presentations.

Oh, good scholar,

i say to myself,

how can you help

but grow wise

with such teachings

as these--

the untrimmable light

of the world,

the ocean's shine,

the prayers that are made

out of grass?