The skin between the matter of the world and the mystery that lies behind it was thin today. So thin that the forests, the ferny, mist-shrouded vales, the high fields that presented mighty views across green Central Massachusetts valleys, all pulsed with it, hummed with life, whispered spirit. It was Father’s Day, and after breakfast with Kris, the kids and Kris’ mom, then Mass, I was running. Our weekend travels had led us back to Central Mass., where Kris’ mom lives, and I was climbing through the first five (all uphill) miles of a fifteen miler… and I’ve never felt happier running uphill in my life. The weather was gray and cool, perfect for a long run, and when a light breeze came up, it would shake water off the trees that leaned in close on either side of the narrow, winding road; one faded yellow line down the middle of the cracked blacktop that ran between crumbling stone walls and tangled old apple trees left to grow wild, now in full bloom. There were hardly any cars – the only sounds were the occasional cacophony of birds and squirrels, and my own breath in my ears blending with the sound of the air rushing past as I ran. Perhaps it was church earlier, or Father’s Day, or being down at Kris’ childhood home, or how great the kids were being, or the wedding we’d come out to be part of the preliminary get together for, or all of those things, but that rushing air, breathing with my breath, made me think of God breathing, the roaring whisper of the holy spirit. Little by little my head and heart emptied out everything except the road, the trees, the high gray sky, and gratitude. A line from one of the readings at the morning Mass came back to me … “Without cost you have received; without cost you are to give.” I got it finally. Halfway through the run, Kris and the kids pulled up in the van – offered a water bottle, orange sections, a handful of cashews. She’d insisted on coming out. A Father’s Day treat. The kids piled out the van and gave kisses and high fives. And I don’t know what else to write that wouldn’t just be a gush of sentimentality; I don’t know how to end this post … partly because I don’t want it to end. So I’ll leave it unfinished, like ending a melodic phrase on a half cadence … I hope it hangs, echoing, rushing in my ears like that harmony of respiration and inspiration, and then the chorus round again.
Tags: Running, spirituality
