The Gift

Inhalation and exhalation are your wings. They are soft and fragile, but bear you to God. If you weigh them down with thoughts, even a thought of "I," they will not soar.

Freed from the burden of mental chatter, these breath-wings will carry you into the blue sky of silence. But this blue sky is within you. It is pure awareness. And the radiant sun that shine is this sky is your heart.

Perhaps you have named this radiance the Christ, or Amita Buddha, Allah, Shiva, or God. These names are dross that must burn away in the golden beams of Beauty. And Beauty is not far away. It is not above. This Beauty is nearer than any concept or image of it: the luminosity of consciousness itself.

When your inward eye merges with this sun, your whole body is filled with light (Mat 6:22). Then the formless distills into a tear, an earthly tear in your physical eye, and this tear is the gift of grace, the sign of divine wonder.

Grace bestows this gift of tears. When you receive it, you will desire no other wealth, no other treasure. For one tear of prayer is the pearl of great price. It is pure happiness.