4:22

 

"Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. Couldn't you keep watch with me for one hour? he asked." ~Matthew 26:40

At precisely 4:22 A.M. my work is listening: a thrush in darkness, a frog in the wetland. Their duet. No, it is a trio. The silence between the notes is also music.

At 4:22 A.M. I need the earth and every creature to be only what it is, signifying nothing more; so that I may keep watch, witnessing my strange, familiar, lovely, terrible world, my sorrow and pain, my aloneness and unspeakable wonder; so that I may embrace it all, forgive it all.

Don't you need your life to be unequivocally as it is, right now?

I promise I will not improve you or reform you, because you need it to be 4:22 A.M. Yet I will stay, if you like, and keep watch with you.

I vow not to be your "life coach" or "spiritual teacher." I vow not to interfere with this moment, this unique opportunity for you to embrace the total sum and consequence of all your choices, then let it go and be free.

For how else but through this hot-mess of karma, out of all these little fragments of disaster, randomly fallen where thy ought, precisely here and now, might you re-member your body and complete your soul? 

All that seems capricious occurs with impeccable necessity at the right moment, so that you may unfold, through the playfulness of time, the eternal miracle of your Being, and become a Person.

I vow to remain awake with you. But no more than this. Won't you remain awake with me? It is true service.

Now come out in the wet grass and take off your shoes, for wherever we stand is holy ground. Just before dawn, it is not too early, not too late. Let us watch over one another. Let the mind of yesterday and tomorrow dissolve into Presence. This is love.

Listen to the thrush and frog, the wind and the chime of silence. Listen on behalf of those who sleep. Listen with all the silent stars, who also watch and pray.