Early one morning, I dream I am in India. The fragrance of pungent incense is suspended in the heavy, moist air, mixed with the unforgettable smell of rich earth. I am walking through a small village, between simple dwellings, held together with clay baked walls and dry grass roofs. Heat presses in, holding me still, centered in every movement.Looking down, I see bare, brown feet, stepping out from under my long, orange robe. Villagers passing by, bring their hands together in silent greeting and bow. I greet them with the same pranam, bowing to the light.
It used to be, in these dreams of mine, I would be looking for one of my Teachers. Now, there's no need. We are looking through the same eyes.
Early one morning, in my dream in India, I am Father Bede Griffiths. I make a promise to read a little about his life and discover what He wants to tell me.
He who is dreaming new insights into my world and I into His.
The same One.
No comments:
Post a Comment