Sparks

 

I've been trying to convince myself that Rob Brezsny is right, that the Universe is conspiring to shower me with blessings. Some days I imagine a small cloud hurrying east, trailing dark strands of rain. I go outside to meet it; it drenches me and drenches the land--everything but the small patch of earth masked by my feet. Other days, I imagine something more like Pig-Pen's dust cloud, a loose snarl trailing me whether I like it or not (does my dust cloud smell? can everyone see it?), vaguely embarrassing, but natural and somehow comforting.

But maybe these blessings are more like autumn sun making its way around the corner of the house on a frosty morning, finding a way through the trees to the place on the porch where I can bask like a ripening hazelnut. Or perhaps the shower in question is even more immediate than daylight: perhaps it is the particles, compounds, tiny organisms, pollen, and odours that pour in with every inhalation--transforming, enriching, revitalizing. Even if I hold my breath, even if I'm cynical, blue, cantankerous... those microscopic clouds of blessings will find their way in.