Beauty and Pain in New Mexico

One morning I left my ‘casita’ at first light to go jogging.
The full moon was still up, a huge round sphere, suspended magically in the sky, shedding a piercing silver light over the mountains and desert.
At the same time daylight was slowly ebbing up over the opposite horizon.

At a certain point on my solitary run, I just had to stop and gaze.
In the beginning it was too much for me to take in, I could feel myself wanting to avoid this confrontation with beauty. But I forced myself to lower my defenses and the beauty poured in, cracking my heart open like an egg.

I cried and cried. Not just a trickle of tears but a deep sobbing, which went on for about 15 minutes, I would guess. I could feel the personal edge of this bittersweet joy. I miss the land of New Mexico terribly – this place of sand and rock, mountain and canyon, touches my soul like few others. So dry, so hard physically, and yet soft as a mother’s breast energetically.

But the tears took me well beyond the personal into a more archetypal, transpersonal state that I still don’t fully understand. Never have I felt beauty and pain so ecstatically entwined. I felt ripped apart by the sweetest, most gentle knife that terrified me with love.

And I realized how nature and the cosmos longs to be recognized by us, longs to be felt in all her glory by us. I also felt – perhaps – the pain of all those in the world who are displaced and forced out of their homelands, millions of refugees torn from their homes, victims of power struggles far beyond their influence.

And I realized above all how easy it is to miss the beauty around us, how we so often to prefer to stay within the comfort zone of our busy minds, safe but restless, settling for a life of mediocre pleasure, always wondering if there is more but not risking the cracking open of our hearts.

This was simple pleasure, deepening into waves of soul and spirit.
I am glad to be alive. Thank you, God, for this beauty.