Aaron, my husband, just said, "You have to go and see the blossoms by the outhouse!" Last night, when I first saw them, I had the thought that they would be beautiful in the morning light, and here he was reminding me . . .
Exquisite! Exciting! Eclectic!
Back inside, cool dew and prickly grass is sticking between my toes as I write this, and the sounds of birds pierce the petals and buds that my mind's eyes still see, and . . .
dirt is stuck to my big toe while I look at the outhouse photo on my laptop screen . . . I didn't plan to write about the outhouse, I was going to write about the mysterious money, a $5 donation that showed up without the usual email notice from Indiegogo. Hah! No mystery after all, just a math miscalculation on my part . . . but for a moment, that unaccounted for mysterious miraculous $5 was a numinous giving with a blank face that I tried to construct. Who could have pulled that off? I have a friend who likes to call himself "Mr. Incognito," was it him? Impossible! Indiegogo would never allow it. But the thrill, the mystery, the heart-opening delight of imagining a secret donor, a good-willed masked-man or woman struck the sound of potential and playful longing that only hope can deliver.
The caressing unknown in service to a dream that we are acting on is like ice cream, cold and sweet - sugar punctuating the moment with a burst of goodwill energy. And the truth is . . . every donation from a backer is like that because it arrives seemingly out of the blue, a surprise from family or friend or someone I may never meet. And the words of encouragement from people cheering me on about creating a place for convergence of artists, contemplatives and stewards is the cherry, the blossom, the grace.