Rhythm of Life
I hear it in the dishwasher as the water pours, swishes and drains. I hear it in the dryer cycle as the clothes tumble and buttons ping against the tub. I hear and feel it in the road as tires rolling beneath me hit cracks in the pavement to begin another measure. I feel it in my tongue moving in patterns against the roof of my mouth. I feel it in the tapping of keys under my fingers as I type. I smell it in the wafting scent of muffins down the hallway. It’s in my step as I walk through the shady neighborhood each morning with my spaniel clip-clopping at my side, her tags clinking in rhythm with her steps, double time to mine. I reset my rhythm to crow caw or chickadee. I witness it in ferncurl or fall’s first yellow mum, in fog sliding over the mountain or filling the river valley.
My heart is the source of this, the first beat and the last. It is against her rhythm that each moment of my life unfolds, whether I am aware or not, mostly I am not. The rhythm of life is always present. I can’t remember this all the time what with jobs to complete, dishes to wash, taxes to pay, love to give away and accept. But it’s always there when we arrive and when we leave: the rhythm of the heartbeat of life, the vibration of creation, breath, the pumping of blood that quickens or slows through every single moment of our lives.
Perhaps this is why I love prayer. In the stillness when all else of my life falls away until there is only the dark or the light behind my eyes, I see nothing, hear only my breath but know more. My heart with its steady beat, my true self, is still enough to hear something beyond me, familiar and intimate, something that knows me, my life and all that is. In this moment, I am present. My heart blossoms, turns like the sunflower to the source within and without, the essence of all that is life and breath. Divine love surges through my veins, pulses in my heart with the rhythm of life.