This past week, I was tasked with gathering some school project supplies for my grandson. It was a creative math project on geometric forms, involving picture-taking, glue, poster-board and a brief essay. There was an element of adventure in the mission to search the neighborhood and document geometry! What struck me most though about this assignment was the underlying theme of discovery. Discovery is an essential part of learning. In this case, the point was to discover that geometry is not just an abstract concept for math tests; it is intertwined with functionality and human creativity. This week, I have been reflecting on our human capacity to find what has not been known before--which is the definition of discovery. Today, I am encouraging you to open to delightful discovery.
Not all discovery of course is delightful. Finding the hurtful, frightening, or disappointing person, place or thing--the mistake, trespass, lie, threat, the complicated messes in our lives--is painful, although often, in the long run, worth knowing. This Sunday though, consider the delightful unexpected discovery.
In our attempts to live spiritually, especially in these times of divisiveness and upheaval, we can all too easily slip into a kind of rigid expectation of our path, our practice, as shields. Our spiritual minds are made up; our beliefs are sealed in defense and self-protection. Yet, while life often requires steadfastness, it also requires our capacity to adapt to changing situations. If we allow our beliefs, minds, and hearts to concretize as they were 10 years (or more ago), or even as they were in 2020-2022 (the throes of the pandemic), we are not really living. Delightful discoveries are road signs for us; they inform us that we are still open. The soil of our souls is fertile, life is still nurturing us beyond our repetitious affirmations and detailed prayers. When we are willing to be surprised, something wonderfully new can slip in.
When was your last delightful discovery? A few weeks ago, I was at the local market grabbing a handful of grocery items, including a marked-down head of radicchio. In the checkout, the young cashier asked me how I prepared my radicchio. I'm not much of a cook, so I said to her, "I just throw it my salads". She told me she grilled it and ate it like a "warm salad" and encouraged me to look it up online. Warm salad has never appealed to me, but in deference to her youthful enthusiasm for cooking, and her friendliness in sharing, I did look it up when I got home. Then I chopped it and threw it in the skillet, with a little seasoning and oil--surprisingly wonderful!
The point here is these discoveries are a given aspect of life, sometimes leading your way in quiet steps, sometimes nourishing you, sometimes healing, and sometimes lifting "the veil" to reveal the joy. Don't dismiss the small wonders while longing for a great cosmic unveiling. Whitman's description describes it best: "I find letters from God, dropped in the streets and every one is signed by God’s name, And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoever I go, Others will punctually come for ever and ever." Look again for yours. (Susan Nettleton)
For poetry: https://poetrysociety.org/poetry-in-motion/happiness https://poets.org/poem/blessing https://hillsidesource.com/unexpected-income-larry-poem