Night Sky Mandorla

Black or white. I grew up in the South in the 60’s, so I know a thing or two about the cruel affects of using differences to polarize one from another. I have also felt the joy of experiencing the distinctiveness of black and white, along with other ethnicities. Considering both has led me through some interesting life lessons.

I can recall a time when my thoughts and beliefs about a number of things were more black and white than they are today. They were containable, which made it easier in some respects, for I did not have to put up with the strain of opposing views.

There was usually a right answer and a particular way of doing things. There were clear delineations between good and evil and I always knew whether or not I had measured up. But I had more questions and deeper yearnings, which kept me connected to Mystery.

As depth of diversity summoned louder, I purposely responded. Trusting that my smaller self would broaden to a more inclusive way of being, I began opening to a number of things that had once been other.

In opening up to, I found that differences could serve to keep me judgmental, exclusive or unique. They could also oblige me into a muddy mess of confusion or allow curiosity to connect me to a more interesting whole. I wanted the unique and interesting whole.

Opening to, has demanded attentiveness, so that I do not split apart when I am attempting to hold a continuum wider than I am presently able and to keep me from compromising gifts meant for the greater whole.

The mandorla gives me a visual image, a simple almond shape, where two opposites become one and yet remain distinct. This image enthuses me as I realize another color. It also aids me in relinquishing any fears of completely losing who I am.

Journeying deeper with the mandorla asks me to die to parts of myself while guarding my heart. With each new opening to another, it begs an unknown, a mystery and the acceptance of tension. The mandorla humbles me as I look at hurtful trigger reactions, in myself, toward others and quickens me to protect all that is sacred and tender within.

At night, as I lay my head on the pillow, I see all of the little white bursts of light in a dark sky of varied hues, tints, shades and tones. I smile knowing how Spirit holds it all, black and white with every color, some mixed and others remaining separate.

Once again, Creation’s Bible, through her night sky, teaches me to simply trust. She reminds me to befriend the mandorla, allowing people and things to be just as they are, while opening to the places of possible union.

Sacred Ruminations*