A water strider spreads its legs out and sits still on the surface of water. Its looks belie its capacity for quick, precise mobility. As a child, when I gazed at a water strider. I was taken by it. I became still and observant of our connection. I in my surface of time and shine rested watching it rest. There was a sense of completeness. We both were fully. But neither of us was agitated or in mid undertaking.

It was all riding the surface. The bug was free floating, resting, riding effortlessly the now of place. And I, a busy and electric child, was stilled.

stillness

I thought of that today as I hung laundry. I thought of the moments in life when the intense peacefulness of nowness had presented itself to me. I could not tell a story about it, because it is in a field of energy far more vast than narrative. The smallness of what I think exists, opens to something far more numinous. God is that still.

The waterbug is perfectly balanced with the water.

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It is like that. This sudden understanding of the arresting moment. I am in its thrall. And it is without drama, without shifting emotions, without intellectual engagement.

I breathe with the rose. I feel it breathe into me. The drops of water are impeccable perfection. Three silver globes of reflection curled into the heart of the orange rose.

The waterbug rests impossibly still on the argentate surfaced water.

And I forget myself. And I find myself. And I am destroyed.