Wednesday, May 22, 2013

In the desert the nights are cool


Praise ye the Lord: for it is good to sing praises unto our God; for it is pleasant; and praise is comely.  Psalm 147:1

Last night was full of so many moments that beg to be recorded.  A friend from from just down the hall Alan’s freshman year passed through on his way to do a three-hour lecture on entrepreneurship for a group gathered at Starr Pass. One who has considered deeply and wraps words around those thoughts to drop like lingering burning coals that bring warmth to those gathered about.

And while we spoke of many things, of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
of cabbages--and kings- I think my favorite moment came as we sat around the small round table with a bottle of wine left over from Sergio’s wedding and a plastic container of Trader Joe chocolate.  

And worship? asked Alan.  What about worship?

I am worshipping God now, said Greg, with a wave of his hand to the twinkly lights and the swirling tiles and the window going nowhere and an overarching sky with yet another foggy moon. 

Beauty, goodness, and truth.  But most of all beauty.  

And the mind can dwell on unGod while the soul is basking in the presence of Him.  Which is why, perhaps, we are told to take control of every thought so we can pray.  The mind is a restless creature, seeking hither and thither for self, but the soul is seeks beauty, goodness and truth.  Unquantifiable yet as real as the neural pulses that are measured and cast into appropriate sociopsychological infrastructures.  They are difficult to define, yet we know them when we see them.

Praise is comely. It fits.  It is comfortable and pleasant because it is the purpose for which we were created. 

And once again the Safari hood is dropped and the pilgrimage traced.  Pilgrimage as defined by wikipedia, a journey, especially a long one, as an act of religious devotion. And the dropped hood journey has become that over the years, the how-good-is-God-journey.  The delights of a swing through downtown, a wave at the Old Presidio wall, winding up Sentinel Peak to breathe in the expanse of lights stretching straight northwest towards Phoenix and weaving their way across the city and up and over the Catalinas and Rincons. After paying homage to the patient faithfulness built into the White Dove of the Desert the trail ends ‘most every time at Guerro’s Sonoran dog and roasted jalepeños and green onions. 

Praise the LORD ye heavens above.  Praise ye the LORD.

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