Every Little Epiphany

Wikipedia says epiphanies are rare and are the “last piece of the puzzle after significant labor." Any other use of the word, according to Wikipedia, is made of myth. Well, I’m just going to re-appropriate the word to suit me. Because I can. I think we have little aha moments pretty much every day. Often, like dreams, we don’t remember them. Because we don’t pay attention. What if we did? What if every time we we had a blast of insight we wrote it down? Just another way of being present. No epiphany too small. That is my epiphany for today.

For Those Who Have Far to Travel

An Epiphany Blessing

If you could see

the journey whole
you might never

undertake it;
might never dare
the first step

that propels you
from the place

you have known
toward the place

you know not.



Call it

one of the mercies
of the road:

that we see it

only by stages
as it opens

before us,

as it comes into
our keeping

step by

single step.
..
              -Jan Richardson
(art by Jan Richardson, Wise Women Also Came.

The last line in the biblical story of the three wise ones, is that they listened to their dreams and “returned to their country by another road.” Along with our epiphanies, it seems to me we don’t pay enough attention to our dreams--maybe we are even afraid to dream. I wonder if we dis dreams because to listen and follow might mean getting off the yellow brick road that is so clearly glistening (or even grown dull, but at least is familiar) before us?

A friend posted this Jan Richardson poem on her FaceBook page on Friday--the 12th Day of Christmas. It feels true to me. Looking too far ahead is likely to scare us into inactivity. If the Magi had known they would have to return home on an unfamiliar road, would they have gone? And if they had not gone, would it have changed the world as we know it? Probably not; it wouldn't have even been missed in the biblical tale, really. But the baby would have missed out on some really cool gifts, as would the wise people have missed out on being among the first to be in the presence of the Savior of the World, which was a gift to them. If we don't step out on a dream, or an epiphany, we might not ever even know what we missed. But oh the gifts when we take the risk.

Cellist Yo Yo Ma, one of the 2011 winners of the Kennedy Center Honors for lifetime achievement in the performing arts, says he isn't a brave man, that he is scared much of the time. "But," he adds, "I must like being scared," since he keeps on doing things he fears. Doing it scared. I daresay he probably doesn't like being scared, but maybe it is his signal that he is on the path he needs to be on. Pushing the envelope; taking a different route home.

On Friday, after work, I was exploring my One Little Word through the January assignment, and I had a little epiphany. I remember it because I wrote it down, in a text message to a friend who is engaging a wonderful word of her own this year. I was looking through magazines for the word "go" to add to "boldly" on the page (and, no, neither of those is my word), when I came across the word, "be." In an epiphanal flash, I realize the direction I am seeking is not about going or arriving, but about being--being bold. That's not new, of course; it's some of my favorite spiritual mumbo jumbo: It's not about the destination, it's about the journey. But right there, in the first week of the year with my word, I learn something new about the one I have chosen, and why I chose it. Another little epiphany this week puts $15 in my wallet! Pay attention to your epiphanies--or your aha moments, whatever you want to call them.

The weather this winter is completely wacky. On Tuesday it is 19 degrees; yesterday it is 72. I build a fire on Friday, in spite of the warm weather, and have a burning of the greens. The cold snap finally completes the cycle in the garden. I pull the Persian shield and the purple heart, and cut off the limp elephant ear caladium stalks and leaves and the out-of-season new growth on the banana tree. The main stalks of the banana tree are still sturdy, however, so I leave them standing. Each of  the three winters since I planted the wee banana tree plant, I have treated it differently. I love my experimental garden philosophy. I could read and do what the "experts" say to do, but I prefer to learn as I go. It's my garden, and my life. Besides, the experts don't agree with one another. I am happy that the cold does not affect the single black-eyed Susan bloom, the lorapetalum, or the Lenten rose.

On Saturday's spring-like afternoon, I sun with Smudge on the patio, then walk to the cemetery, where the crows are preening their feathers in the tree tops. I discover that one of the stumps from a tree snapped off in the tornado in the Civil War section has been re-appropriated. I sit for a while and watch the clouds. It's quite comfy. I think of a quote I read with my morning coffee, "Barn burned down. Now I can see the moon" (Basho).