This is No Passing Fancy
“And every sign of love
Every seed that's growing
Every sweet surrender
To that silent knowing
Will bring you to your knees and
Closer to the reason”
—The Wailin’ Jennys, “You Are Here”
A cosmically ripe moment.
I wake before dawn with three words on my tongue.
Though I have barely dipped my toe into the celestial arts, I remember. Mercury and the Sun kiss today, in a veil-thin liminal moment.
What if I take even the subtlest of synchronicities seriously?
I aim to write this trio of words down while they are still fresh, but time swings open. Three hours later, my pen comes to a rest.
A summons.
A voice from without calls to something within. Doubts and fears are stilled by a presence my heart recognizes—a presence that knows me intimately and is not at all troubled by my humanity. There is a summons.
It’s time. The way has already been made. You know what it feels like.
This is not yours. This is a love letter. A collective art project. A group mosaic that you cannot see the whole of. A kaleidoscope. You are the steward. The glue.
Along the way, there will be losses, and you will bear them. This will not be easy, but a felt sense of ease will be your guide.
Do not be afraid; I am. I am here. I have always been with you.
Now go. Breathe. Slow down. Have fun. Gather your supplies. Make lists. LOVE; it will not be lost.
A field guide.
On the heels of an experience I have no context for, at a moment I am unsure where guidance might be found, I open Audible.
Like Goldilocks, I try out two options. A classic by Father Richard Rohr? Something in me says no. Ooh, a book by Ken Wilber—it’s free on Audible Plus. Ten minutes in, I know this isn’t it. Both good options, but not for me, not now.
The author’s name rings a bell very quietly.
I am curious and hesitant. I press play on the free Audible sample and hear the first language of my heart for the first time in time.
This one is “just right.”
A sacrament.
This is no passing fancy.
I eat this book while I fold clothes, chop carrots, and simmer soup. I drink it on the treadmill and in the car, my arm out the window in cold salt air.
Though fluency is miles away, something in me already knows this by heart. I transcribe entire chapters by hand. Wisdom flows from ear to arm, from pen to page—at last visible to my eyes.
When thoughts run out ahead of feeling and sensing, the dog insists on going outside. Or my AirPods need charging. I behold the crescent moon in a midnight blue sky. Snow crunches under my feet.
For a moment, I can see.
I’m Kirsten. If you’d like some company as you listen, come and journey with me in spacious accompaniment/spiritual direction—a place to attune to your inner experience over time, and to hold questions or intuitions you don’t want to carry alone.
