A Feather on the Breath of God

"Listen: there was once a king sitting on his throne. Around him stood great and wonderfully beautiful columns ornamented with ivory, bearing the banners of the king with great honor. Then it pleased the king to raise a small feather from the ground, and he commanded it to fly. The feather flew, not because of anything in itself but because the air bore it along. Thus am I, a feather on the breath of God."                                                                                                                                   Hildegard of Bingen. Life has a certain way of giving and taking away, I see the mountains in the distance, I marvel at their beauty and trust or maybe just hope sometimes... that I can reach their tops.  Then life decides to give me valleys, and valleys are good, I can grow flowers (while the mountain terrain could only blossom a very few varieties), I can imagine fields of sunshine and the child who used to hide in the wheat fields and marvel at the clouds...  sometimes valleys give me time to rest.  Rest my thoughts, rest my arms and legs tired of climbing, rest my soul in the cozy valley...  Sometimes they teach me to be humble, have patience, learn to truly love and see the mountains from a different perspective... Then I remember that I can rest in the valley and climb the mountains, because God breathed.  He breathed and His breath became beauty, He breathed and the world filled up with His presence, and one tiny breath, He breathed to allow me to be and to breathe on my own... "I am the feather under the breath of God"... Feathers fly and their hearts are light, feathers know the wind and dance when they are moved, feathers shine in the light and don't hurt.  They rest easily on wounds, they embrace the air as they gently swing to their place... Last night I dreamed I was the feather, and in my dream I embraced the wind, resting in the valley, rejoicing in the mountains, flying to the top of the clouds where grandma once told me all angels lived, where fields of wheat come back to life, where God breathed and feathers came down like snowflakes on our world of dreams. © 2011 Cristina Miller