And suddenly, there it is, a loud whirring crashing into the silence: a field cricket singing in the fading light. We all stop to listen. From a distance, we must look like a strange bunch, leaning towards a bramble bush. For us, though, the moment is holy. A tiny, solitary creature has the power to lift our spirits.
Gratitude for the gift of life is the primary wellspring of allreligions, the hallmark of the mystic, the source of all true art….It isa privilege to be alive in this time when we can choose to take part inthe self-healing of our world.