I had a dream that I had some kind of a cut on the side of my head that was under the skin. I wondered what had happened to me, if I was having a stroke. The next day I woke up and saw that the line on the melon in the fruit bowl looked just like the line that I had found on my skull in the dream.
The melon hung around the house for a while and then it suddenly dawned on me that it wasn't going to last forever, so I found a knife to cut it. The rind on this fruit was much thinner than I expected, and just as the knife began to make its gash the melon starting tearing itself open along the line of the knife's cut. It practically exploded open.
I wonder about those moments when life has us cornered so we have no choice but to tear open, to bleed the truth, to ask for help. When suddenly there is no more need for all pretenses of control and pride and what proccupied us an hour ago seems insanely unimportant. These are the times when we are truly together with another in the common ground of the heart and truth, when we no longer fault reality but only express our vulnerability. At these holy times, the earth is sanctified by tears, by blood and its passion. Thanks to the melon for its lesson. I get it now. No wonder Cucurbitaceae blossoms are ruthlessly beautiful.
2 comments:
Wonderful. A better version of what I will try to say in my sermon this Sunday.
Thanks. It's fresh from the devastation zone, Daniel. Look forward to your reading your sermon.
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