God is absorbed in work, and hears
the spacious hum of bees, not the din,
and hears far-off
our screams. Perhaps
God listens for prayers in that wild solitude.
And hurries on with weaving:
till it's done, the garment woven,
our voices, clear under the familiar
blocked-out clamor of the task,
can't stop their
terrible beseeching. God
imagines it sifting through, at last, to music
in the astounded quietness, the loom idle,
the weaver at rest.
The day came when I was able to see Mrs. Tweedie. I was starving for spiritual nourishmnet, for practices beyond this everyday chaos. I had so little time to meditate and I thought I would be given something I could take home with me, a special practice so I could come close to the Beloved.
And she said to me with such love,
"You don't need practices. Love your children and your husband; this is your practice. If you wash your children, remember you're washing the Beloved. If you love your husband, remember that you love the Beloved.
Anmd that has been my main practice for years.