I found myself wondering how far she could ultimately journey in her art if she remained self-centered and not God-centered. To be centered entirely on the self is inevitably to be limited in one's range; to be centered on God, aligning one's own self with the power of the Creator is to be open to the spiritual range of all humanity, to be in touch with the eternal, not merely the ephemeral. She was a fine artist, but with her narrowed vision she risked failing to reach her full potential -- or was she, in her preoccupation with beauty and truth, not so far from being God-centered as I in my arrogance supposed?
The word humility, like the human, comes from humus, or earth. We are most
human when we do no great things. We are not so important; we are simple dust and spirit—at best, loving midwives, participants in a process much larger than we. If we are quiet and listen and feel how things move, perhaps we will be wise enough to put our hands on what waits to be born, and bless it with kindness and care.
This much I have learned: within the sorrow there is grace. When we come close to the things that break us down, we touch those things that also break us open. This is the point of healing: when we have told the story, we can leave the story behind. What remains is hidden wholeness, alive and unbroken.
The heart of most spiritual practice is simply this -- remember:
Remember who you love. Remember what is sacred. Remember what is true. Remember that you will die, and that this day is a gift. Remembver how you wish to life.
