In the wee hours

Every once in a while, perhaps once a year if I'm lucky, a book works magic on me, casting a spell and pulling me through exhaustion and dragging me past reason and all of logic's persuasive arguments, and delivers a gift so timeless, so unique, so perfect, that I can't resent the pit sleeplessness inevitably forms in my stomach. On some level, it's like making love with a person you adore for the first time. Nothing else matters, the late hour, the fact that my choir is ministering in six short hours and it's our first ministry date of the new season, that I am singing with the soprano section for the first time ever, that I owe it to my section and to my six friends coming to be present, full of energy and spirit. None of it matters in the moment. The lovemaking must not stop! The reading has to go on!

But all is not lost! Just like love, the perfectly executed story can sustain. The beauty of love and the beauty of words are never enervating. Both love making and reading fill me up for sleepless nights of kisses scattered on skin and lips, or pages turned one after another until there are no more glorious valleys and peaks of joy and expression to explore, but there is energy still, so I write, or admire the man before me as he slumbers, until sleep over takes my will.

And this book, a book that could be written by a spiritual revolutionary operating as an author, who gave the job of narration to a very perceptive and wise old dog, Enzo, is one of these rare gems. Enzo, had he been the human he so longed to be, would probably be a tenor in the Inner Light Ministries Gospel Choir, singing along with me tomorrow morning. He says once, of race car driving: "The car goes where the eyes go," and also, "That which you manifest is before you."And then he goes and practices these principles in scenes that made me sigh or cry or cheer or call up some willing friend to read a passage to. Oh, Enzo, you were just perfect!

This day was perfect, as well, or yesterday, I guess, now. In the morning, after sleeping in until 8:30 (unheard of for me!), I made my way slowly to the farmer's market. My farmer's market crush, the older, delightfully cheerful Dutch farmer Ron from Windmill Farms, rained extra strawberries down upon me, more strawberries than I paid for, and kind teasing and mirth in equal measure to his generosity. I will make him kale chips from his beautiful kale for as long as I live here, I love him that much.

I prayed and meditated into a rare sweet spot space before auditioning to be a soloist for the choir someday. Despite having forgot the CD I had practiced with for weeks on end at home, Valerie Joi having to play the rhythm of the song on her keyboard and have me sing along without the choir there to lead or follow, without the anchor notes I'd found and felt comforted by, and having to swallow the resultant wave of anxiety that threatened to make my heart race out of my chest and my throat begin to close up in fear, it went splendidly. After a few false starts, I sang the way I can when I believe what I am singing, when all my egoistic preoocupations get swept away by a gracious hand and I just know that there can be no higher joy than to sing and to minister words of love and healing.

When she stopped me, she turned to me with those big brown, illuminated eyes of hers and said, "Did you hear that? Did you hear how good that was?"

I did. I did. And so did she. To hear the praise in her voice, the praise of my availability to something higher in those moments, was manna from heaven. I let Spirit sing through me, finally (finally!), and Spirit responded with great love, but it sounded deceptively like Valerie Joi. Sneaky, God, She is! And relentless! But I don't mind the way She gently pursues me anymore. Being in Her company is so much less work than before, when I had to try so hard to ignore Her.

And then there was Kath's birthday potluck, where my Spicy Green Cilantro Soup was a hit with all, and wonderfully tasty potluck items, as well as yummy vegan carrot cake form Black China Bakery and coconut bliss ice cream, followed by an invite from Thomas and Indigo to Chocolat. There my plans for a glass of wine morphed to include copius sampling of the Chocolate Orgy sampler plate, and then a giggle-filled trip to Herb Room for Chinese curing pills for the inevitable sugar hangover we'd all suffer (well, I am still suffering, apparently, having just a touch of the tireds but lots of energy still).

I was so struck tonight by my love for those two guys. Indigo, three days past his tenth birthday, and Thomas, 43 today. They look more and more alike as Indigo grows. Indigo is so handsome and sweet and kind and I am so excited about seeing how he will be as a pre-teen and later a young man. My heart swelled at moments tonight just feeling so proud to know this kid. And his father, who knows me as well as my closest family and friends do, and sometimes, creepily, knows me better than I do. I marvel at how quickly we recovered from our breakup. I knew he'd be fine, but I had my doubts about myself. I certainly didn't think we'd ever manage to be this close ever again. In so many ways it's as though we never even had our relationship at all. There are times I recall the relationship and think, "Wait, did that really happen?" It was brief and wonderful and not forgettable, but we have so seamlessly settled back into our bestfriendship that I wonder if I dreamed being his lover for a time, and that this was how we've always been.

And just when I decided around 1:00am this morning that the day couldn't get any better and I might as well turn in, I picked up The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein for a little pre-sleep reading, and my waking hours went from fantastic to perfect as I finished reading the last half of this sweetly profound novel. To end this night, finally, with one other favorite thing in my life I haven't yet mentioned, writing, pretty well seals the deal on one of the best weekends of my life. And there's still tomorrow! Singing! Friends! Endless Joy!

God, I'm not missing a minute of this, and I love you for it all!