This morning I read in the paper about a University of British Columbia study that showed that faith diminished after study subjects performed analytical tasks, or looked at Rodin’s “The Thinker.”
These are timely for me, because I spent last weekend in a Healing Pathway workshop. Think Reiki, with scripture thrown in. So, I spent my weekend working with something I could not see or measure.
Now, I am someone who insists on having one hand on tangible science while the other explores the divine. When I don’t have something solid to hold onto in the one hand, it creates some apprehensions and discomfort.
Most times a healthy balance is in order. It’s not wise to launch ourselves into airy-fairy ethereal worlds without ever touching down. But I don’t believe it’s wise to ground ourselves too thoroughly in the science either, for it would deprive us of gifts of intuition.
I couldn’t see or measure what was going on over the weekend, but I could feel it. In fact, I was left trembling by it. I decided at the end of the weekend that I had to let go temporarily of my need for the solid facts on the science side of the equation. Science just isn’t there yet, but I believe it will be some day. Should I deny myself extraordinary experiences in the meantime? Nope. So, out of my weekend experience, this poem came through me to you.
And my message to science is this: Catch up, will ya? Find the way.
© 2012 Arlene Somerton Smith
A tree waits in a mid-summer field,
shimmering elm arms stretched wide,
A speck blooms on the golden horizon,
takes the silhouette of a man,
He stumbles to the gnarled grey trunk,
breathes deeply of respite and rest,
Knees drawn up, head cradled and rocking,
soul carved hollow by pain,
A figure long of robe materializes,
neither male nor female,
At a distance the figure waits and watches
for we must ask, that is
The man looks into eyes that hold infinity,
reaches out his trembling hand,
Palm to palm, light radiates through the pair from
the sire universe and the birthing earth,
The man unfurls with peace and power,
receives the healing, for that is
When the light retracts, hands release,
the long-robed figure recedes,
The man trembles, rises, re-arms,
resumes his journey on his path,
Along the road he meets a friend. Smiling,
and curious the friend asks, “Who was that
Shrugging, “Oh, that? That was nothing.”
He turns. The tree and the long-robed figure,
Uneasy, two men continue down their road,
laughing and clapping each other on the back,
But a tree and a figure wait in a mid-summer field,
when needed you will see them, for that is