Revelations

It's quiet now, the middle of the night in Los Angeles. The day has been rushed, with an element of the "out of control" about it. Even if I wanted to plan it, the unexpected jerk of my car as it malfunctioned yet one more time, the surprise e-mail from a long lost cousin, the surprise interaction with a police officer who looked suspiciously like another dear cousin of mine, a retired police captain herself, (yes, I ran a stop sign folks, but my car was lurching around when it happened,) and then the discovery that I can't plan any of what happens, not really. There is a sense now that the activity has ceased, that maybe everything earlier was happening, is still happening all at once.

All the evidence around us points to the fact that life is continuous. The revelation becomes a matter of us seeing all of it, constant, like the story of Michelangelo seeing forms in slabs of rock and then carving out the excess to reveal what was already there. Revelation becomes the uncovering of what has always been - the unveiling of what is - from the pieces of rocks surrounding it.

So now that every one's calmed down in my house, I'm going to remember to look for the revelatory in what happens, even if its a dream I might have when I manage to get to sleep, and especially if it comes in the form of the helpful, (possibly disguised at first,) face of a police officer or a car mechanic or a doctor or a fellow teacher or a cousin or my immediate family. In the midst of the noise, the rushing, those faces are always there. It's time to look for the evidence of them, at the revelations in what is ordinary because that is what is here anyway - all the time.