Events of the last week, not necessarily different as much as just too much, have blessedly held me in that space of pause and reflection seeking some glimmer of hope in ordinary, albeit cloudy, moments. I feel called to “wade in the water” even though that water is troubled. I feel grace. I have been blessed with some time to be very still, very quiet, and to listen. Not to the cacophonous news feeds, nor to the sounds of screams and weapons, but to the rhythmic lapping of the bay and the awakening precise bird calls. In this silence I hear those still small voices and they offer encouragement even as I am choking tears.  I took a walk in the October blueness, more crystalline than blurry, and met a falling leaf. I watched its dance to the ground; I felt it echo in my body. It felt liturgical, we were witnesses to something momentous and magical together. Not only I, but also it, was becoming and returning to a Source which transcends injustice and corruption. So as I conti...