Child Of The Universe

Morning sun pours between branches of trees, dappling the rain-wet grass with light. Water droplets on the ground before me sparkle like stars. They are held in the arms of a labyrinth that is the shape of a spiral galaxy. Feet bare, I enter the labyrinth, walking along the damp path, the result of a predawn downpour. As I travel this galaxy, I sing,

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.*

I wind my way to the center – a black hole – and back out again, all the while receiving the radiant blessing of the star that sustains us all. Now facing east, standing before a galaxy made of orange cotton cord, I pray,

For all that is. For the cosmic matrix from which we all arise each moment of each day – ever originating, ever becoming, ever being, and ever present. Here. Now. Always. Thank you.

For all that is,