When I served the homeless I did so publicly. When I participate in a worship service I do so publicly. Yet distinct from service to my community and distinct from a worship service, when I celebrate the source of my life I do so privately. This, in contrast, is the secret service.
That's not the way I ordinarily am. That's not the way I'm thrown to be. Ordinarily I'll unabashedly share good news with everyone with everything I got. Ordinarily I'm an open book, a clear pane. Ordinarily I've got no secrets.
This doesn't work that way. If I'm like that with this particular celebration, something else happens, something not quite wanted occurs, something unintentional comes into play shifting the whole focus.
When I surrender to source, when I surrender to this love, when I get out of its way and allow it to brew, it steeps my entire life in real thrilling relatedness and total empowerment. It's where I come from. Or, spoken with rigor, it's what I come from. It's the context for my life. It's my raison d'etre. It's the future to live into. It's the source of what's possible. Indeed, it is what's possible.
In every way it's the love to live. Yet if I talk about it, it's unavoidably cheap talk. Actually it's worse than that. If I talk about it it's tantamount to gossip. I wish it weren't this way. Its honor, integrity, and romance yearn to be made known. Yet when I talk about it I only seem to set up a kind of spiritual voyeurism in the world's listening for it. I don't want it to be this way.
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