ordinary divinity

I'm reading a book on Ordinary Recovery, a process of discovering the self by becoming ordinary, not special, every day. I'm reeling. I don't want to be ordinary. I want to be divine. I look around me and I don't see ordinary. I see divinity reflected in the eyes of my friends, in the blossoms of the plum tree, the exuberance of the daffodil and the love of Allee the mutt who curls at my feet as I write.

And yet, if all of this is divine, then divinity is ordinary. Each and every one of us opening into ecstacy. Waves of pleasure forming just by appreciating the ordinary divinity. The wave of a wise man's hands as he describes the dance. The appreciation in the eyes of his students and their students. This is ordinary divinity.

My heart is swept away in the wake of the divine. My cells resonate in the flow of life and death around me. Knowing each risk, as I walk across a street or fly over my partner's shoulders. The presence of death makes the divine that much more glorious. The bruise underscores the beauty and the morbidity of the flesh.

I breathe, resonate, fly, become still, and peace arrives in the flesh. It feels a divine and perfect embodiment. That is Vajraland. Coming to know the divine in each breath and learning to accept it as ordinary.