The Bruised Angel Flower

My friend and I headed to our favourite walking spot, Bonnybrook Beach, for time to inhale and exhale the fragrance of the day and to chit chat and catch up on life. When I picked her up she handed me this beautiful Angel Trumpet flower from her garden. Later she was concerned that this particular flower was not perfect - there are bruises on the petals. While she sees the perfection in all these living things, I found it a perfect flower for this moment because of those imperfections! This tall flower comes in limited numbers each year and has the most exquisite fragrance that cannot be discerned by looking at it from a distance. The name of it even reminded me of things that are not seen by our eyes only - our other senses can “see” so distinctly and perfectly. This Angel Trumpet had its own story to tell me this day.

The other day I was on my ‘irregular but want to be regular’ hour and a quarter walk to work. It is a route that is all country road with a few houses and fairly steady traffic in the morning. The whole area of feeling invisible was in my thoughts and I felt it was very important that I embrace this concept instead of trying to wrestle with it currently. If I am to embrace invisibility will I learn to see more clearly? What does that feel like? There is a stream about half way along my morning walk that flows from the upper side of the road, under it, and then it comes out close to where I am walking. The sound is strong and vibrant, this water racing from upper places, passing through gardens, under roads, through this piece of forest and then in a short distance venturing out into open waters. It is a life giving patch along the route to work. Yet it is completely hidden from my view - invisible to my eyes but so seen by my ears and sense of smell. A whole symphony of sound is ‘visible’ through a multitude of birds whose songs I can hear when there are no vehicles coming by.

In those places where we feel unseen, and our heart and soul seem invisible to others, there is a bruising and soreness. I, at least, tend to feel my imperfections deeply in places of seeming invisibility. My Angel Trumpet flower made me think of how I see this flower through its fragrance - bruised areas and very perfect areas combined. My walk caused me to ponder how many things affect me deeply and bring such beauty yet my eyes are not what sees them.

Perhaps those places of invisibility in my own pilgrimage of life are also the points which call me more deeply, richly, and wildly into the contemplative life where God will teach me to ‘see’ more clearly.

“Open your eyes and there it is! By taking a long and thoughtful look at what God has created, people have always been able to see what their eyes as such can’t see: eternal power, for instance, and the mystery of his divine being.”

That Aroma of Coffee

This morning is cool, cooler than the past few weeks of summer mornings, and I am ready for a steaming cup of coffee. The smallest little pot is the one for this morning - a single cup of strong coffee made with espresso and hot water. Cool water is placed in the bottom of the pot and then fine, powder fine grounds of aromatic coffee grounds are pressed into the little filter container. The top is then tightly put on and I place the little pot on the stove and wait for the hissing and gurgling that will let me know my hot strong coffee is ready.

My mind wanders back to those hot summer days in Italia where espresso, two or maybe three cups during the day, were enjoyed. A cup of coffee was routine mid morning, and could be consumed as I stood at the coffee bar somewhere in the centre of town after picking up the fresh bread, the fresh mozzarella and equally fresh vegetables for the menu of the day. Once lunch was consumed and the dishes cleared up, my friend Emeddia and I pulled our chairs across the freshly swept tile floor, in the quiet of the high ceiling kitchen, feeling the breeze through the tall open doors to the veranda, watching the laundry sway in the hot summer afternoon, and we sat down to enjoy our cup of espresso and share tidbits of our day, of our lives.

Two espresso makers that came with me 10 years ago as I returned to Canada have ceased to work and new ones have taken their place. The french press style pot is a gift from my husband on our honeymoon - one like it was used to make coffee in our hotel room each morning we spent at Brentwood Bay Lodge.
My step daughter picked me up a pound of coffee last week that is just the right grind and blend to make an excellent cup of espresso or an Americano.

Our sense of smell is the most powerful memory trigger we have. The aroma of coffee continually reminds me of a part of my journey that took me to a tough ship building town in Compagnia and led me into a year of awakening, where the aroma of coffee was a part of the aroma of awaking to la passione de vita - mia vita.