Reverent Regards

“We forget sometimes that there are saints living among us.
When we meet them, we are reminded, not just of the presence
of pure divinity right here on earth, but also of our own potential,
and of the responsibility we have to try to live up to it ~
for our own sakes and for the very future of this planet.”-Deepak Chopra

We each have our own personal saints; angels on earth. I call them friends. Not the acquaintance friends kept in stock to share a good laugh with, but the ones you feel an instant attraction to;the ones whose kindred divinity is recognized before two words are shared. When I meet these people I instantly understand that they have something I need(in a non-creepy fashion); some lesson or quality that I lack and must acknowledge, admire, acquire. Its a gut feeling. It never disappoints. The universe works in mysterious ways; never have I become vehemently interested in someone who I have not at some later point, been thrown together with in some situation, whether it be a class or club, and which to me is testament to the potential influence their presence can render on my life, if the opportunity is plucked up promptly.

 I know they are not saints in the purest sense of the word; vice is a perpetual issue and to each his own, yet my friends have some quality I find so prepossessing, so magnetic, the compulsion to bask in it, like a lizard invigorated by the suns penetrating rays, fills my soul to overflow. Despite the shadow side particular to every man, woman and child, ‘angel’ is the most applicable word that comes to mind because I feel not one drop of poisonous envy; rather I am filled with a sense of awe and pious reverence. “This is what I aspire to be, more like you.” 

Going beyond that, I know that even if I am not able to glean their qualities, despite daily instruction via observation, I would be perfectly content to concede; to go on watching, in submission to a better being, because it is beautiful to watch, like an effortless dance. Divine qualities are too pure, too inherently natural to these people for me to wish them to not have it, or even to wish that it were me in their stead. It is like being an innocent child who, having entered a cathedral from putrid streets, gazes with eyes glazed over by admiring tears. Chest heaving, it fills with holy air which he sheepishly, secretly hopes will stay with him, relieve him of his burdensome, more shameful attributes. Can a breath dissolve years of greed, of judgments, of self doubt, of fear? I am resolved to be that child kneeling before the altar, but only hope I can offer something in return.