Life is a precious experience of ritual. Ritual is not a habitual way of doing things. Like the Tea Ceremony, it is transforming habits into sacred expressions of conscious life. While dusting shelves and my precious feathers, I pondered the gift of ritual. In a house with open windows and the drought hardened earth’s dust, dusting seems at first somewhat futile. But it is an honoring of gifts. The act itself becomes a ritual of grace.

When the ritual was complete, I laughed to see the little duster. And then the whisper of perhaps an even deeper ritual. The little duster receives no attention, bears no reward, and leaves no footprint identifying itself as having fulfilled its purpose. Oh, I know I do see the world oddly. Little things attract my attention. But I could not help but gaze at the little duster and ponder what grace it would be to move like that throughout my life. Touching, cleansing, honoring, and fulfilling my purpose without need for identification, reward, or notice. To perform the ritual of life for self, others, and the sweet earth and leave no footprint.