If Grace Is An Ocean

Something I've had to do to reclaim grace as part of my human experience and something that I can practice with my body and heart is untangle it from fundamentalism and absolutes and stop thinking of it as a cover-up, a fix-all and a gap filler. I used to practice grace like it was the stuff that made me ok, that made up for my humanness; it was the glue that connected me to God because (apparently) it was my humanity that separated me from them. 

Grace is not a Christian thing. Or at least, it's not only a Christian thing (this flows on from yesterday's piece, head back that way if you need more clarity here). It's foundational to the universe, to the earth, to our countries and communities and bodies and our connection to it all. It's an adhesive for sure, but not a cover-up. It's connective but not an eraser. It is a presence, not a programme. It is immediate and sheer life, not an agenda for who you could be if you weren't so you. 

Visually, I like to think of grace as my centre or even as the ground beneath me. As they say, the rug can be pulled out from under my feet, as it has been done a few times in my life (as recently as last week), but the ground? It is constant. The earth never leaves. Even as the rug flips up into the air, dust flying as it twists and turns, the earth is always there for me. Holding me up. Supporting me through joy and pain. Earth has no other agenda than to be what it is for itself, for you, for whoever walks upon it. 

Grace is its own thing. No one owns it. It is beneath us all. Like the earth, we are made of it, after all.

VISUALISATION: Picture grace to be the earth beneath your feet, the same earth you are made with and will return to. The rug might be pulled out from under you from time to time, but the earth can't be. It is constant. Grace is its own thing. No one owns it. It is beneath us all. We are made of it, after all.

Written by Liz Milani