In my cupped hands full of reverence I behold this scrap of bread. One day I walked in air and sun so fine I imagined my ancient bones could float with early leaves and birdsong in the breezy atmospheric stream of hours, skimming tiptoe among rocks, onto rich ground, tilled then planted, then time-and-weather-nurtured until grain heads formed and turned ripe. Harvest. Winnowing. Grinding. Flour, oil, water, salt, earthen bowl, wooden spoon, kneading hands, oven heat, each carries its own story, long roots into dim reaches, linked molecules from disparate parts come now as common food held in my hands as I kneel in contemplation. Remember how fish becomes heron, how rabbit turns into fox, flesh and blood. How could I doubt earth-born sacrifice, life transformed: the sacred, sustaining gift. I partake.
This article appeared in the Fall 2014 issue of UU World (page 20).