ot  too long ago, I was visiting a cultural center in Japan with a couple of friends named John and Rich.  John was busy inside while Rich and I were on the patio waiting for him.  Nestled against the wall, apparently sleeping peacefully, was an aging cat.

"Look at that cat watching us with his third eye," Rich said.  While both of the cat's eyes were closed, it seemed to be sensing us, with it's face giving an almost imperceptible twitch.  I nodded and smiled at Rich, appreciating the image for a moment.

Then Rich sat down in a patio chair and just watched the cat.  He made no noise.  He made no motions.  With all outward appearances, he was just watching it, yet something more was happening.  The cat opened his eyes, arose and slowly walked over to him, almost asking to be petted.

With my experience with cats, this was a minor miracle in itself.  Still, I

couldn't help but feel there was something more to be gained from this incident. 

  Rich is one of the most spiritual people I know.  An adept professional, but enlightened, nonetheless.  Thinking of him, I'm reminded of a story (told by Dan Millman in Practical Wisdom) of a young man who searched for the meaning of enlightenment. 

In his search, he met a wise old man burdened and bent over with a heavy load, climbing a mountain.  He asked the man "what is it like to be enlightened?"  The old man didn't say a word, but piece by piece relieved himself from the heavy backpack and other loads he was carrying and slowly straightened up, a sense of joy, relief, and peace shining on his face.  The young man said "I see... I understand... But," he asked "what comes after enlightenment?"  The old man didn't say a word, but slowly picked up his packs, and bent over from the load, began again up the mountain.

So it goes with my experience with Rich.  There are moments where his enlightenment shines through, yet there are others when I realize he's struggling just like the rest of us.  A couple days later, I asked him about the incident with the cat.  "Did you do something?"  I asked.

"Yes," he calmly replied, " I just loved him.  I sent him some light and he responded.  He was a beautiful cat."  I actually thought I saw his eyes glisten with a tear when he mentioned the cat's beauty as if he was overwhelmed by it.

But in truth, the cat wasn't outwardly beautiful.  John told us that the cat used to be the meanest Tom of the bunch, and protected all the other cats at the center.  His body had scars to match the story.  Both of his ears had blotches where the fur was missing, probably where he was slashed and scar tissue had formed.  His fur coat was thin in places, thick in others, giving him a generally sickish look.

But Rich didn't see its outward appearance.  He saw the beauty of God, the creator of all things, in this simple cat. 

And that's the real lesson I've tried to take from this incident - God is in everything.  He is in the colorful sight of each sunset, the sweet smell of a rose, and the melodic strains of Chopin or Mozart.  He is in you and I, and yes, he is even in cats.

Sure it's easy to see the worst in the world around us - evil, greed, hatred, spite.  We can find all these things in those we meet every day.

But if we try instead to perceive God in these same people, I think they'll take on a much different light.  We can see their potential - the heights they can achieve through the strengths that God has blessed them with.

And if we do, the beauty of God just may overwhelm us.


                                                  --  Darril R. Gibson