1. An event that appears inexplicable by the laws of nature and so is held to be supernatural in origin or an act of God: "Miracles are
spontaneous, they cannot be summoned, but come of themselves" (Katherine Anne Porter).
2. One that excites admiring awe. See Synonyms at wonder.
3. A miracle play.
When I was younger I sometimes lamented that I had never experienced any miracle, but I was just a kid...an Irish-American Catholic boy...an alter boy
who saw miracles as defined above, as in inexplicable events that defied the laws of nature and held to be supernatural in origin. Miracles such as
Christ walking on water, or raising the dead, or even the mundane miracle of changing water to wine, were the type of events not prevalent in my
province. That was then and this is now.
For as long as I can remember, God has talked to me. So certain of this was and I and am now, that even as a child my family was sure I would grow up
to be a priest. Of course, I knew better as I always knew I wanted to be an artist, and beyond that I have always held strong suspicions of the
priest class sect, which of course, includes priests. Shamans and mystics strike me as hucksters and con-men preying upon the fear and dread of their
laity, but this is not to say I do not recognize the mystical. Hell, I love that word mystical, and even mystic, so I will alternately use the word
as pejorative when it suits me, and in praise of the glorious wonder that surrounds us when I am so inspired to do so. When, as a child, I told
people that God spoke to me, this generated such an uncomfortable sense of ill at ease in other people that I learned to keep this thought to myself.
That was then and this now.
Now, when I tell people that God talks to me, there is usually that same sense of ill at ease, and many will attempt seek clarification and as I offer
up this clarification, many will say: "Oh! You mean your inner voice." If this makes people feel more comfortable with my communication (God's
communication) I am fine with this and God has told me he is also fine with being referred to as an "inner voice". God does talk to me. He
comforts me, he teases me, he laughs with me, he is strangely and compassionately quiet during my times of stress and confusion, and he will - upon
occasion - lecture me. Some will ask me what makes me so certain it is not the devil talking to me. My certainty in that is that he talks to me too,
and I have long been able to discern who is who. Some would say the devil is also my "inner voice", and some would even suggest I am bat crap
Crazy or not, what has happened as this little alter boy has aged is that I have come to recognize miracles on a daily basis. Not the walking on
water, or raising the dead sort of miracles, and some my insist that what I see as a miracle is not because it is "natural" and not
"supernatural". Supernatural or not, I live in a mystical world where the smile from a pretty woman will come at that precise moment where I am
ready to succumb to my own despair. Where the unsolicited attention of some one's child and their giggle will remind me how precious this life truly
is. Where the genuine concern of a relative stranger will remind me of the immense compassion humanity is capable of. Where even in the rain, the
cold pouring rain, the relentless windy and thundering rain, beauty always asserts its supremacy over ugly.
While I live in Los Angeles, a sprawling metropolis surrounded by a thousand suburbs, I am fortunate to live in an area where wild life flourishes. I
am not sure why, or even how it happened, but my neighbors have come to teasingly and endearingly call me "Dances With Wolves". I do not dance with
wolves, and they are not so prevalent in Los Angeles, but coyotes are. The tenuous relationship between Los Angelenos and coyotes has left much of
their pack skittish when it comes to humanity, but for some reason the coyotes who frequent my neighborhood have come to befriend me. They have
ventured so close to me while I am outside in my front lawn minding my own business reading or writing, that they appear to my neighbors as if they
are my pets. So close, so recognizably comfortable with me, that one in particular has taken to laying down on the concrete steps, so close to me
that I can understand why people think they're my pets. This particular coyote never stays too long, only few moments, but the ease of which he
shows around me is humbling.
Not just the coyotes, there is a skunk, a raccoon, an opossum, and two deer (a buck and his mate, a doe) who frequent my yard, and two noisy owls.
One day, remarkably, they had all suddenly appeared on, or near my yard, which was astounding given the predatory nature of coyotes. My neighbor
witnessing this, reminded me of my return after a two week absence. He believed they were checking in on me. Miracles.