All things have a time and a season and when it is the right time, almost nothing can stop them.
The flip side of that is that when it is not the right time, trying to force an issue is probably pointless and, perhaps even dangerous.
I remember trying to teach my daughter to ride a bicycle. I ran up and down that sidewalk so many times, that I memorized the cracks. Still, she couldn't seem to get the hang of it. Then, one day, she said, "Mom, maybe if we just start at the top of the hill, it'll work."
And it did. Maybe it was the technique, but I suspect she was just ready.
When I am ready, things happen.
When you are ready, things happen too.
The trick seems to be coordinating those times that involve more than just me and that is most of the time.
We aren't like those little Beta Fish that live alone in glass bowls. And, so, there is always some sort of judgment call.
Then again, maybe it is still all dependent on it being the right time.
We come together, join hands and then take a step back, leaving room for the will of heaven to dance between us.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Whispers
The flower shop is a constant source of enlightenment. Every morning the new flowers are placed in buckets near the front window. They sit with their tiny heads all scrunched up tight until the light reaches out to whisper some wondrous secret to them. And, then, one by one, they get it and each one bursts into full bloom!
I go into the silence and sometimes I am filled with confusion. My soul, like the flower buds, feels tight, constricted, all scrunched up. Then that same light comes and whispers to me and I, too, burst into bloom.
Looking into the mirror is a face so beautiful I barely recognize it.
I go into the silence and sometimes I am filled with confusion. My soul, like the flower buds, feels tight, constricted, all scrunched up. Then that same light comes and whispers to me and I, too, burst into bloom.
Looking into the mirror is a face so beautiful I barely recognize it.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
A Love Story
The woman walked along the way, wondering where they were going. It wasn't the first time and it surely wouldn't be the last. He walked beside her and his presence was a comfort. His strength, his courage, his unyielding belief in himself were a constant source of inspiration for her.
Reaching out, she let her hand touch his head. Her fingers buried themselves in that soft and woolly hair. It was longer than most manes, dark and lush, curling just slightly at the ends. In an old familiar pattern, her fingers traveled down over the slope of his forehead and then over his velvety nose. Looking down she could see his feet, huge, but silent. There was incredible strength in those paws, in his entire body. He was like a huge spring, always coiled to pounce.
And yet, when he wanted, every muscle could relax. He could be as soft and cuddly as a new born baby when he chose to be. The woman often sat and just stared into his eyes then. Deep eyes that seemed to see things no one else saw. Eyes that stayed wide open and yet seemed to be far away.
Sometimes they would sit side by side, high over a river for hours and hours. Below them, the world floated gently by. Above them, only the light changed. Often they sat in silence, or, sometimes the woman would lay her head against his broad chest and just listen to the sound of his breath. But, sometimes, the woman would speak to him, tell him what she was thinking, how she was feeling, even who had built a new house, or what she had eaten for dinner when he was gone and when her babbling rose to full throttle, he would turn his great head, open his cavernous mouth and simply roar! During those times, she didn't know if she should laugh at his obvious displeasure, or walk away in anger. But she never walked away. She was his caretaker. He was her teacher.
And if his ego seemed large enough for both of them, she wasn't sure it shouldn't be. There was not another creature she had ever met who equaled him in any way. His very presence was often enough to turn a situation around, but he never shied away from doing whatever it took to set things right.
He could be frighteningly fierce when he rose up baring those sharp teeth and wielding claws like razor blades, but he could be very sensitive too. She had seen huge tears slip out of those eyes when someone did something brave, or noble, or beautiful. One thing she was sure of, nothing ever got past him, without his noticing it.
Today she walked with him. Tomorrow he might walk alone. It was who he was and to love him meant accepting that, no matter how painful it might be, how dangerous it might be. There could be no leashes, no pens, or cages, no locked gates, or closed doors. Their only bonds were those of friendship, mutual respect and love. Anything else was unworthy of either of them.
The path turned upward and together they climbed past the last big rocks and into a sun dappled clearing. Before them was a pool. Silent, deep, murky, it spoke of old secrets and new adventures. Today they only came to swim in the water. Next time.........
Reaching out, she let her hand touch his head. Her fingers buried themselves in that soft and woolly hair. It was longer than most manes, dark and lush, curling just slightly at the ends. In an old familiar pattern, her fingers traveled down over the slope of his forehead and then over his velvety nose. Looking down she could see his feet, huge, but silent. There was incredible strength in those paws, in his entire body. He was like a huge spring, always coiled to pounce.
And yet, when he wanted, every muscle could relax. He could be as soft and cuddly as a new born baby when he chose to be. The woman often sat and just stared into his eyes then. Deep eyes that seemed to see things no one else saw. Eyes that stayed wide open and yet seemed to be far away.
Sometimes they would sit side by side, high over a river for hours and hours. Below them, the world floated gently by. Above them, only the light changed. Often they sat in silence, or, sometimes the woman would lay her head against his broad chest and just listen to the sound of his breath. But, sometimes, the woman would speak to him, tell him what she was thinking, how she was feeling, even who had built a new house, or what she had eaten for dinner when he was gone and when her babbling rose to full throttle, he would turn his great head, open his cavernous mouth and simply roar! During those times, she didn't know if she should laugh at his obvious displeasure, or walk away in anger. But she never walked away. She was his caretaker. He was her teacher.
And if his ego seemed large enough for both of them, she wasn't sure it shouldn't be. There was not another creature she had ever met who equaled him in any way. His very presence was often enough to turn a situation around, but he never shied away from doing whatever it took to set things right.
He could be frighteningly fierce when he rose up baring those sharp teeth and wielding claws like razor blades, but he could be very sensitive too. She had seen huge tears slip out of those eyes when someone did something brave, or noble, or beautiful. One thing she was sure of, nothing ever got past him, without his noticing it.
Today she walked with him. Tomorrow he might walk alone. It was who he was and to love him meant accepting that, no matter how painful it might be, how dangerous it might be. There could be no leashes, no pens, or cages, no locked gates, or closed doors. Their only bonds were those of friendship, mutual respect and love. Anything else was unworthy of either of them.
The path turned upward and together they climbed past the last big rocks and into a sun dappled clearing. Before them was a pool. Silent, deep, murky, it spoke of old secrets and new adventures. Today they only came to swim in the water. Next time.........
Monday, February 25, 2008
There Is A Moon In The Sky
There is a moon in the sky outside my window. It hangs there like God's eye and I want to see it better. I want to meditate on it, observe it, focus all my attention upon it. But there are so many false lights to distract me. The candles on either side of me, the screen of my computer, the light above my garage door, the street light, all are there taking my attention away from the moon.
I block them out, one by one. I close the shade on one side, blow out the candles, move so I can't see the garage light and still there is the glow from the street light. Slowly it dawns on me that these are not necessarily false lights. They are simply man made lights. They still illuminate the world before me.
Everything I need to know is within, but I cannot always see that. I need more lessons. I need hands on experience to learn some things. The universe and all that is in it are here to teach me. My job is not to close my eyes, not to blow out the candles, or close the shades. My job is to become the window, allow it all to flow through me and listen to the song that is left behind.
I'll write down what I hear, send it to you. You do the same for me.
I block them out, one by one. I close the shade on one side, blow out the candles, move so I can't see the garage light and still there is the glow from the street light. Slowly it dawns on me that these are not necessarily false lights. They are simply man made lights. They still illuminate the world before me.
Everything I need to know is within, but I cannot always see that. I need more lessons. I need hands on experience to learn some things. The universe and all that is in it are here to teach me. My job is not to close my eyes, not to blow out the candles, or close the shades. My job is to become the window, allow it all to flow through me and listen to the song that is left behind.
I'll write down what I hear, send it to you. You do the same for me.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Not All Nuts Fall Close To The Tree
How can ugliness spawn beauty? How can frustration lead to peace? How can being lost be good?
There are mean people in the world. Just plain sadistic, sneaky, nasty, vicious, selfish people who have no concept that that is who they are. They think of themselves as brilliant, frugal, clever and firm. They take whatever they want at any cost and revel in it.
I'd like to say they don't affect the rest of us, but they do. Their actions reach out and touch us long after we have forgotten who they are.
We are like flowers in the wind. Some will spawn new flowers, some will add beauty and perfume wherever they go and some will simply fall by the wayside, never to be heard again.
Which one am I?
There are mean people in the world. Just plain sadistic, sneaky, nasty, vicious, selfish people who have no concept that that is who they are. They think of themselves as brilliant, frugal, clever and firm. They take whatever they want at any cost and revel in it.
I'd like to say they don't affect the rest of us, but they do. Their actions reach out and touch us long after we have forgotten who they are.
We are like flowers in the wind. Some will spawn new flowers, some will add beauty and perfume wherever they go and some will simply fall by the wayside, never to be heard again.
Which one am I?
Saturday, February 23, 2008
The Blessing Of Pain
Having something so precious that its very absence is almost unbearable, is such a gift. Knowing a love so great that it transfigures an entire life is precious beyond understanding.
I lie awake tossing and turning, unable to sleep. I clean and rearrange my home, working until my muscles ache with fatigue and I am filled with joy. I create meditations in love, stitch by stitch, hour after long hour, day after day. I resurrect my oil paints in an attempt to manifest the joy that surrounds me. I go to work filled with a need to serve, a need to share, a desire to find another outlet for these floodwaters that fill me.
Every act becomes an oblation, every face a chance to share this love.
Sometimes the agony that causes us so much pain is the greatest blessing we have.
I lie awake tossing and turning, unable to sleep. I clean and rearrange my home, working until my muscles ache with fatigue and I am filled with joy. I create meditations in love, stitch by stitch, hour after long hour, day after day. I resurrect my oil paints in an attempt to manifest the joy that surrounds me. I go to work filled with a need to serve, a need to share, a desire to find another outlet for these floodwaters that fill me.
Every act becomes an oblation, every face a chance to share this love.
Sometimes the agony that causes us so much pain is the greatest blessing we have.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Celebrate The Feminine
The moon looks down upon the lake tonight and all is swathed in a frosty white fog. It is a midwinter celebration of light made to celebrate the feminine, the earthy, pure feminine of all being.
Gazing down upon the icy looking glass, I see the rich dewy moisture that comes from the earth. It is the bearer of all life, the building block of every living being, it is here and as it rises, it calls to something deep within me.
It is the yin in all her glory, both above and below, reaching out to unite herself in every living creature. Mother of all creation. Daughter of all creation. The crone and the innocent, dancing together, sweet specters writhing in a single dance of life, full of mystery, overflowing with fecundity.
It is the feminine so filled with power that to care for, to nurture, to love, is all. There is no power greater than this, no power that would dare challenge it tonight. Standing alone, all on its own, it glows with a luminance so awesome that I am dumbstruck.
There is power here beside the lake. There is power in the moonlight. There is power in the deep silence that surrounds me.
Gazing down upon the icy looking glass, I see the rich dewy moisture that comes from the earth. It is the bearer of all life, the building block of every living being, it is here and as it rises, it calls to something deep within me.
It is the yin in all her glory, both above and below, reaching out to unite herself in every living creature. Mother of all creation. Daughter of all creation. The crone and the innocent, dancing together, sweet specters writhing in a single dance of life, full of mystery, overflowing with fecundity.
It is the feminine so filled with power that to care for, to nurture, to love, is all. There is no power greater than this, no power that would dare challenge it tonight. Standing alone, all on its own, it glows with a luminance so awesome that I am dumbstruck.
There is power here beside the lake. There is power in the moonlight. There is power in the deep silence that surrounds me.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
I Know Eternity
Who can see the wind as it rushes across the earth? I only see the havoc that it wreaks within a storm, its playful little puffs when the day is soft and warm.
Who can hold a river in the cup of her two hands? I feel the water's silky sliding, soft against my skin, taste its tang upon my tongue, see it dancing in the wind.
Who can catch the sunlight as it rolls across the heavens? I see it with my eyes, feel its warmth upon my cheek, revel in its beauty as it first begins to rise.
And so I know eternity when faith is not enough for it is the wind and water, the sun upon the earth that embody the Beloved, in spirit and in birth.
Who can hold a river in the cup of her two hands? I feel the water's silky sliding, soft against my skin, taste its tang upon my tongue, see it dancing in the wind.
Who can catch the sunlight as it rolls across the heavens? I see it with my eyes, feel its warmth upon my cheek, revel in its beauty as it first begins to rise.
And so I know eternity when faith is not enough for it is the wind and water, the sun upon the earth that embody the Beloved, in spirit and in birth.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
I Am Homesick
I step out upon the lake and behind me the snow angels rise up to watch. Looking up, I see birds flying in the sunset, their shadows flowing gracefully across the sparkling ice.
The world takes on a surreal golden light and the tinkling voices of the snow angels drift across the lake. Their singing resurrects visions of days long past, when love lay in every word, gentleness in every hand and I am homesick.
I want to go back to that place where gentle hands brushed the tears from my face and warm fingers rubbed my toes before they put my shoes on. I ache for the time when all the world smiled at my face and reached for me with open arms. I was so young then, so innocent, so accepting of the love that surrounded me.
But instead, I am here, walking across the frozen waters where only the sun reaches out to warm me. I shed no tears, for they would only freeze upon my face and crack when I opened my mouth to speak. Experience has taught me not to have expectations. Wisdom has taught me silence.
But the light promises me love and whether it comes from within or without is merely a matter of semantics. Like a river flowing through a valley, its waters bring forth the flowers on one bank and the trees on another.
I walk across the frozen lake, knowing that the sun will return, the ice will melt and home is truly where my heart is.
The world takes on a surreal golden light and the tinkling voices of the snow angels drift across the lake. Their singing resurrects visions of days long past, when love lay in every word, gentleness in every hand and I am homesick.
I want to go back to that place where gentle hands brushed the tears from my face and warm fingers rubbed my toes before they put my shoes on. I ache for the time when all the world smiled at my face and reached for me with open arms. I was so young then, so innocent, so accepting of the love that surrounded me.
But instead, I am here, walking across the frozen waters where only the sun reaches out to warm me. I shed no tears, for they would only freeze upon my face and crack when I opened my mouth to speak. Experience has taught me not to have expectations. Wisdom has taught me silence.
But the light promises me love and whether it comes from within or without is merely a matter of semantics. Like a river flowing through a valley, its waters bring forth the flowers on one bank and the trees on another.
I walk across the frozen lake, knowing that the sun will return, the ice will melt and home is truly where my heart is.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Guided Meditation
The stream is crisp and clean, rolling over stones and flowing down the mountain, nothing blocks its way. Bent forward, watching my step so that I don't fall, I am going up the mountain. The light glances off of each moment and if I do not stay present I may miss it.
I come to a door. It is heavy, thick and rounded at the top. Knocking first, I open it and go in. There are shelves filled with bottles and jars lining the entire room. All the bottles are filled with spirit, but they must be matched correctly or they are only water in a bottle. The old woman knows how to match them and I look for her.
She stands with her back to me, looking into a mirror. I cannot see my face there because hers is blocking it from view. All I see is her, a wise old woman with laughing eyes and a warm smile. I start to speak and she closes her eyes, so I am silent.
She reaches out, hands me a broom and motions for me to sweep. I begin to sweep, under the shelves, behind the doors. I sweep out every dark corner, remove all traces of extraneous material from this place. And then I turn and go through an open doorway into the mountain. Here it is dark and cool and I float silently in a cocoon of nothingness. It is womb-like and wonderful and I think that I will never leave.
I am slowly moving upwards. Like a seed carrying a newborn me I feel myself expanding into the light. It grows warmer and brighter until there is only the brightness and I am the light glancing off of each moment.
It occurs to me that within each seed is programmed both its birth and its death and with that thought, my bubble bursts, I contract into myself and plummet out of the light and into the darkness.
Over and over again I practice this new way of being. Like a child learning to float, I am determined to reach that high point again. Over and over I feel myself letting go, becoming the light, becoming nothing, immersed in the brilliance of the nonbeing, the emptiness, totally free until some thought I am attached to jerks me back down.
I think I see the old woman down there looking up at me. She is laughing each time I fall. She holds out her arms as if she will catch me, but I always manage to get back up before that happens. Like a giant merry-go-round, I go up and down, always reaching for that golden ring, that light that waits just beyond my reach and I find myself laughing too.
What a grand experience this is!
I come to a door. It is heavy, thick and rounded at the top. Knocking first, I open it and go in. There are shelves filled with bottles and jars lining the entire room. All the bottles are filled with spirit, but they must be matched correctly or they are only water in a bottle. The old woman knows how to match them and I look for her.
She stands with her back to me, looking into a mirror. I cannot see my face there because hers is blocking it from view. All I see is her, a wise old woman with laughing eyes and a warm smile. I start to speak and she closes her eyes, so I am silent.
She reaches out, hands me a broom and motions for me to sweep. I begin to sweep, under the shelves, behind the doors. I sweep out every dark corner, remove all traces of extraneous material from this place. And then I turn and go through an open doorway into the mountain. Here it is dark and cool and I float silently in a cocoon of nothingness. It is womb-like and wonderful and I think that I will never leave.
I am slowly moving upwards. Like a seed carrying a newborn me I feel myself expanding into the light. It grows warmer and brighter until there is only the brightness and I am the light glancing off of each moment.
It occurs to me that within each seed is programmed both its birth and its death and with that thought, my bubble bursts, I contract into myself and plummet out of the light and into the darkness.
Over and over again I practice this new way of being. Like a child learning to float, I am determined to reach that high point again. Over and over I feel myself letting go, becoming the light, becoming nothing, immersed in the brilliance of the nonbeing, the emptiness, totally free until some thought I am attached to jerks me back down.
I think I see the old woman down there looking up at me. She is laughing each time I fall. She holds out her arms as if she will catch me, but I always manage to get back up before that happens. Like a giant merry-go-round, I go up and down, always reaching for that golden ring, that light that waits just beyond my reach and I find myself laughing too.
What a grand experience this is!
The Emptiness of Balloons
When I was a child, I thought as a child, I played as a child, I acted like a child and I was happy. When I became an adult, I became ashamed of those childish thoughts and I thought I put them away, but it did not make me happy.
I was still wearing my mom's high heels and my dad's dark rimmed glasses. They just fit me better now, so no one noticed. Not even me! It's amazing how good grown-ups can be at make believe. Over the course of the years, I tried on a lot of other outfits too.
Some were wonderful. I loved being a Mommy. Some were almost unbearable, but slowly I actually became each one of them. I seem to metamorphose like that, think I'm something and it becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy. The trick is to really believe it.
You just can't fool yourself for too long. Say you are something, or believe in something when you don't and your balloons will all burst. In the world I live in there is a reality check every few minutes. It was during one of these that I found myself plummeting downward, right into the arms of that smiling old woman with the out stretched arms!
Before I had time to cry, she scooped me up and gave me a whole armful of balloons! Then she took out her long amethyst hair pin and popped one! When it broke the air was filled with the smell of new wood and new paint and all I could think of was the wonderful playhouse my dad made for me when I was three!
She handed me the pin and I broke one. This time I heard love words that set my soul on fire! While I was trying to pop the next one, she grabbed a balloon and sat on it until it burst into a million beautiful notes! And I heard my first symphony all over again! Soon we were running around, laughing and bursting balloons in any way we could -- and each one was filled with the essence of some joyful memory.
Finally there was only one balloon left. The old woman grabbed it with both hands and handed it to me. I took her marvelous purple hat pin and poked it right into the middle of that balloon. The air around me exploded! The brilliance knocked me off my feet. The silence was deafening and I began to weep with joy.
It was the balloon of memories not yet made, of joys not yet dreamed, it was the promise that all would be well as long as I continued to live, to laugh and to love. And most important of all was to remember that it is the emptiness of the balloons that allows them to be filled with such marvelous things.
And when that balloon is burst, it only allows the beautiful things inside it to fly free and flood the world around it.
I was still wearing my mom's high heels and my dad's dark rimmed glasses. They just fit me better now, so no one noticed. Not even me! It's amazing how good grown-ups can be at make believe. Over the course of the years, I tried on a lot of other outfits too.
Some were wonderful. I loved being a Mommy. Some were almost unbearable, but slowly I actually became each one of them. I seem to metamorphose like that, think I'm something and it becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy. The trick is to really believe it.
You just can't fool yourself for too long. Say you are something, or believe in something when you don't and your balloons will all burst. In the world I live in there is a reality check every few minutes. It was during one of these that I found myself plummeting downward, right into the arms of that smiling old woman with the out stretched arms!
Before I had time to cry, she scooped me up and gave me a whole armful of balloons! Then she took out her long amethyst hair pin and popped one! When it broke the air was filled with the smell of new wood and new paint and all I could think of was the wonderful playhouse my dad made for me when I was three!
She handed me the pin and I broke one. This time I heard love words that set my soul on fire! While I was trying to pop the next one, she grabbed a balloon and sat on it until it burst into a million beautiful notes! And I heard my first symphony all over again! Soon we were running around, laughing and bursting balloons in any way we could -- and each one was filled with the essence of some joyful memory.
Finally there was only one balloon left. The old woman grabbed it with both hands and handed it to me. I took her marvelous purple hat pin and poked it right into the middle of that balloon. The air around me exploded! The brilliance knocked me off my feet. The silence was deafening and I began to weep with joy.
It was the balloon of memories not yet made, of joys not yet dreamed, it was the promise that all would be well as long as I continued to live, to laugh and to love. And most important of all was to remember that it is the emptiness of the balloons that allows them to be filled with such marvelous things.
And when that balloon is burst, it only allows the beautiful things inside it to fly free and flood the world around it.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
My Soul Trembles
My eyes are blinded by my wants. Mistaking them for needs, they leave me starving in the midst of this feast.
I gobble up everything in sight, greedily trying to fill the void that is eating me alive. And still the bones of my soul stick out in stark relief. Their points prick you, drive you back into your own soul and I am alone.
You cannot feed me for I am not yours, but I am you. Unless I am fed, we will both fade away, casualties in the great famine of my darkness.
You open yourself, enfold me in your light and show me how to feed myself.
I scatter crumbs, hoping to follow the trail back again and again, but each time the path is different.
Each time I reach the light my soul trembles uncontrollably, my love reaches out, turns back in upon itself, becomes a roaring furnace that melts me like fine glass at a blowers and I am free. Ready to be filled with the breath of spirit.
I open myself, feel the long fingers of this passion travel down my spine and warm me with its truth. My wants disappear. For just one moment, my wants separate from my needs and I recognize myself.
It is then that I find you.
I gobble up everything in sight, greedily trying to fill the void that is eating me alive. And still the bones of my soul stick out in stark relief. Their points prick you, drive you back into your own soul and I am alone.
You cannot feed me for I am not yours, but I am you. Unless I am fed, we will both fade away, casualties in the great famine of my darkness.
You open yourself, enfold me in your light and show me how to feed myself.
I scatter crumbs, hoping to follow the trail back again and again, but each time the path is different.
Each time I reach the light my soul trembles uncontrollably, my love reaches out, turns back in upon itself, becomes a roaring furnace that melts me like fine glass at a blowers and I am free. Ready to be filled with the breath of spirit.
I open myself, feel the long fingers of this passion travel down my spine and warm me with its truth. My wants disappear. For just one moment, my wants separate from my needs and I recognize myself.
It is then that I find you.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Surface Kindness
There are people in this world who are so good, so intrinsically sweet, that their lives are very different from the rest of ours. Sometimes these people are also very intelligent and very wise. When that happens, the combination is awesome.
I find it is not really all that unusual to meet bright people, but to find one who can deal with the fools in this world lovingly is a rarity. Surface kindness is not the same thing as love.
Love goes so much deeper than that. It is a caring that requires truthfulness and clarity above all else. Who would cheat a loved one with lies? Many of us. We are so afraid of hurting people that we do it quite often. Telling someone what they want to hear when it is not truthful is damaging. It takes both courage and wisdom to tell the truth in a constructive, non-threatening way.
Truth and love seem to go hand in hand. Find someone who combines these with intelligence and wisdom
Treasure them. Cherish them. Love them. For they become the light that guides the rest of us along the way.
I find it is not really all that unusual to meet bright people, but to find one who can deal with the fools in this world lovingly is a rarity. Surface kindness is not the same thing as love.
Love goes so much deeper than that. It is a caring that requires truthfulness and clarity above all else. Who would cheat a loved one with lies? Many of us. We are so afraid of hurting people that we do it quite often. Telling someone what they want to hear when it is not truthful is damaging. It takes both courage and wisdom to tell the truth in a constructive, non-threatening way.
Truth and love seem to go hand in hand. Find someone who combines these with intelligence and wisdom
Treasure them. Cherish them. Love them. For they become the light that guides the rest of us along the way.
Friday, February 15, 2008
All Things Burn
I look at a candle and it is the flame that draws my attention. Watching its flickering bit of light, its tiny point that glows and dances in spite of the darkness around it, I am in awe.
I love this candle. It is big and thick, the finest of its kind. I take it in my hand and savor the intricate patterns and slight imperfections. I squeeze it gently and allow my fingers to explore the uneven texture of beeswax, both rough and smooth at the same time. It is a meditation within itself.
I feel its warmth reaching out to me and I know I am near the top, near the wick that glows with heat and then bursts into flame. Opening my eyes, I gaze deeply into the light.
It is the grand passion that calls to me, the beauty of something willing to burn so that others might see the light. Always I want the passion. I want to touch the soul of the creator that flickers within. I want to know the commonality that flows endlessly through all things. It is the poetry and the story, the love and the desire, the life and eventually the death that carries each of us through this world and into the light.
All things burn. It is the intensity which defines them, the light and the beauty of a flame that attracts one to another. It is the divine manifesting in a million different souls a million different ways.
I love this candle. It is big and thick, the finest of its kind. I take it in my hand and savor the intricate patterns and slight imperfections. I squeeze it gently and allow my fingers to explore the uneven texture of beeswax, both rough and smooth at the same time. It is a meditation within itself.
I feel its warmth reaching out to me and I know I am near the top, near the wick that glows with heat and then bursts into flame. Opening my eyes, I gaze deeply into the light.
It is the grand passion that calls to me, the beauty of something willing to burn so that others might see the light. Always I want the passion. I want to touch the soul of the creator that flickers within. I want to know the commonality that flows endlessly through all things. It is the poetry and the story, the love and the desire, the life and eventually the death that carries each of us through this world and into the light.
All things burn. It is the intensity which defines them, the light and the beauty of a flame that attracts one to another. It is the divine manifesting in a million different souls a million different ways.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Safety Nets
Adventures are things of choice. I choose them over misadventures because they are more fun this way. Armed with a little courage, a lot of faith, a teeny bit of bravado and an inclination to just act, or not act, depending upon the case, life can be what it is supposed to be in my world.
I cannot imagine the world some people and animals live in. Just thinking about them gives me night terrors. I do what I can about that and let the rest go. No reason to run around crying over things I cannot do when there are things I can do.
I have discovered that the biggest difference between adventures and mishaps are often the way I tell the story. Perceiving something as a challenge and learning experience is better than feeling persecuted.
Laughing. Laughing is the life jacket that keeps me from drowning in the swampy areas. There is no way to over estimate a good sense of humor and an ability to laugh at myself.
Eventually I believe we all end up at the same place and if I am a believer then it is a very good place, so I am never really alone even when I am lonely. I am connected to my Creator and my soul mates now and forever. That is a huge safety net.
I also need someone to hear about my adventures. That is where you come in.
Thank you.
I cannot imagine the world some people and animals live in. Just thinking about them gives me night terrors. I do what I can about that and let the rest go. No reason to run around crying over things I cannot do when there are things I can do.
I have discovered that the biggest difference between adventures and mishaps are often the way I tell the story. Perceiving something as a challenge and learning experience is better than feeling persecuted.
Laughing. Laughing is the life jacket that keeps me from drowning in the swampy areas. There is no way to over estimate a good sense of humor and an ability to laugh at myself.
Eventually I believe we all end up at the same place and if I am a believer then it is a very good place, so I am never really alone even when I am lonely. I am connected to my Creator and my soul mates now and forever. That is a huge safety net.
I also need someone to hear about my adventures. That is where you come in.
Thank you.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Pride
Pride is the knife that severs good health from those of us who are growing older.
In the name of all sorts of good causes it is possible to over do lifitng, stairs, even simple doing.
Knees, arms, backs, and sides are insidiously unsympathetic to martyrdom or memories of youthful strength.
And if pride is not enough, fear of looking lazy, or older, or mean spirited can finish off even the best of us when surrounded by youngsters who think getting out of bed is their thirty minutes of excercise for the day. Tying to set a good example becomes plain foolishness. They don't even notice while our muscles scream in vain.
I need to remember that my life lessons are for me. Every one else will have to find their own. In the mean time I am paying the price for being a slow learner.
In the name of all sorts of good causes it is possible to over do lifitng, stairs, even simple doing.
Knees, arms, backs, and sides are insidiously unsympathetic to martyrdom or memories of youthful strength.
And if pride is not enough, fear of looking lazy, or older, or mean spirited can finish off even the best of us when surrounded by youngsters who think getting out of bed is their thirty minutes of excercise for the day. Tying to set a good example becomes plain foolishness. They don't even notice while our muscles scream in vain.
I need to remember that my life lessons are for me. Every one else will have to find their own. In the mean time I am paying the price for being a slow learner.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
One
I dreamt I went to a beauty contest and all the contestants were souls, beautiful, lovely, bright souls. Spirit creatures filled with light, emanating feelings in all the colors of the rainbow as they drifted past me. Hundreds of thousands of souls gathered together for the express purpose of shining.
The hills were green and lush, the air warm and damp. Delicate wisps of thought sat feeding under the silence of the cypress trees. Vibrant pulses of energy suckled in bodies that encased them. The celestial silence of a million souls vibrating in perfect harmony accompanied each one as they began the final journey, waited for their moment in the sun.
As their time came nearer, they began to gather closer and closer, until it was impossible to tell where one began and another left off -- a sea of souls, undulating with love and peace, washing out over me in wave after wave of ecstasy.
And amid all this wonder one stood out brighter, warmer, sweeter, than all the others. One drew my heart and my soul into the light with it, gently led me into the fullness of the silence where I, too, became one with all the others.
The hills were green and lush, the air warm and damp. Delicate wisps of thought sat feeding under the silence of the cypress trees. Vibrant pulses of energy suckled in bodies that encased them. The celestial silence of a million souls vibrating in perfect harmony accompanied each one as they began the final journey, waited for their moment in the sun.
As their time came nearer, they began to gather closer and closer, until it was impossible to tell where one began and another left off -- a sea of souls, undulating with love and peace, washing out over me in wave after wave of ecstasy.
And amid all this wonder one stood out brighter, warmer, sweeter, than all the others. One drew my heart and my soul into the light with it, gently led me into the fullness of the silence where I, too, became one with all the others.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Just Be
I went with my friend to the woods today. I went to hug a tree! Something I've heard was very special, but not something I wanted to do with all my neighbors around. One close friend deep in the forest was just perfect. She went to skip stones across the river.
I stood before this magnificent creature and looked up at it. I felt very small. Standing there I asked, "Do you ever hug? Or is that not something you'd care to do today?"
The tree stood there silently and I felt a little foolish. Whoever heard of trees hugging people? Just something over-imaginative silly girls do! But, I suddenly wanted to hug this tree more than anything else in the world, so I asked again. "I guess what I'm asking is may I hug you?"
In my mind, because even I know that trees don't talk, I heard. "Sure we can hug."
I didn't wait for a second chance. Walking around the tree, so I couldn't see my friend and feel self-conscious (shy people sometimes get scared around other people) I put my arms around the tree and lay my head against its trunk.
The bark was rough, but strangely warm against my fingertips. My arms barely spanned a quarter of its girth. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to just be.
It was as if the tree took me in. I felt as though I were sinking into a deep dark silence, rich with time, thick with life. I felt its pain when the hole in front was eaten out by something. I felt the wind that had twisted it branches and the scars lightning had left. I felt the strength of the earth far below where the oldest roots lay nursing. Never having left its parent, the tree stood tall and proud. The tingle of the new buds popping through old wood pulsed through my heart and I felt joy. And then there was a sense of peace, of patient waiting, of wisdom older than time that said, "Be my child. Just be. That is enough."
The tree withdrew, I was alone, tears ran down my face. I would never be so grand as a tree. I, who could never be so still, or patient, or wise, should feel blessed to even touch shoulders with one of God's greatest beings. How dare I ask for more? And then I remembered the words, "Be my child. Just be. That is enough."
Maybe it was okay to ask for that hug. Look what I received.
I stood before this magnificent creature and looked up at it. I felt very small. Standing there I asked, "Do you ever hug? Or is that not something you'd care to do today?"
The tree stood there silently and I felt a little foolish. Whoever heard of trees hugging people? Just something over-imaginative silly girls do! But, I suddenly wanted to hug this tree more than anything else in the world, so I asked again. "I guess what I'm asking is may I hug you?"
In my mind, because even I know that trees don't talk, I heard. "Sure we can hug."
I didn't wait for a second chance. Walking around the tree, so I couldn't see my friend and feel self-conscious (shy people sometimes get scared around other people) I put my arms around the tree and lay my head against its trunk.
The bark was rough, but strangely warm against my fingertips. My arms barely spanned a quarter of its girth. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to just be.
It was as if the tree took me in. I felt as though I were sinking into a deep dark silence, rich with time, thick with life. I felt its pain when the hole in front was eaten out by something. I felt the wind that had twisted it branches and the scars lightning had left. I felt the strength of the earth far below where the oldest roots lay nursing. Never having left its parent, the tree stood tall and proud. The tingle of the new buds popping through old wood pulsed through my heart and I felt joy. And then there was a sense of peace, of patient waiting, of wisdom older than time that said, "Be my child. Just be. That is enough."
The tree withdrew, I was alone, tears ran down my face. I would never be so grand as a tree. I, who could never be so still, or patient, or wise, should feel blessed to even touch shoulders with one of God's greatest beings. How dare I ask for more? And then I remembered the words, "Be my child. Just be. That is enough."
Maybe it was okay to ask for that hug. Look what I received.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Spiritual Snacks
Folded paper, lines left in the middle, wrinkled from folding and refolding. Not crisp, not new, not pristine, yet, infinitely precious to me. Papers carrying words, simple words, spiritual snacks that I take to work in my bag. Low caloried, high sustenance words.
God speaks in so many ways it is unfathomable. If I can't hear him one way, he finds another and another, until only the deaf cannot hear and they can see.
God the Father sends children to love, so I may experience his love. Precious creatures so divinely wrought that the very sight of them fills me with awe. He wants me to know that awe. His awe.
God the Creator gives me such beauty in so many forms surrounding me that should I live a million years, a thousand life times, I will never see it all. An ever changing canvas of sunrises and sunsets, fall leaves and summer flowers, evergreens standing sentinel over virgin snow, high on mountain tops no man has ever seen.
Music flowing through the ages, building to crescendos that make my heart pound, then sliding softly into mellow notes so haunting I wonder that they are there at all.
Words to guide me and inspire me. Words filling books, lining the notepaper of school children writing their first stories, flowing from the lips of story tellers since time began, God's words.
And once every lifetime, or so, someone comes along to open hearts. Someone God sends to expand awareness. Someone who is gently woven in and out of the strands of lives, so that everything becomes a wonder to behold, a prayer of thanksgiving that I am alive, right now , here, - in this moment. There can be no greater gift than that.
God speaks in so many ways it is unfathomable. If I can't hear him one way, he finds another and another, until only the deaf cannot hear and they can see.
God the Father sends children to love, so I may experience his love. Precious creatures so divinely wrought that the very sight of them fills me with awe. He wants me to know that awe. His awe.
God the Creator gives me such beauty in so many forms surrounding me that should I live a million years, a thousand life times, I will never see it all. An ever changing canvas of sunrises and sunsets, fall leaves and summer flowers, evergreens standing sentinel over virgin snow, high on mountain tops no man has ever seen.
Music flowing through the ages, building to crescendos that make my heart pound, then sliding softly into mellow notes so haunting I wonder that they are there at all.
Words to guide me and inspire me. Words filling books, lining the notepaper of school children writing their first stories, flowing from the lips of story tellers since time began, God's words.
And once every lifetime, or so, someone comes along to open hearts. Someone God sends to expand awareness. Someone who is gently woven in and out of the strands of lives, so that everything becomes a wonder to behold, a prayer of thanksgiving that I am alive, right now , here, - in this moment. There can be no greater gift than that.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Communion
Tonight I am overflowing with richness. Thick, full bodied wholeness. Every breath slides down my throat like ambrosia from some cup held by a god.
My heart beats with a wildness matched only by the wind and the thunder that tears the air over the lake. Lightning sends rivers of joy deep into the water, illuminating the depths with such deep resonating tones that the water rises to meet the heavens.
Sight and Sound and Feeling are all one, there is no separation of anything tonight. It is a holy night, a night of love, love so great it has no boundaries, no barriers, no beginning, no end.
All creatures must open their hearts wide, bare their souls, leave themselves totally exposed, be completely vulnerable that they might feel this love. No minds can expand far enough to embrace it for it is the love of the old gods, the powerful gods, the earth and sea and sky gods, the one true god in all the glory of creation, in all his spirit and all her body. The complete God manifested in perfect love over and over again since time began.
It was on such a night as this that God gave birth to the earth and all of life. And it is on such nights that we humans know why we are forced to try over and over to replicate this love - for it is the only truth, the only true reason for us to be. All other reasons pale before it.
Total communion. Communion so powerful, so complete, that neither miles, nor space, nor time, nor anything else can stand between it.
The breath of God blows on the earth, warming her, bringing forth the life that feeds Life.
If all would partake of this night, peace would reign eternal, for who would divide his own soul?
My heart beats with a wildness matched only by the wind and the thunder that tears the air over the lake. Lightning sends rivers of joy deep into the water, illuminating the depths with such deep resonating tones that the water rises to meet the heavens.
Sight and Sound and Feeling are all one, there is no separation of anything tonight. It is a holy night, a night of love, love so great it has no boundaries, no barriers, no beginning, no end.
All creatures must open their hearts wide, bare their souls, leave themselves totally exposed, be completely vulnerable that they might feel this love. No minds can expand far enough to embrace it for it is the love of the old gods, the powerful gods, the earth and sea and sky gods, the one true god in all the glory of creation, in all his spirit and all her body. The complete God manifested in perfect love over and over again since time began.
It was on such a night as this that God gave birth to the earth and all of life. And it is on such nights that we humans know why we are forced to try over and over to replicate this love - for it is the only truth, the only true reason for us to be. All other reasons pale before it.
Total communion. Communion so powerful, so complete, that neither miles, nor space, nor time, nor anything else can stand between it.
The breath of God blows on the earth, warming her, bringing forth the life that feeds Life.
If all would partake of this night, peace would reign eternal, for who would divide his own soul?
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Expectations
(First Thot. Written February 25, 1999 at 00:20:34)
Expectations are unusual creatures. Coming in times of sorrow they can be the breath of spirit that carries us through, or the anchor that weighs us down. The rest of the time they carry our hopes and dreams from sunrise to sunrise, a never ending stream of beliefs that define us as the beings we both are and hope to be.
When our expectations are not met, we have options. Options can make the difference between swimming upstream and drowning when the current is running against us. Sometimes the options are clinging onto a moldy old life preserver or wallowing in the murky mud that waits in the depths.
But sometimes... if we keep practicing.... our options can be as wonder-full as walking barefoot on the soft tickles of the new spring grass and smelling the sweet mustiness of the earth...or........allowing our mind to soar among the clouds on a warm sunny day filled with the promises of things to come.
Expectations are unusual creatures. Coming in times of sorrow they can be the breath of spirit that carries us through, or the anchor that weighs us down. The rest of the time they carry our hopes and dreams from sunrise to sunrise, a never ending stream of beliefs that define us as the beings we both are and hope to be.
When our expectations are not met, we have options. Options can make the difference between swimming upstream and drowning when the current is running against us. Sometimes the options are clinging onto a moldy old life preserver or wallowing in the murky mud that waits in the depths.
But sometimes... if we keep practicing.... our options can be as wonder-full as walking barefoot on the soft tickles of the new spring grass and smelling the sweet mustiness of the earth...or........allowing our mind to soar among the clouds on a warm sunny day filled with the promises of things to come.
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