Audacious Reverie

I am the wounded animal sound of the howling winds. I am the silence of sheltered walls. I am the window's view shrouded in a white out. I am the presence of the sun's crystal illumination. I am the candle's thin dance of smoke. I am the wax, wick, and flame melted as one. I am the prayer of love, joy, and freedom for all. This day for all life the stillness of a feather surrounded by storms.

Small Bigness

I sat in meditation for the world to know peace and the earth to heal. A truck's sputtering and clanking shattered the silence and then created its own. Opening my eyes I watched an old man get out of the rusted truck body, open the hood and stand. In that moment, suspended in time, the world at large was transformed. A gifted moment of grace and smile. I sat in meditation for a rusted old truck to start for the peace of its path. My mala beads shook with laughter as it began to purr down the hill. 

Heart Pod

And would my heart, when touched by an ill or benevolent wind, be like nature's pod, and release her seeds of compassion and joy to the earth, life, and others.

Just Another Day

When one lives alone what makes one day a holiday compared to other days? If stores were not closed, traffic perhaps heavier and no mail delivery, would one day be different from another?

As the moon slipped beneath the mountains and the sun began to ascend, I gathered my little dog and we went to the mountains' lake. Walking in the silence of our footsteps upon the gravel, the silkened night sheet was gently covered by the blue dawn's quilt and the day, just another day, awakened.  Amazed at the magical blue of the sky and whiteness of the clouds the sound of geese turned my eyes.  A flock of geese flew down towards the lake but did not land.  Flying just above the water, suspended in the air, the morning sun gifted a sight I had never seen in all the seasons of migration I have watched.  There, upon the surface were the shadows of the geese.  I have seen the water splash and ripple as their wings and feet touched and danced but I have never seen the shadows move between the water and the geese.  Having seen the shadows fly without creating a single ripple, at last, with songs of joy the geese landed and found their rest.

When one lives alone what makes one day a holiday compared to other days? The sun's touch warming your cold cheeks and nose. The sound of graveled foot stepped silence. The sight of shadows dancing beneath water and winged geese.  The feel of the earth as you fall to your knees with your hands to your heart as your neck bends so your head can join your hands. The whispered voice of 'thank you' as tears fall and dance upon the earth.  Just another day. Another day of giving thanks.

Namaste to all. Happy Thanksgiving

"Men must live and create. Live to the point of tears." ~ Albert Camus

This too

In all mythologies, creation stories and in every culture, stories of God/gods becoming human exist. They become human to experience only what these frail human bodies can feel. The touch of another's hand, the presence and voice of another. The experience of weariness, fear, uncertainty transformed into Love, Joy, Life, gratitude, abundance and Light.  And so we are here.... the Source of Light, Love, Joy and Creation journeying upon this earth.

No matter the storm that has brought destruction or loss, no matter whether from nature, our own mis-beliefs or those of others.... this too shall pass. More importantly... this too shall transform.

Precious Ripple

In the Vedanta, the question is asked how long a single life time is compared to eternity. Whatever concept one has of eternity, the vastness of time compared to the few seasons we walk upon the earth, make this walk seem but a blink in time. Perhaps no more than the first movement of a blink.  Yet, despite its brevity, we have eternity to think about how we spent the time and in some beliefs, return again to learn and complete what we ran from, feared, or at the time, gave no value.

An odd thread I know, but as I walked around the lake, I saw a middle aged man standing beneath the gazebo deck at the lake's edge. Hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the fountains streaming upward, cascading showers of droplets and ripples dancing upon the glassy lake surface.  He did not move. He was a perfect statue of hope seeking an answer. You could feel the weight on his shoulders, you could see his jaws were locked. He simply stared into the fountain. Four laps he did not move. While on the fifth he moved to his car at the crest of the hill where I turn. A quick gaze saw him sitting, hands on the steering wheel, eyes fixed again upon the fountain. Whatever the weight, whatever the answer he was seeking, he had left it in the breathing fountain of water and ripples.

Each step I took, each gaze upon the dancing wind blown leaves and the mountain peak, I wished him peace. As I saw him drive away, I sat down at the edge of the lake. With the whisper of "peace" I cast a stone in and watch the water leap upward and the ripples dance. Another stone and whisper of "harmony" and again the lake leaped upward and the ripples danced.  A third stone and whisper of "laughter" and the lake leaped even higher. A final stone and the whisper of "love" almost reached the fountain and its ripples scampered to those created by the fountain.

The length of a person's life upon the earth is but a tiny ripple in eternity.  Yet, eternity created us and gifted us this life, this precious ripple.  As eternity casts her pebbles of peace, harmony, laughter and love, may the ripple of my life, and the stranger's who drove away with his answer, leap to the sky and scamper to join those of the Fountain. 

Journaled Sky's Reply

Good morning my little heart. Sweet life has awakened us to another morning. The body did not falter and the birds were fed. We savored our oatmeal and coffee as the pigeons hummed their way to the seed. We read of not fearing death, of transitions and awakening. We read of love of Life and the divine spark. We read of nature, her rhythms and cycles. We read of the heart, embedded in darkness, encased behind bone that will not decay, and yet she is the lighthouse, forever streaming forth light to show us the course of waves, shallow waters and hardened rocks.  We read how the blood, so weary from its journey, its cleansing and so depleted returns to the heart. Defying gravity the blood returns and the heart breathes new life into the blood and renewed it returns to offer the breath to all our cells. We sat in silence and felt the morning breeze cloak us like a mother gently covering her newborn sleeping child. We felt the rainbow prisms dancing upon our face. And as the sun rose higher, the warmth weaving through our shirt, flesh and bone warming the heart and joining their light.   Good morning my little heart and spirit. The gift of morning, the day, of life has been given. A simple thread left here, a small thread offered to Life, to simply say thank you. Meager and humbled, timidly shared. To leave the timid sharing and go forth boldly into the day, and open the Gift.   Remembering the journal sky we wrote about yesterday and the words we left, tócame ...touch me...  to hear Life's reply  her echo and request back to us

tócame...touch me.

Unshared Invitation

We can share with others our irrational and angry side. We can share our political, parental and even childrearing expressions and opinions.  Even the child in us, now a parent to the parent shares what is right and should be done’s.  We can express and claim our needs and rights to the stop sign or to go the speed limit (or better) to the drivers in front of us.  We share our impulsive side, our silly and romantic expressions and needs.  As managers, employees, citizens and consumers we freely share the unmet needs. 

Why then, is it so hard, perhaps even rare, for the naked soul and heart to quietly whisper to another, “I hurt” or “I need”?  Is there no invitation?

May my heart and spirit, with all their shortcomings and small wisdom, always offer to another, the comfort and invitation of uttering such a whisper.   

Labor Day Blessing

May the pause of your labors, give reflection of pride for all you do -do not forget to praise yourself.

May the pause of your labors allow your feet to move towards your dream, upon the soles of ‘what if.’

May the pause of your labors issue forth a blessing within your heart for the millions who have no work, food, shelter, water and exist upon the sustenance of dust.

May the pause of your labors celebrate the changing seasons and give cause to notice nature’s symphony and painted canvas beckoning you to come and play.

May the pause of your labors be not the pause of your laughter.

May the pause of your labors remind you to breathe, and enjoy the breath.

May the pause of your labors so delight your eyes, come tomorrow, you eagerly seek to see yet again.

And may today, you know only the effortless labor of love.

Blessings.

Thread for the Body

"May you keep faith with your body,

learning to see it as a holy sanctuary

which can bring this night wound

gradually towards the healing and freedom of dawn."

~John O'Donohue 

Remembering the Reason

As the body whispers no more, my heart recites the Bodhisattva prayer with an even softer whisper

"May all the pain of every living being  Be wholly scattered and destroyed. For all those ailing in the world, Until their every sickness has been healed, May I myself become for them The doctor, nurse and medicine itself. My body, thus, and all my goods besides, And all my merits gained and to be gained, I give them all away withholding nothing To bring about the benefit of beings. May I be a guard for those who are protectorless, A guide for those who journey on the road. For those who wish to go across the water, May I be a boat, a raft, a bridge."

And cradles the body with a reason to believe.

Humming prayer

I am so much a child. The morning coffee, the birds and the sun.  I had to share. Having no one I brought outside my impulse buy of a toy horse, posed standing up with the feel of power his feet pawing the air.

Holding the image up to the morning sun just seemed the thing to do. And then I giggled at myself, with a whisper of 'my gosh you are a dork.'

A car went flying by, way too fast, probably late for work. Open neighbors' windows released the sound of a husband yelling at his wife and another the sound of a child and mother not very pleased with other. I recalled the young man standing in front of the house last night screaming at his girl friend on the cell phone and bad words flying through my open windows. I thought of the clerk who despite my best efforts simply refused to smile. I felt the holes in the wholeness of my heart and body. 

As I pondered, the little horse danced in the air, and upon the porch windowsill. The birds and wind chime became his orchestra accompanied by my soft gentle hum and prayer of peace to all whose images and voices I felt and saw.  Another hum for any who might see my little scrich, a hummed prayer that in the midst of your busy day, you could come and play with life, pause to hold up the silliness and wonder in your heart, and giggle to yourself, 'my gosh I am a dork.'  I'll leave my little horse here, in case you need a friend to play.

Waiting Eyes

Sometimes it takes all my willpower to stop myself from going to the local shelter and bringing home every abandoned dog and cat.  In Minnesota my friends would call on Sundays, between 2-4pm, to make sure I was home - that was when the local shelter would have an open house near my house.  I look at my little Dibley, and think of how she fit in my coat pocket when I went with the rescue group to a puppy mill and I carried her out...and home with me.  I think of how, though abandoned, neglected and abused the animals are, they look through their cages, eyes filled with hope and their tails wagging every time someone walks by- despite being ignored and abandoned, they still.... simply want to love and give.

And if my heart can be so tender, and if nature has created such unselfish, loving and forgiving hearts in these small creatures.... what must the heart of the sweet Hands of Life feel when She waits, abandoned and forgotten behind the mind's cage of fear or unworthiness.

Absent no soul

My brain is muddled and so when I go to walk the lake’s path, in my pocket I carry five stones.  With each journey around the lake a stone is moved from one pocket to the other.  I no longer have to doubt myself with a ‘was that two or three?’  As I walk, I draw to those upon my heart, the ripples and breeze dancing upon the lake and grass,  tickling the leaves, and the mountain rising as I crest the hill. 

Sometimes I get miffed, when the last stone has joined the others and I am making my way up the hill that is my reward, when suddenly I realize I have forgotten someone or some need.  As if I only had one shot to speak to the Sweet Hands of Life, and they will go untended.  And so, I now carry a sixth stone in the pocket of my heart.  It is simple and passes from my heart to the Sweet Hands of Life, after I have whispered, “So shall it be.”  A simple phrase…”Absent no soul from the light.”

And if you should see this simple little scrich of my heart, though I know not your name.  Know that this little stone “Absent no soul from the light” bears your name.

 

"In Lak' ech".... you are my other me