I finger my thoughts, slowly, like beads on a string,
Turning them in my fingers, observing their texture and color.
One by one they pass through my grasp.
I can hardly tell why each one arises, nor how it morphs to the next.
Each seems so real and intricate as it sits between my fingers
But as I let it go, it turns to vapor and dissipates.
There really are no beads before or after the one I hold;
Not that I can see.
Could it be that the time I spend in my head – planning or trying to understand
May actually be frittering away the life you have opened for me
Opened – but it’s out of sight, so, out of mind.
How do loosen my internal focus, so I can grasp a broader view?
Let me learn not to worry about the last bead or the next –
To focus less on thoughts and more on moments
To trust the string of your love
And let the beads arise and fall in grace.
This is my prayer
Today and tomorrow
(If I can anticipate the next day’s bead upon the string)
Let me come to life, one bead at a time.
[photo by Vicki C per cc 2.0]
Binocular vision helps us to see
That it takes more than one perspective
To really see well; to see with depth.
Yeah, me, too.
And, we, together … even more.
[photo by Thomas Hawk per cc 2.0]
Perhaps my soul’s call
Is simply to whisper, ‘Look!’
‘Look, how beautiful!’
[photo from the wonderful blog, nature has no boss, by MIKE BIZEAU]
Sometimes my mind seems to flicker
At the very edges of a new reality.
Ideas blink on and off,
Just out of reach.
A new fragrance hangs in the air.
An almost melody calls my heart.
The old understandings
Now fall like a chiffon drape
Ruffling in the wind
Across the window of my imagination.
What once seemed solid and sure
Is revealed as a faded fabric
Filtering the light.
Thomas Kuhn would speak of a paradigm shift:
The unmaking and remaking of foundational frameworks.
But the image I feel
Is that of walking through a series of veils,
Hanging on a line to dry.
Each reveals, even as it hides.
Each gives way to another.
Or, instead, I begin to catch the threads
As they unravel from an old tapestry.
I find that they can be rewoven into a blanket.
Beautiful and new, it covers all.
It holds fresh stories
Not painted on its surface
But cuddled in its folds.
[public domain image, drawn from wikipedia]
I think of soul as anything’s ultimate meaning, held deep within. – Richard Rohr, paraphrased
If you have not found your own arête, your true soul,
Then, you are in competition with all others
For a place in the universe.
When you do find it,
When it is shown to you,
All others become your siblings.
You can find brother sun, sister moon,
Uncle mountain, mother earth,
And cousins in all your fellow travelers.
The strength of others becomes
A bulwark rather than a threat
As you meld your different gifts into a greater whole.
When you find your part to play,
When you play in joy with others,
All the world befriends you.
The gift of being,
Even the gift of joining others
In discovering your mutual gifts – is, itself, a gift.
[the image above, by Ade McOran-Campbell has been placed in the public domain by the artist]
The heart of it all
Is not a piece of flesh
But a warm and generous embrace.
Life is not centered on substance,
On things – or even beings
But on relationship.
The most precious thing in my life is not a thing.
It’s harder to see relationship
But I am learning.
It’s not the smile, but the connection it brings.
It’s like learning to see life itself.
It is a mystery that you cannot hold still.
It is a mystery that holds you … still.
[photo by Maltz Evans per cc 2.0]
I wonder …
and when I do, judgment falls to the wayside.
All the fingers of my mind,
That try to grasp and hold – and fix – reality,
Release their grip.
Wakes to beauty
Rests in grace.
I am held in the open palm
Of God’s dear hand
In the twinkling of an insight,
I am changed.
My soul is released into the mystery.
I find that I am held
Even as I am freed.
[Thanks to Maria Popova in her post on gentle wonder as a corrective …]
[photo is my own]