Tag Archives: peace

the cave

Posted on by
Reply

I am sitting deep within the cave of my heart. It is dark. I glance around myself and see the dim edges of rocks and tunnels. I think I should be scared but I am not. It is so deeply quiet here, so still.

I am sitting on a small ledge that overhangs a pool of still water. It lends a dampness to the cavern that touches my skin and coats the inside of my lungs as I breathe slowly in and out. I stretch my legs and lean back a bit on my arms and listen and wait.

I am waiting for you. For your deep whisper in my heart. For the promise of your own heartbeat within me.

I have forgotten how to seek you, how to wait for you, how to trust your coming. Yet somehow, even after so long away, I trust your coming.

It is not my conjuring or my protocols or rituals that call you forth. It is the shape of how things are, of who you are. It is the very shape of life itself that brings me to you – for that is the truth of it. It is not so much that you must come to me. You are here. Always. At the very center of all that is. How could it be otherwise since you are life itself?

How then can I lose you? How can I live without noticing your heartbeat? How can I let myself be so distracted by the scurry and cries and bustle around me that I forget your unshakable love?

And yet I do forget. And though my own heart blames me for such neglect, your heart surrounds me with welcome. You don’t want our time together to be swallowed by focus on my failures. You simply want to love me and for me to receive and return that love.

After some moments of repentance – which I see as a required penance, but you see as simply clearing space – I let go all the chatter of my soul. I simply breathe, in and out. I count to five, each breath a bit deeper and slower than the last, and I slip into the pool. I float, suspended in the water. Even if I momentarily sink beneath the surface I can still breathe deeply. The pool is liquid grace. I take it in with grateful ease. It fills each cell. I am awash with life, with love … with you.

Amen.

[Image from photo by Jess Ayotte on flickr per cc 2.0]

yes or no

Posted on by
Reply 

Does it matter to the world
That I have lost my center;
That I find my heart jerked back and forth
With every new event
And the conjecture about what it means?

Does my own peace or angst
Add anything to the world’s unfolding?

The answer is either yes, or no.

Either way, it makes a difference
Whether I can find my way to peace, in You.

If yes -
If my own centering in Your presence
Can help in some small way
To remind the world that there is a center
And that we are all invited in -
Then it does make a difference
To one small corner of the world.

If no -
If my peace or angst are mine alone,
If there are no ripples from my presence,
Then, I might as well seek peace.
It will, after all,
Make a vast difference to me
Even if it is me, alone.

And I expect the truth
Is somewhere in the middle.
It is both yes and no.
I will not change the world, much.
But even a little can make a difference.

I know this because
The kind smile of a friend,
The simple sigh of one I love,
The joy that invades my heart
From seeing the pure joy of my granddaughter
Or the soft, proud smile of her mother
These make my life rich.

I am pulled from poverty of spirit
To the rich, full embrace of life
By little things.

And so, I resolve
To offer what little things I can
To life,
To You,
And, so, to the world.

I give my offering
As a ‘yes’ to the center
That gives its life to me.

[photo by piotr mamnaimie per cc 2.0; captured through flickr]

better

Posted on by
1

vining .jpg

The green of the leaf,
The heat of the sun,
The laughter that bubbles up
When good friends meet
After a long absence,

The sweet satisfaction
In a sip of cool water,
The uncomplicated giggle
Of a small, dear child,
These are evidence of you.

These are embodiment of you.
These are where, again, you create life.

Theology is good.
The pulse of life is better.
I rejoice in them both.

[photo by Mary Beth Griffo Rigby per cc by nc nd 2.0]

the blessing of the song

Posted on by
Reply

sparrow's songMay you find the melody your heart was made to sing this day
May it flow softly, surely, out into the world
Giving hope those who wander close enough to hear.

May your soul know its part within the whole,
The part that makes it whole,
And sees that wholeness glistening in others.

May you wake beside your dearest love
And see them smiling at the sight of you
And feel their love enfold you.

May you hear the melody of God’s own dear song
Playing in harmony with yours
As it opens your ears to the symphony of life.

May it grace your way
And fill your day
With deepest healing and abiding joy.

[photo by Mark Moschell per cc 2.0]

touching life

Posted on by
Reply

rolling pinThere is life in the chimes outside my window
As they ring their solemn joy into the dawn.

There is life in my grandmother’s rolling pin,
As it makes the pies that have fed the family celebrations across the years.
I hold that life in my hands as I shape the dough.

There is life in the rocks that we gathered to build our fireplace.
They hold whispers of that gathering
As we gather, again, around their warmth.

If chimes and rolling pins and rocks can come to life – can I?

[photo is my own)

letting the image speak

Posted on by
Reply

pensive cat

There are some images that speak for themselves.

As soon as you try to nail them down with words,
You make them smaller.
You tighten your focus, and lose the fullness.
Analysis can be good
But sometimes grateful acceptance is even better.

 

[photo is my own – you many use it under cc By-NC-SA 2.0]

moments of peace

Posted on by
Reply

comfort one another

There are moments
– far too few –
when I remember to lean my head back
and feel it rest upon your shoulder.

Then I feel you kiss the top of my head
and your spirit gathers me like a beloved child
upon your lap,
surrounded by your embrace.

The rise and fall of your chest
quiets my soul
and I know that
all is well,
all is well,
all is well,
regardless.

[image by Bill Rogers per cc 2.0]

inside the storm

Posted on by
Reply

stormI am on the deck of an old wooden sailing ship, conjured up from memories of pirate movies. It dips and sways in violent motion and I cannot stand without great effort. I am thrown against the mast and against the railings. I stagger and slip. There is a howling wind around me. It whips my hair and blows great sheets of water over me, drenching me with cold, wet saltiness. Then I am thrown again. I raise my voice to cry out in the storm, but though I am shouting, no sound can be heard above this turmoil. No one can hear my cry.

And I have no idea how to use the ship, how to steer, how to guide its passage. I am stuck here till the storm subsides. So I retreat inside the cabin and shut the door behind me. Two steps inside and I stop to listen. I had expected the same violent movement within the cabin – after all, it is a part of the ship in this storm. But it is calm in here. The lantern hanging from the ceiling sways in a comforting, slow rhythm. The wind is not whistling through the cracks. I look out the window and see that the storm is still in progress, but it cannot penetrate the quiet of this cabin.

I sit down at the table to rest and to take stock of where I am, of what is happening. There is a meal spread simply before me: manna and cool water. I begin to eat. My first bite stops me. A prayer of relief tumbles from my lips. I put my head on the table and sob with release from the pounding of the storm. I cry until there is no more tension within me and then I move to a bed which is secured to the wall and fall into its billows. I cannot move. Just before I slip into sleep, I whisper. “Thank you. Even within the storm, you provide an inner room of comfort and of rest. You give me peace, without which I am overcome.”   I release myself to sleep, without fear of the storm, which I know I must face again tomorrow. Its bluster can wait. Today I rest.

8 11 95

[photo by Greg Moore per cc 2.0]

a blessing for my friends

Posted on by
Reply

budding beauty

May the cool fingers of morning
Brush your cheek as you arise.
May the deep peace of the meadow
Rock your soul in sweet embrace.
May the light of loving truth
Dawn upon your soul.

May you wake to the life
That belongs to you,
Seeded deep within your very self –
A gift of your creation,
The delight of all who love you.

May you find and live your areté.

[photo by Hafiz Issadeen per cc 2.0]

morning connection

Posted on by
Reply

morning sunrise

I stand on the hill beside the oak, arms across my chest, a little cocky. I warn myself to be careful about cockiness but I feel good – not defeated, not tired, not discouraged: good. I am ready for the day, pleased to be alive. That’s a surprise – no dread, no sigh. My head is buzzing from this feeling and it is strange enough that I feel wary about it. I drop my hands to my sides and stride off toward the well.

As I approach, my heart, still singing a light tune, feels the sense of awe in the amphitheater, and welcomes it. Awe and confidence at once. I come and seat myself quietly on one of the stone benches that surround the well. I watch the congregation gather. Angels, apostles, even animals come forward and find a place around the well. Everyone is quiet but there is a unsung song of joy on the hearts and faces of the crowd. On my face, too.

The well begins to overflow. The water rises slowly and flows over the edge in a clear smooth sheet. It gathers at the base and then flows off in a stream toward the edge of the meadow. One by one the members of the crowd go forward to the well and touch the surface of the water as it streams quietly over the edge.

Each one touches the well. Each one begins to glow with a soft light – it enters the fingertips and flows through the whole being of the one who is at the well. One comes and touches the water and then touches his own forehead. Another touches the water and touches her lips. A third touches the water and touches her heart. All, in turn, anointing themselves with the water and the energy that radiates from the well. All return to the congregation, take a seat and offer their hands to those seated next to them. Soon the whole congregation is holding hands and is surrounded by a faint glow.

Then the sun above the meadow breaks through a cloud. I had not missed it until it appeared, but now it’s brilliance shoots down and gleams off the surface of the well.

Suddenly the whole congregation bursts into song. It is a glorious, highly complicated melody where each member sings what seems to be a separate song, but, sung together, they make a whole of woven tunes so rich and yet so complex that the ear, not even the heart can really receive it all.

An angel on the other side of the well stands. He is seven or eight feet tall and towers over the congregation in great strength and beauty.. His face is both stern and soft, young and old, joyful and sorrowful. It is as if he holds the complexity and fullness of all of humanity in his features. He says, simply, “Today we take the time to rejoice, for it renews and completes us all.” He lifts his hands, as does the whole congregation, and they are pulled toward the sun and are gone.

I alone, am left on the benches. I still feel confident and strong, but I realize that my own piece in this complex web of life is very small. Humility and confidence have never sat so comfortably within me as they do now.

What a pleasant morning. What a blessing to be a part of the greater web of life.

3 10 95

[photo by Norm Smith per cc 2.0]