I am finding my pace here. Morning walks with a glad heart, no shoulds of shaping a different me Cool, dry air inviting, no heavy, moisture-laden blankets weighing me down Nature every which way I look - geese, egrets, magpies, frantic swarms of gnats dancing in the hottest hours of the day, and two of the littlest fawns I have ever seen; even a small birdie flies into our house. I rescue her with my hat, and return her to her home of everywhere - no walls or restrictions of a 180 degree life. And God. Yes, God. Always God. Walking with me. Watching with me. Pointing out to me the more subtle spider-web-weave on junipers, then, reminding me that to think, with broken heart, of the unthinkable losses so many are facing this morning, is prayer. Is Love.
It is all just so heartbreaking. I wish there was more to do. I pray for a blanket of Love to comfort all who are suffering.
These times require me to seek and steep in an infusion of love. A million messages a day invite me to choose compassion or loathing. In a millisecond of scrolling, I am dragged to gutters of rage or the deepest of heartaches.
I can’t deny the algorithms I trigger with every click or like, nor the cumulative effect these choices have on my sensitive soul. But I am certain, if not always willing, that the next Right Action is always compassion for myself and for all beings, closely followed by choosing infusions of love to fortify my heart.
“Our mind is like a garden, and we are the gardener. We can cultivate flowers or weeds. Whatever we plant and water will grow. Every piece of information, every conversation, every image, every sound we take in is a seed. If we are mindful, we can choose which seeds to water – whether they are seeds of joy, peace, and compassion, or seeds of anger, fear, and craving.”
The passage, “For everyone to whom much is given, from him much will be required,” keeps knocking on my heart when I read about the cuts and bonuses proposed in the “Big Beautiful Bill” known as H.R.1.
House Republicans have unveiled the cost-saving centerpiece of President Donald Trump’s “big, beautiful bill,”at least $880 billion in cuts largely to Medicaid to help cover the cost of $4.5 trillion in tax breaks.
Washington AP
The cuts in this bill are not about reducing our nation’s debt.* They are about math and priorities.
Similar to using the Golden Key – a loving practice of forgiveness – I hope these Golden Scissors give you permission to let go of the past and live more fully in the Present.
Recently a friend shared this sentiment as relating to the last vacation he will go on with his Dad, beset with Alzheimers. This often painful irony comes to mind again this morning as I enter Lent, and as I think of Christ’s last days here on earth. I believe Christ told us that he knew his time was coming, but I’m not sure he knew which day would be his last – our first. Our Easter.
We are back home after spending time in England. Our trip was originally planned for October of last year, to Scotland. But there was the little hitchie-do of the heart attack and so it was delayed. Then delayed some more, redirected to England, and pulled together with lightening speed to meet up with dear friends from Nigeria.
This was the third trip Les and I have shared in London. I didn’t know if it could meet or exceed our previous love affair with all things British, but it did.
Maybe you will recognize some of the sights, sensations or special moments from a trip you have taken here, or another place. Maybe you will recall the thing you found through travel to foreign places, or what foreign ideas became familiar because you traveled. Just know, from all shores, and all places, we wish you well.
