It was All Saints Day 2012 when I first saw this sapling, took her photo, and discovered the purple light while reviewing my pictures at the end of the day. She became what I designated as Trudy’s Tree – my memorial to my sweet sister who had died that January. Each year adding another rock, a small cross created from sloughed-off tree bark, and eventually more rocks contributed by friends also visiting the monastery river walk.
Continue reading Heart for All
“Look deeply,” She whispered. “The day is almost done, but there is more – yet a little more beauty for you to enjoy.”
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.”
Thich Nhat Hanh
What started as gray depression
Gradient in its width and depth
Showed to be a condition, hovering,
Amongst us.
Hope on a far away hillside
Hot in its height and breadth
Fueled by a common love, shining,
From us.
Make of it what you will
Promise or memory of what once was.
“Dig deep,” I heard, “to the Founding,
of all of us.”
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.
Continue reading We don’t know it was our last, until it was.