For some there comes a time when a second chance is given.That time then becomes a celebration of the unrecognized gifts of the past and humble gratitude for the wonder of present.
This then is a collection of reflections and comments on life,work,love and faith to be sung ,and danced to, in thanksgiving for a second chance.
"For last year's words belong to last year's language. And next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning."
—T.S. Eliot
“ Hope is a great tool when it comes to forming new habits and letting go of
Older, obsolete habits. Hope opens the door to possibility and allows us to
envision change, particularly change that we desire.”
- Andrew Mellen
And so another 12 months are marked off the calendar and someone says
“Here we go again” but the pilgrim with eyes closed senses that this body is just a vessel on this odyssey. He let the music that played during his settling into preparation for inspiration be the reflection today.
“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience. “
"Contained in Everything I Do There's a love I feel for you Proclaimed in everything I write You're the light, burning brightly Onward through the night Onward through the night of my life." - Onward , "Yes', C. Squire “We were talking, about the love
that's gone so cold and the people,
Who gain the world and lose their soul
Then you may find, peace of mind, is waiting there
And the time will come when you see we're all one,
And life flows on within and without
you”
- Within Without You, G. Harrison
"You say that emotions are overrated.Emotions are all we've got." - Mick, "Youth" Someone
once suggested that that light at the end of this long meandering up and down
tunnel doesn’t get any smaller with the passage of time. At what point did that
original innocence fade from view behind us? What is it that tries and
sometimes succeeds to dampen that once holy flame of enthusiasm? Where did that
trusted lifelong companion go? Was there a specific voice that encouraged or
tempted me to take that one specific path and he another? How is it that some
continue to hold the hands of a loved one while others feel they need to
traverse every step alone? Are we quick to forget the power of touch? Are we
quick to forget the simple songs? Were not the simple songs all we have? Can we
keep our heads up and hearts opened as we move onward through the night of our
lives?
No
thing lasts forever does it? Some trees fall more quickly than others. Broken
barren branches, remnants of a glory that once was, are now strewn across the
field and is fuel for the next pilgrim along the way eventually becoming ashes
to nurture the earth where that roaming fire had burned through the days and
nights. Some giving-trees seem to continue to grow strong and grand with
seasonal rebirth. Others are cut down in their prime becoming trunks of rest
for tired worn out pilgrims. Still, other trees perpetuate constant leaves as
shade source of freedom for launching for Frost boys swinging as they lean
towards heaven. He prayed that he could be one of those branches on a tree of
Merton.
His
meditation “There is no fear for my own last day but the heart trembles with
the slightest consideration of the passing of the one’s I love and for the last
breath of those who may have loved me. “
The
purest innocence of babies and youth at honest play; the intoxicating freedom
discovered in boundless music; the presence of love, and the egoless carefree resilience
of an uncorrupted authenticity are what we need to keep spirits alive while
making way in our time worn weathered vessels. Listen to the larger voices
calling and suddenly consideration that all this is just coincidence and
strictly chance -is proven
to be naïve.
So
with just weeks away from another birthday I have had a number of reflections
and ideas about a blog post bouncing round and round in my head. I have drafted
at least four separate posts but I thought I would highlight just some random
sections from these drafts as the post today.
“Everything
that dies some day comes back. Meet me tonight in Atlantic City.”
* So
there is a friend who is telling me that he is getting concerned about his age
as he moves forward in his second career, which in all truth should have been
his first. But that’s for another post. This friend and I know of a peer of
ours who has posted his age as being ten years younger than he really is. Hmmm?
A recent 6-week bout with sciatica as a result of two bulging discs reminded me
that I couldn’t do the same things the same way I did years ago. (Hey now…I am
talking about golf!) While in pain I couldn’t read, write or even play music. I
did worry for a while but the worrying didn’t change anything. Physical therapy
and prayer helped!
* There
are some Buddhist monks who spend days carefully creating intricate works of
art called “Mandelas” with millions of colored grains of sand only to brush
away the work of art when their work is done. They believe that the “art”, the
sacred experience is in the doing…in the “creating”, in the being “present.”
Being present is to be lost in the moment of the task at hand and all that
fills the spirit. “Yesterday is history, tomorrow mystery and the present is a
gift.” All is impermanence some say. There is no need the boast about what was
finally completed. It is being present to the moment that matters. I like to get
lost in the doing and the flow...
* The
pilgrim was asked to create a profile that featured his experiences, achievements
and credentials. He wrote down that he is most proud of his two daughters. The
newly designed automatic electronic digital form that was to collect his input
wouldn’t accept that response. So he tried again. This time he wrote about his family,
friends, playing music, running marathons, meditations and walking on the beach
at Cape May watching the sunrise. Again, big red letters appeared “ERROR: NOT VALID ENTRY!” and wouldn’t accept his
input. There were designated spaces about educational degrees earned, work
titles and employers and memberships to organizations. “That’s not who I really
am”, he thought.
* A dear friend sent me this quote in
response to some correspondence about my letting the winds and waves carrying
me to where I need to be…. Coincidence or a greater plan, who knows?
“Perhaps the best river runners are
Taoists at heart. Taoism considers someone wise if they accommodate themselves
to the rhythms of the universe.”
* Becoming a first time grandfather
recently has changed everything. All of a sudden the sacred has exploded like
some beautiful fragrant flower in the middle of the winter of my life and even
I feel reborn.
* I
read the quote below years ago and only recently did I begin to grasp it’s
meaning. I am not sure if I am correct but it doesn’t matter in the end does
it?
“Before
enlightenment; chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment; chop wood, carry
water.” ~Zen proverb
Don’t Stop – Fleetwood Mac ( Smart Phones click on link)
The rich industrialist from the North was horrified
to find the Southern fisherman lying lazily beside his boat, smoking a pipe.
"Why aren't you out fishing?" said the
industrialist.
"Because I have caught enough fish for the
day," said the fisherman.
"Why don't you catch more?"
"What would I do with it?"
"You can earn more money" was the reply.
"With that you can have a motor fixed to your boat and go into deeper
waters and catch more fish. Then you would make enough to buy nylon nets. These
would bring you more fish and more money. Soon you would have enough money to
own two boats... maybe even a fleet of boats. Then you would be a rich man like
me."
"What would I do then?"
"Then you can really enjoy life."
"What do you think I'm doing right now?"
-Anthony DeMello SJ
Passing through the door leading into the next season the
pilgrim sailor wondered about the progress, if any, that he may have made along
his journey. He realized how he easily got lost . One can get lost along the way especially
when he is distracted by state of his attachments to things and people and
worrying about the pieces he can’t control.
“What have I learned?”, he reflected .
He thought about those aspects of his existence that he truly
loved…his girls, his friends, the mentors, the people and places and experiences
that filled him with joy. He thought of all of nature - especially the majesty of dawns and sunsets and birds
singing freely and the sea. Then he recalled the poems (…yes, the poems) and
the books and music that comforted, inspired and continue to fill him up.
He is glad that he no longer fights the battle to fill his
silos. Sometimes he tries too hard
to be authentic. Sometimes he realizes that being human is imperfection.
Sometimes he is attentive to bringing a little smile to those in pain or those
who are alone. Sometimes he just finds himself lost in being mindful of the
present, the divinity of all things, and the wonder-filling grace. Sometimes he
is aware of the fact that he just needs to let it all go and just be.
April is
national Poetry Month
“We don't read and write poetry
because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human
race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business,
engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But
poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from
Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the
endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good
amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists,
and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.
That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your
verse be?”
-Dead Poets Society
“The Gate of Heaven is everywhere”
-Thomas Merton
"True spirituality is
not a search for perfection or control or the door to the next world; it is a
search for divine union now. The great discovery is always that what we are
searching for has already been given! I did not find it; it found me. “
-Richard
Rohr, The Naked Now
The Buddha's Last
Instruction
"Make
of yourself a light "
said
the Buddha,
before
he died.
I think
of this every morning
as the
east begins
to tear
off its many clouds
of
darkness, to send up the first
signal
- a white fan
streaked
with pink and violet,
even
green.
An old
man, he lay down
between
two sala trees,
and he
might have said anything,
knowing
it was his final hour.
The
light burns upward,
it
thickens and settles over the fields.
Around
him, the villagers gathered
and
stretched forward to listen.
Even
before the sun itself
hangs,
disattached, in the blue air,
I am
touched everywhere
by its
ocean of yellow waves.
No
doubt he thought of everything
that
had happened in his difficult life.
And
then I feel the sun itself
as it
blazes over the hills,
like a
million flowers on fire-
clearly
I'm not needed
yet I
feel myself turning
into
something of inexplicable value.
Slowly,
beneath the branches,
he
raised his head.
He
looked into the faces of that frightened crowd.
