The Story of the Contented Fisherman:
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.
- Mary Oliver
The Layers
I have walked
through many lives,
some of them my
own,
and I am not who
I was,
though some
principle of being
abides, from which
I struggle
not to stray.
When I look
behind,
as I am compelled
to look
before I can
gather strength
to proceed on my
journey,
I see the
milestones dwindling
toward the
horizon
and the slow
fires trailing
from the
abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger
angels
wheel on heavy
wings.
Oh, I have made
myself a tribe
out of my true
affections,
and my tribe is
scattered!
How shall the
heart be reconciled
to its feast of
losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of
my friends,
those who fell
along the way,
bitterly stings
my face.
Yet I turn, I
turn,
exulting
somewhat,
with my will
intact to go
wherever I need
to go,
and every stone
on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest
night,
when the moon was
covered
and I roamed
through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded
voice
directed me:
“Live in the
layers,
not on the
litter.”
Though I lack the
art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next
chapter
in my book of
transformations
is already
written.
I am not done
with my changes
- Stanley Kunitz
_______________________________________________________
April 15, 2013
Boston Strong …Remember!
- and keep all those who were killed or injured and their family and friends in your prayers.
(click link if not viewed on smart phone)
amdg
