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.
If you don’t know where you’re going Any Road will get you there. - Any Road, G. Harrison
I listen to the wind come how l, telling me to hurry I listen to the robin’s song saying not to worry. - On the
Way to Find out, Cat Stevens
While on the long ride home The state of the art satellited technology system Filled the blank space with a landscape Seemingly from some yet undiscovered planet. Unfamiliar mountains and landmarks line the passageway. A river with no-name flows to the unknown sea . Even incidents and allegations along the way Were not reflected nor anticipated in that wise
navigation tool.
The silent conversation began: “ We’re not in Kansas anymore” the first one communicated
the second. The second one’s eyes ask if they are headed in the
right direction. “It all depends if it will take us to where we want to
go,” the firstreplied without words. “Does it matter?” the second’s hand asked.
For the first time in the time and space they shared
together It was agreed that maps and directions were not needed, as they decided to slow down to just go with the flow and enjoy the ride.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Day Three and then departure..
The sun is ever present in safe
harbor Cape May ... She burns brightly through the haze Spirits warmed, rested and consoled Waves of that great ocean of mercy Rolling in serene and soft Kiss the beach , sanctifying grateful pilgrims As they prepare for the next phase Of their passage.
New hobby - "Ocean Gazing"
Tide comes in
Tide goes out
Fog comes in Fog lifts Tide comes in again Sun squeezing herself slightly Through the clouds Tide goes out again Footprints in the sand Washed away Anointed by the sacred salt air The sun retreats slowly It's 112 pm on our anniversary She's sleeping Music fills the space between... Tide comes in...
“….To a visitor who described himself as a seeker
after Truth the Master said, ‘If what you seek is Truth, there is one thing you
must have above all else’.
‘ I know.
An overwhelming passion for it’ .
‘No. An
unremitting readiness to admit you may be wrong’. “
- Anthony De Mello SJ
The
pilgrim looked up from his journal and whispered ,“the singer sang ‘pride comes
before a fall.’” Returning to his journal he wrote …
“Imperfection
is who we are. Anyone who believes they have achieved perfection has deceived
himself.” He was aware of his own imperfection and his own pride in that he
alone could improve his life. In some ways he felt unqualified to write about
humility. In some ways he felt unqualified to write anything at all.
He
recalled a story his teacher shared years ago;
“Nan-in, a Japanese master during the
Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire
about Zen. Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept
on pouring.The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain
himself. "It is overfull. No more will go in!" "Like this
cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and
speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?”
The
pilgrim stopped his writing and retreated to the place where he could let go
and be present in gratitude for the sacredness of all life.
“If you write for God you will reach many men and bring them
joy. If you write for men--you may make some money and you may give someone a
little joy and you may make a noise in the world, for a little while. If you
write for yourself, you can read what you yourself have written and after ten
minutes you will be so disgusted that you will wish that you were dead.”
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.
* Less
than a week has gone by since my 20 something daughter and fiancé’ gathered to
celebrate the music of the not-ready-to-retire original members of Fleetwood
Mac. There in the oceanside city that refuses to die, where lost sheep seek
dreams and gamble their fortunes is where we found ourselves. It was observed
that “The Mac still got it and time ain’t got nothing on these players!” The
congregation of pensioners and newbies danced and sang the night away.
“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 two pilgrims who have
been trying to make their escape to a place called Paradise. Suddenly the two
do not recognize anything on their passage. Most things and people they
encounter are unfamiliar. Pilgrim One starts to show signs of anxiety while
Pilgrim Two starts to flip through a book he has in is knapsack.
Pilgrim One: What the heck are you
doing? How can you begin to think about reading when we are at the precipice of
self-demise? Can’t you take anything seriously?
Pilgrim Two: I am quite serious and this
is just not any book.
Pilgrim One: Oh, I expect that this book
is the one and only “ Good Book?”
Pilgrim Two: Well, it is a good book in
a way. It is one of the journals I have been keeping. As a matter of fact this
particular journal is one in a long line of meditation and reflection filled
pages.
Pilgrim One: So, do you have a map in
there or some great insight that will put us on the right path again?
Pilgrim Two: Well, yes and no. Years ago
I met a wise man from the Big East who gave me some advice.
Pilgrim One: Don’t tell me you took that
“Course on Miracles” and these are your notes! Don’t you realize that …
Pilgrim Two puts up his hand
to signal, “stop” as he interrupts the wound up Pilgrim One’s queries and
confrontation….
Pilgrim Two: Hold on a minute will ya!
No, this is not that text on “The Course in Miracles: To Find Peace and
Happiness” but in a way it is an elementary method of discerning one’s
blessings and being mindful of the sacred in all things. This wise man I spent
some time with used to quote Einstein for me , “ There are two ways to live
your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though
everything is a miracle.” So, years ago I started to try o be aware of all the
miracles and blessings in my life. Then I started to write about these
observations and meditations in a journal.
Pilgrim One: What are you talking about?
How does this help anything? How does this help us now?
Pilgrim Two: If you let me finish I will
tell you. Every morning I sit in wonder and am overwhelmed with humility that
the great grace is filling all things in the universe. This wonder-filled
canvas of pure peace and love surrounds us and it fills up my spirit.
Pilgrim One: A little simplistic isn’t
it? You are not going to lecture me about God, heaven and all that again.
Pilgrim Two: I really don’t care what
you label that energy of great love that has caused all existence through
magnificent peace and love. By the way, for the record, I don’t believe in your
concept that heaven is really the same as some theme park at Disney world or
grand resort on the Riviera located above the stars. All one needs to do is
look, see and feel. No thinking is required, you know.
Pilgrim One flailing his
arms screams out
Pilgrim One: Where are you going with
this? How is this going to help us get to where we need to go? I don’t
understand.
Pilgrim Two: In the pages of this
journal I have tried to write what I am sensing or experienced when I attempt
to be present. Sometimes I feel as though great secrets of the universe are
revealed. Sometimes I experience a consolation so great that I believe I am a
part of the expansive canvas of pure peace. Sometimes the tranquility comes from
the stars. Sometimes I can hear to sweet serenity in the songs of the pre-dawn
birds welcoming the sun. Sometimes the waft of salt air form the sea along with
the lapping waves on the beach are all part of the harmonious symphony of
serenity.
Then
sometimes I drift and contemplate to wonder of existence : Love, intimacy,
compassion and mercy. The miracle of conception and birth comes to mind. Where
does that spark come from that initiates all life? How does that happen,
really?
I
think of how there are no accidents.Einstein was to have said that,
“
Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.” Whoever and whatever God is I
don’t think that this universal magnificence is passive at all.
Then
sometimes I drift again and write about true happiness. I reflect on how I have
never read a story or poem or heard a song or have seen a movie where the one who has the most possessions or biggest bank account has found authentic
happiness or peace.
Pilgrim One now with his
face in his hands whimpers
Pilgrim One: I don’t understand. I don’t
understand. How is this book and all this going to help us get to where we need
to go?
Pilgrim Two:You see I believe that the help, this gift is all about love.
Love is the origin of everything. Love is the reason for existence. Love is
that which fills the universe and every moment we love we are experiencing the
sacred. We become the divine when we love, as all that is love is divine.
So,
we really do not need to get anywhere. We really don’t need to own anything. If
I feel lost or feel alone and can’t connect with that which is truly important
I look into my journal’s writings and discover that I have witnessed true peace
and that miracle of love. And, in this witnessing I realize somehow
mysteriously with all my imperfections I am participating of this miracle.
Heaven is not a destination. Heaven is where love is. Heaven is here and now.
Pilgrim One: I guess I know what you
mean. In the movie “Field of Dreams” the main character meets the spirit of his
father who asks
‘Is
this heaven?’ and the main character responds that it is Iowa and asks his
father’s spirit if there is a heaven and the father says ‘ Oh, yeh, it is the
place dreams come true” and the main character looks at his wife and daughter
on the porch of their farm house next to a ball field in the middle of his
cornfield and smiles saying “Maybe this is heaven.”
The two find a half finished
bottle of Merlot and a baguette in their sole knapsack and the companions begin
to celebrate.
"Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is God's gift, that's why we call it the present."
(Final Scene Field of Dreams- smart phone click link)
Then
there was the time the pilgrim was trying to reach out to old friends and
anyone who might want to listen. There were stories about the illumination of
how perfection is not attainable and parables about how busyness does not mean
happiness ready to explode from within. He had rolled the dice and found
himself singing to himself and writing reflections, lyrics to songs and poems
only he would hear or read. It seems simpatico spirits had either made an early
departure or were preoccupied with
their own searching sojourns.
He
sat soothed by the sea softly swaying as soaring gulls swept just above the
waves with the sun soaking every satisfied soul that savored the sacred serenity
of the hymns of the silence. The clouds blew away. Another season about to
change once again. The oft dreamed about distance grew nearer. Safe harbors
departed. Concern about that which
lies beyond the horizon evaporates. Regrets and receipts of fares paid of
yesterday are logged, stored and shelved. The voice of quiet one echoed
“ its
a game, sometimes your cool, sometimes your lame.”
Then
he remembered how in the great book even the Sons of Thunder were chastised for
wanting the beat the crap out of those who closed their hearts and minds. Gratefully
smiling he returned to that which was burning within singing “That’s the way
goes”
"Sometimes it is more than a game to be played and more than
a race to be run."
And
so the last of the leaves find their peace creating a brown –red- orange –
yellow quilt of remembrance on the fields of the boys of summer. Random
gatherings at food stores and post offices hundreds of miles from the diamond cathedral
in the town where freedom was born are faithful exiled pilgrims in humble
celebration and gratitude. The
multitude of stories and congratulatory smiles of victory raises them from
their daily travails. One pilgrim coated in his adopted city’s armor is saluted
by strangers at almost at every stride.The significance of these greetings reaches
into his core like some conformational holy spirit.
Just
one victory is just what these wanderers desired. It was cosmic. Though
Beelzebub’s mark remains, the burning leaves ashes and smoke of redemption rise
up sanctifying the pilgrims. Jubilant natives convene at the blood stained
finish line with collective whispers of their hallelujah hymn. That season that
was, that time is done and as new one is being born .The circle of life
complete.
The
confidence and determination of a group of crusading players were aware that
their mission was more than winning a game or reclaiming a ring. Church bells
ring out “Jerusalem!” in this New
England town as the duck boats are readied to be launched into the waters
carrying the bearded crusaders down the dirty water waving to the adulating
liberated throngs. A great sigh rises up ...
Ever
have one of those days? You know what I mean. You go to make a nice fresh pot
of coffee and that new super-duper digital self-timing self-measuring alarm
clock radioed CD playing coffee maker won’t turn on. Suddenly you are forced to
boil water over the stove because the microwave is set permanently to “thaw”
and won’t boil water in a nanosecond. It takes a few frustrating minutes to
rummage through the overstocked food cabinet to find that “New improved tastes
like beans” instant coffee you bought months ago. Voila, persistence pays off
as you find the package only to realize it is hardened and you have to chip
away at the newly formed brick to make flakes to drop in your about to be boiled
water.
Finally you go to sit outside on the
deck to witness the peace-filled dawn and there on your favorite most
comfortable outdoor chair is a fresh welcoming pile of bird poop. You angrily
grab a stiff wooden hard backed chair from inside the kitchen, sit perfectly up
right and begin to record your morning observations in your journal. Opening
the black book you see all the pages are full and that note that you had
written that said,“ get a new journal,” slips gently from the inner pages of
the book.
Sitting
still you try to be present. Breathing deeply. Taking more breaths, in and out,
in and out. Relaxed you forget to grasp the boiling hot mud-filled coffee mug
on your lap and it spills probably scarring you for life. Rather than giving out
that outlandish screech a perfectly fouled mouth curse slips out from under
your breath. Retreating inside after you are done wiping and cleaning up much of the staining coffee you decide that sitting at the computer seems to
be the perfect way to save the morning. Recording your thoughts and events so
far on a hard drive will preserve this moment forever. No filled pages to worry
about. You pop open the screen from our laptop to witness a rainbow ball spinning,
spinning and spinning.
Recalling
with arrogant pride your well-trained techno savvy cleverness you immediately reboot
the computer. Again... Again. The ball still spins and spins and seems to spin
faster and faster and finally the screen is blank. For some reason this box of
electronic wizardry refuses your firm finger poking “command” to come back to
life. CPR for laptops is a myth. For a split second tossing this useless “
piece of s *&%$” out the window seems like a way to get relief.
“But
there are so many memories locked inside her. Maybe I can find a hard drive Dr.
Frankenstein who can give her life again.”
Recalling
that the TV cable connection is out from the storms two days ago. It has
stormed a lot lately. Some trees have fallen but birds still sing and greet
each day from the branches of the trees that still stand . So watching failed
actors masquerading as television journalists to get their pre-adolescent
versions and uneducated opinions of what is news and why is not an option now.
You stumble your way to the front door for that trusted black and white solution.
Opening the door it becomes evident that the paperboy has again skillfully
tossed the morning newspaper to be visibly lodged in the upper third of your
front lawn 50 foot oak tree.
“Gotta
give that kid credit. He has a great arm.”
Frustratingly
closing the door inner strength is gained to glance up the stairs to head back to
where you started, and there stands that full smiling floppy eared golden hair
shedding canine companion. His
happy tail wags feverishly. He pants over and over and over now sitting
patiently awaiting your strides up the stairs so he can burst up jumping as you
reach the final step with his fore paws onto your drained slumping shoulders.
Upon
reaching that top stair the companion reacts precisely as you expected. Bracing
yourself in advance you hold out your arms to welcome him. Luckily he is not a
slobbering kisser like some dogs in the neighborhood. He jumps and wrestles you
to the ground. Exhausted from the trials of the morning you lie there and your
pal just lies next to you. Somehow in the middle of all the excitement he
snatched up that funny little furry stuffed whatchamacallit into his mouth and
presents it into your face and drops it.
“Let’s
play!” he says in his way. He is ready to go.
His
sleeping late has helped him conserve all the energy he has. Surprising him you
hold onto him firmly with a big hug for a second. Thinking you are ready to
play he jumps up, almost breaking your nose, and leans back with fore legs down
and that big silly panting smile.
He
aggressively wrestles the slobber-coated stuffed toy from your hands and with
the wag of a tail he his gone as if to say “Come on, chase me!” You wonder if
he realizes that the root of those aches and burning pains that kept him restlessly
trying to get comfort on a cool soothing wood floor all night is the cancer
that slowly eats away at his insides and how it will never go away.
Remembrance
of the early morning trifles evaporates as you become grateful for becoming
present to all that matters… now. Smiling you jump after your companion …. and finally the day begins.
