Shining Spirit

Like bookstores? I do. One of the items on my “What To Do When I Get Bored” list is drop in for a visit at the mega-bookstore in the shopping mall. It’s like visiting old friends. I walk up and down the aisles, make note of new books that catch my eye, get a coffee in the first-floor coffee shop, stroll some more and before you know it, I’m back in a good mood and all is right with the world. Management used to provide big, soft leather chairs for customers, but they’re gone. I think they figured out that some people were making the bookstore into a library. Who would do such a thing?

As you know by now, I’m into week seven of maybe twelve weeks in a very small coastal village in Oregon, population about 600, and that’s in the tourist season. Trust me, this is not the tourist season. It doesn’t take long to stroll the main street, all three blocks of it. So, if I find myself on the edge of boredom…did I mention the cold rain, sleet, and high winds of winter…I just put on four layers of warm clothing and drive over to the local bookstore. Which I did yesterday. It is the most delightful little bookstore in the village. In fact, it’s the only one and more than 10 people could not fit inside. Printed on a free bookmarker I read: ”We believe in the printed page.” On my third or fourth circuit through the store, I stopped in the Poetry Section, about four shelves, and I was delighted to find Longfellow, Mary Oliver, and Lawrence Ferlinghetti almost side by side. Who would have imagined? I probably spent too much time leafing through several interesting books, but then I was the only customer. When I left, I had two new books under my arm and a smile on my face. My electronic reader, which now holds about 400 books, will be lonely for a while as I feel the texture of crisp pages and the satisfaction of a real book in my hands. I believe in the printed page, too.

The tactile pleasure of a new book is very real for lots of people. In life, touch is so important. I wonder how many times over the years I have been privileged to hold a hand in a hospital room, or in prayer in a home, in the joyful welcome of a newborn, at a wedding or baptism, or in the quiet of a hospice room, at a graveside. Hands are held in love and in fear, in hope, in despair, for better and for worse. Counting the couple of years of dating in high school, my wife, Sue, and I have held hands for almost 65 years. Our hands have changed a lot over the years but not the meaning of the holding. I hope you realize how fortunate you are to be able to hold someone’s hand, even if momentarily, as a gesture of friendship, companionship or respect. And I hope you will do that today. It’s good for your soul, in the same way we are blessed by the sacred touch of Divine Love. Be blessed today and be a blessing.

There is a section of sandy beach near my house that seems to be the collecting place for limbs, logs, even full-grown trees that have been deposited there by rising and falling tides, useless items often scarred and broken. Given the shape and location of the beach, it has become the final stop for the fatally wounded. And sometimes I feel called to the place to walk among the debris and listen to the dramas of suffering and destruction.

Everything has a story. For instance, most of the trees show signs of fire damage. Black gashes, charred shreds of bark are common. They tell of great forest fires that ravaged many acres of fine timber. Some of the stately victims fell or were dumped into rivers and finally released to the open ocean. Over time, benevolent tides gave them a final home here in this bay, gently laying them to rest. Their stories, while sad to hear, remind me of life’s unpredictability and the power of nature to interact with humanity.

Once in a while I find a remarkable example of beauty in the midst of these fallen giants. Case in point. Beneath the burned bark of the tree in the foreground is a brilliant color that almost glows in the bright sun. Orange and almost-reds are vibrant. My guess is that if the burned bark of the other trees was stripped away, there would be a feast of unique beauty unrivaled by the artist’s canvas.

I drove out of the parking lot toward home with two conclusions: All living things have stories to tell, all living things, and I restrict my own humanity by not listening to them. And, all creatures and creations on this little dot of life in the universe possess a beauty unique to themselves, a beauty that, when revealed, blesses and expands the world.

Mist almost covered the mountain, a gray fog through which shone the bare outline of the beautiful countryside. I turned into a winding road that led toward home, and there it was. Faint at first, not very distinct, but it was right there in front of me.

I stopped the car in the middle of the quiet road, wrestled my camera from my coat pocket, fumbled with the settings, all the time hoping that the hint of rainbow would not vanish into the mist. It waited. It waited only long enough for me to take two pictures and then it disappeared. All the components of the picture remained, everything except the star attraction that lived for several minutes and then sought out another location to shine in mist and sunlight.

What do you think of when you see a rainbow? Good luck? Memories of other rainbows in other places? I think of the biblical story in which God sets the “bow” in the sky as a sign of covenant, or promise. Memories are often triggered by sights or sounds or smells, some good memories and some not so good. But the shimmering colors of the rainbow will forever mean the covenant holds, promises are kept, hope lives. I needed that reminder in that moment. I needed to know that the deal was still on, the covenant is still honored. And there it was in my line of sight hovering where I could see it as I turned a corner, here and gone. But it was enough. Even a brief glimpse of the sacred is enough to turn your world around.

P.S. How can l let God know that I’m still committed to the covenant?

The photo, look closely. See all that white stuff on the deck surface? Around the base of the grill? Those are ice crystals that fell from the sky without invitation, much warning or my agreement. And sleet continues to pepper the ground. One weather report warns that by next weekend the lows will be in the low 20s or teens, highs in the low 30s. I think I woke up in Fargo. So what to do? Answer, in this order: (1) Stop being a cry baby (2) Notice that the white crystals actually decorate the landscape, give it a different look (3) accept this moment as a gift, since you can’t do much about it (4) say Thank You to the Source and Provider of these delicate gems that fall from the sky (5) get a cup of coffee, your camera and make the most of this moment; it will never happen just like this again. (6) be grateful that you’re not in Fargo where it’s 4 degrees this morning and feels like -6.  You know, it is rather pretty out there.

Never turn your back on an angry sea. Let me explain. First, I was never in danger. I’m old and slow but not stupid.

Because of weather conditions here and elsewhere, the ocean was angry yesterday. Winds were high and the surf was grumbly. I walked to a place about halfway between the water and the grassy dunes, a safe spot that would be just about at the water’s edge when it came rolling in. I wore my waterproof boots, ankle height, warm clothing and I carried my camera in my hand. I turned my back to the rumbling waves, still a long way from me, to watch a gull hovering in the strong wind, then I turned back to the water. It was at this point that I heard the great sea laugh: ”We’ve got him!”

I turned and started to run to higher ground but after maybe three steps I was engulfed in cold, frothy sea water. Up to my knees. Ankle height, waterproof boots don’t work well completely submerged. So, I learned a couple of things from the experience. First, and I’m sure I’ve written about this before, be aware of the moment, look for beauty as you walk through your day. But, never turn your back on an angry ocean. And, wear those clunky knee-high rubber boots. And, use a long lens so you can sit in the car and get the same photo. And, on cold, blustery days, when the ocean is flexing its muscles, stay home and drink hot chocolate. In hindsight, it was a memorable morning. Beautiful, powerful, challenging. When I got home, I made sure we had a container of hot chocolate mix. My waterproof boots are still drying.

The numbered tiles are the heart of a highly addictive table game called Rummikub. In the game, each player draws 14 tiles, face down so you can’t see the numbers, and uses those tiles to start play. Enough to say that the unseen numbers you draw at the beginning make a big difference in how the play develops. More than once I have taken my unseen 14, turned them over so I was the only player to see them, and, with great disappointment, said: “Oh…..no! Bad draw! Lousy numbers!” But, and here’s the point, you have to play the hand that was dealt, or in this case, the hand drawn.

A commentary on life. As in Rummikub, it doesn’t do a lot of good to complain, or moan, or gripe about the “tiles” I’ve been given. You and I know people who would rather gripe than get in the game. You just take what you have, get in the game, and in the course of play, you make those numbers better. Each of us has varying gifts or skills or talents, and with gratitude, we live each day in thoughtful, creative, compassionate ways, and guess what, win or lose, it turns out to be a pretty good game, at least better than we expected. Don’t underestimate yourself. Those “numbers” you have can do much more than you think, more than you can imagine, when you are grateful for your place at the table and when you play the game with compassion and integrity. Today is a new game. Ready, set, play!

Am I paranoid, or what?

There could be several explanations for this. For instance, maybe I need to call my friend Virgil and have him drop over and perform an exorcism. Or, six weeks in a tiny coastal village in the middle of winter with limited social contact, except my lovely wife, is pushing my limit. Or, my kitchen utensils are trying to communicate with me. Should I be concerned?

I think I’ll just say “Good morning!” to the spoons and the pot and let it go at that. At least they’re smiling. It’s dark and wet and cold outside and here I am talking to my kitchen ware, but isn’t it nice to have a chuckle to start the day? Better than the worry in your mind when you went to bed last night or the thought of the thing you have to do today but don’t want to do.

So, have you found something in this new day that gives you pleasure, a reason to laugh? I hope so. Life is pretty grim for lots of folks, and we just need to be on the lookout for “smile potential” or even “laughter opportunities.” Here’s a hint: put yourself in a gratitude mode and it’s likely that a smile will start to form or a laugh will burst out. Genuine gratitude does that.

Try it while I go look for Virgil’s phone number.

I’ve collected lots of photos in the six weeks here in Manzanita. Opportunities are endless. And because I have so many, it’s important to go through them to eliminate duplicates and to evaluate subject matter, quality of the photos, etc. Doing that the other day, I confirmed that I am a sucker for sunsets and birds, lots of shots of both, and that in all the photos, no matter what the subject matter is, it’s the light that does it. Common things become extraordinary. Routine becomes royal. And a sunset becomes a sacred moment. All because of light. The spiritual corollary is stunning. The Christmas child, now a man, told people, “I am the light..” That life comes when we “live in the light…” That those who follow his way are “children of the light.” The light of the Bethlehem star. The healing, soothing, comforting light of Presence.

It’s the light! You’ve heard someone say, in a moment of confusion turned to understanding: “Ah, the light just came on in my mind.” Clarity, awareness, understanding, consciousness. It’s the light. And the best news of all is that when I flip that switch, when I choose to live in the light, it never goes out. Never goes away. Never disappears. Light is stronger than darkness, stronger than fear or illness or death.

Sorry, didn’t mean to start a sermon here, but this is so urgently true. By the way, while sunsets are beautiful because of light’s presence, get up early some morning and become part of a sunrise. Light overcomes darkness. May it be so for you today and in all the days ahead. 

I hummed a tune not long ago
and the sound of it took my breath away.
It came from somewhere deep inside,
perhaps from some far and distant day.
I’ve never hummed the song before,
but it seems a vital part of me,
something inherent in my bones,
a lovely song, but a mystery.

And then today, when I stood by you,
I heard you humming that melody,
the same notes that formed the beautiful song
that feeds my spirit and nourishes me.
Why are we blessed with this lovely surprise?
And why do I find it familiar, a friend?
It seems a part of my being, my soul.
When did it start? When will it end?

And then tonight, as I knelt by my bed,
I heard these words that made me weep:
You were born with the song I gave you, my child.
It is yours, my gift, for you to keep
and sing every day as a memory
of where you’ve come from, and to whom you belong,
not just to you, but to all who are mine.
This is my gift, your sacred song.

It was then it came clear what I longed to be true.
We all bear Love’s mark, given at birth.
It matters not who, nor where we may be.
We who live on this beautiful earth
bear within the same sacred song.
What if our song was shared in one voice,
in unity: “Justice and peace must thrive!”
What if we dared to make this choice?

We all share one song,
let us be of one mind
and bless the earth with singing.

Happy 2024 to you! I offer you some Random Thoughts this morning, some ideas to consider between football games (may your team win!). The thoughts are, in part, inspired by a fine book of daily readings by Mark Nepo. The title is The Book of Awakening, subtitled: “Having the life you want by being present to the life you have.” I recommend that you let each one stand on its own, even though they sound somewhat related. So, some Random Thoughts as the new year begins.

This day is absolutely unrepeatable. Say, think, do and love as if you may never have the chance again.

Love today not because of requirement or expectation but because of opportunity.

Love because you can, not because you should.

I am not a body with a spirit. I am a spirit with a body. 

I am a container full of consciousness. The container is of much less value than its contents.

I am able to love because love is inherent in who and what I am.

Wisdom is not a commodity to acquire. Wisdom is a flower to nurture until it blooms.

Knowledge is a friend of the mind. Wisdom is a companion of the heart.

Again, a happy and meaningful new year to you. Don’t waste a minute of it.