Shining Spirit

I have a friend.

We talk little of war or work or worries about the weather.

We put together pieces of an ill-defined puzzle whose color
has faded over time, its edges frayed so that there is no
longer a snug fit.

We create a curious collage of recollections randomly pasted,
overlapping each other, perfectly askew, remarkably revealing.

Or, somedays a mural decorated with hopeful dreams
and regrettable nightmares, a mural that has no particular
beginning and no discernible end.

We write music, lyrics and melody, that no one will sing, songs
that have no meaning except in the composing, no billboard hits,
more like heart beats set in the same musical key.

We create scrapbooks of moments buried in deep memory, some
probably better left alone, some dripping in the juices of joy
and exhilaration.

We laugh at each other’s silliness, weep without provocation or
penalty, sit silently at times completely satisfied with presence
more than words.

We are neither ashamed nor embarrassed to embrace in the
meeting or in the leaving.

I say to myself each time we head our different directions:
“I am a very lucky person.”

I have a friend.

Against the blackness of early
morning my reflection in the
glass patio door is multiplied,
an optical delusion.  Two of
me returns my gaze.  Which
is me?  I overlap myself.

My hope for this day is
an awareness of a sacred
singularity that celebrates
difference, yet joins all things,
all beings, in the reality of
The One.

I hope for faith grounded
in wisdom, trust and
kindness…harmony of thought
and will as the result of the
peaceful union of divergent
voices…and peace replacing
the taste of greed and violence
in our mouths.

Faint light peeks shyly around
the partially drawn curtain.  Morning
is not far behind.  Slowly she moves
across the garden, climbs deep green
vines clinging to the stone wall, then
casts her smile on two sparrows
as they toss fresh water into
the air from the shallow
birdbath.

Early morning’s somber light suddenly
bursts golden as the sun makes
clear the arrival of day, erasing
all reflected delusions.

I am one with One.

I woke this morning determined
to experience the day in
a different way.  Today I will
wander.  No plan.  No compass.
Completely at the call of
imagination.

I will be a determined deviant
ignoring imposed expectations,
presumptions, and roadmaps
drawn by those with calculated
destinations.

I will taste, smell, and hear
without analysis or dissection.
I will appreciate at least
fourteen things, learn something
new, and pay attention to all
that appears improbable.

By sunset I will have been
grateful for something
insignificant, and aware of
an impossible possibility.
I will be free of all lists,
schedules, and calendars.

Perhaps I should print all this
as a guide to the freedom
offered by simple wandering.

A song rises from faint shadows
in the deep canyon.  Pulsing
chant echoes over black stone
walls, the calling of spirits moving
among tall reeds beside a silent stream.

Spirit music spills over the canyon’s
rim and covers the land like a soft
blanket, announcing to all living
beings, “We are here.”

In the swaying rhythm of the reeds,
in each flash of sunlight embracing
wet stones, in sacred murals
speaking from the canvas of canyon
walls, in the wind that carries
our song across the Earth,
“We are here.”

Chevelon Canyon at
Rock Art Ranch,
Winslow, AZ

Home is a place of sacred rest
where love resides, not as a guest
but as the source of joy and peace,
an anchor set to hold steadfast
until the storms give way, at last,
and all the turmoils cease.

So may our home this day provide
a haven where true love abides,
a shelter from all pain and fear,
a strength against the darkest hour,
a certainty that God’s great power
will never disappear.

I wake hopeful as this day begins,
but I am not the source of my hope.

My hope comes, as gift and loving act,
from the Mind and Heart that conceives
and constructs molecules and mountains,
mysteries and moments of deep knowing.

I will walk through this day alone yet accompanied.
My song will come from a depth I do not understand,
but I will sing, nonetheless, for the melody is
compelling, irresistibly welcome in earth pain
and human pleasure.

When the sun settles on the western mountains,
I will watch the soft rain feed the grassland and
I will ask of the day — did I live kindly with
those around me?  Did I accomplish something
today that counts for good?

And, having examined the experience of the day,
I will step momentarily into the gentle rain,
lift my hands and face to the sky and whisper
”thank you” to the Sacred Breath, my hope for
days to come.

Light is slowly seeping through heavy
morning clouds…arriving,
on the way…and I
have nothing to do with it.

To live kindly, justly, mercifully
is to announce
the reality of God.

The coffee I drink as the morning
sun crowns the distant mountain
is from many hands
in many places.
I receive many things
from many people
everyday.

Honesty is not the best policy,
it is the only policy.

As the day unfolds, I will have
several opportunities to be
kind and do good.
I plan to watch
for them.

Gratitude is a way of life that
opens the door to
Sacred Mystery.
I will listen today
for the voice
that says:
”Come through.”

I do declare these things to be true.

Last week I asked my friend
to give me some advice
about a pretty serious problem
I’m facing.  He answered with
the following foolishness:

Be hopeful even when
circumstances seem impossible.

Draw a bottom line of principle
and don’t cross it.

Look first for the good in another
person instead of picking at her
faults.

Do good for the benefit of
someone else, not for your
own benefit.

Trust the persistent inner
voice of your intuition.

And then my friend said:

Don’t be afraid to love
even if you appear to lose.

If you ask me, all of that sounds
like he’s talking about religious
faith, don’t you think?  But we
all know that faith is utter
foolishness!

(Reflection on 1Corinthians 1:18)

Good morning, God.
I’m planning to get up in a few minutes
but before I do, I’d like to tell you
about some thoughts running around
in my head.

First, I’m smiling right now because I’m
awake in another day and as much as I
can, I’m going to make it a good day.  By
the way, I’m thinking that “good” means
productive, peaceful and helpful in some
way.       Second, I plan to watch for times
when I can be useful to someone else.
What I mean is, I intend to think about
someone else’s needs at least as much
as I think about my own.      Third, I plan
to watch for you during the day.  I’ll
say Hello.  Sorry I missed you yesterday.
It was a tough day and I had my head
down too much.

Well, I guess that’s it.  The house is dark
and my wife is still asleep, but I’ll go
make some coffee now.  Maybe I’ll
surprise her and fix her a little breakfast
in bed.  She deserves it.  What a great
woman!  Did I say Thank You for all
she means to me?   I meant to.

So, “feet on the floor and out the
door”…sorry, that’s a silly thing my
Mom used to say when I tried to
sleep late.  Well, that’s everything
on my mind right now.  Thanks for
listening.    Amen.

Oh, one more thing.  I’m counting
on you to help me do everything
today.  I don’t think I’m up to it
by myself.  Thanks.  Talk to you
tonight.     Amen again.

Wind is the voice of distant places.
Its energy arises in the dark
corners of Cosmic emptiness,
passes through stars and
infinite galaxies, finally
arriving to dance with
the elegant pine trees
near the river.

In the joy of graceful movement,
Wind’s voice is released upon
the world, the soft whisper
of trembling needles, a
rushing roar like surf
rolling over a rocky
shoreline.

Finally, when the dance is done
and the Cosmic song has floated
off to other ears in other places,
Wind, spent from sheer delight,
returns once more to the
source of infinite Engagement,
the Mystery of Recreaton,
to sing again another
day.