Shining Spirit

Listen with your ears
until you hear with your heart.

See with honest eyes
until you become what you see.

Speak words
until you create wonder.

You have the means to
make miracles.

This day is a laboratory
and you have at your fingertips
all the eternal elements
that succor and sustain.

Be courageous.
You are not alone.
Remake your world and
I will remake mine.

From the crucible of Sacred Mystery
we will fill the universe
with songs and begin to
heal the hatred and
the hurt.

When all the little fragments of reality come together, far beyond our understanding or explanation

When all the little atoms and molecules, dreams and hopes join their essences in one moment

When all the Memories, the Magic, the Mystery find Coherence

When the common becomes Sacred and the Sacred becomes common

This is the result. Just this. Enough?

I think so.

Some people say it’s hard to look up these days. One thing after another drives our vision to our shoe tops.
Hurricanes, fires, earthquakes, flooding, pandemic, not to mention political hatred and tribal war. Others of us feel like up is the direction of hope. It would seem that way given the stunning rainbow(s) a few days ago. But, for sure, neither aggression nor abdication is going to pull us out of the growing darkness. There are solutions to the problems facing the human race. The problems are solvable. But isn’t it clear yet that solutions have to be based on mutuality. We’ve tried power, self-interest, political persuasion and war. And here we are. The “post-Doom” people say it’s too late. The line in the sand is behind us. I think one thing is certain. Angels and atheists, religious folks and those who reject religion, fundamentalists, evangelicals and progressives and all the other human beings who aren’t sure what label to wear must set aside mean-spirited mandates and meet in the arena of mutuality. We are playing a no-win hand and the stakes are far too high for bluster and bigotry. If you don’t like the phrase “seek first the Kingdom of God”, try “seek the common ground of the human heart.” Chances are we will end up in the same place. When the last bird sings, will it really matter who won?

You’ve heard of a “Dear John” letter? Not the kind of letter you want to find in your mailbox. I wonder who “John” was and why he got bad news. What did he do to make his girlfriend unhappy? Is there such a thing as a “Dear Jane” letter? Anyway, nobody wants to open a letter and read sad or bad news.

My mind played around with this idea when I read the words of the Apostle Paul in his second letter to the Jesus followers in Corinth. Here are his surprising words: “Clearly, you (Corinthians) are a letter from Christ showing the result of our ministry among you.” Imagine that! People could read the Corinthian followers like they would read a letter.

So spend some time asking yourself “What kind of letter am I? What do people understand about Jesus and his Way when they read my behavior, my language, my attitudes?” We are living letters. Be sure you aren’t sending out “Dear John” letters to the reading world around you. Something to think about.

It is a struggle to break free,
to disengage from the pleasures
of floating aimlessly on this placid
surface. Floating is easier than flying.

But was I made to float? Is that who
I am? I admire the beauty of flight,
see how she glides on the wind. How
he soars and dives on the friendly currents.

To float or to fly. Is it one or both?
My mind is so accustomed to either/or.
But I am both/and. I have wings for one
and feet designed for the other.

I am doubly blessed. To float or to fly?
Yes.

How amazing to turn the corner and there it is! The Reminder
that aloneness is not an option. Never alone. Sad at times, yes. Frustrated or fearful, but never left without the blessing of living under the rainbow. Take heart. The signal is in the sky. The Sacred Presence is present. Look up!

The desert glistens after a monsoon rain. Bushes and leaves hold droplets of water, just the right amounts for thirsty creatures to find a welcome drink. The washes run full and strong. And the mountains…O, the mountains…are decked out in their finest greenery. Dormant grasses come to life and dress the mountains for celebration and praise of the One who provides and sustains all life. Stand still for a moment and see the handiwork of the welcome rains. And then express your own gratitude for being part of such a display of creative power.

Cousin Tommy is recovering quite nicely, thanks.
I’ve warned him about his childish pranks,
but he listens to very few words of advice,
he sets his own course and never thinks twice.
So, my uncle Aubrey wasn’t surprised
when he discovered Tommy in a string of lies.
Tommy insisted he was not to blame,
he knew nothing about the suspicious flames
that burned a field of sweet, white corn.
“I swear,” he said, “on the day I was born
that somebody else did this terrible act,
and I’ll tell you what, as a matter of fact,
I have a witness to prove what I say,
then Tommy turned and looked my way.

I wasn’t about to lie for him,
but without my word, his chances were slim.
The field belonged to Chester Malone,
whose son is as mean as Al Capone.
When the young Malone heard about the fire,
he let it be known that his one desire
was to find the culprit who caused this blaze
and see how far his fist could raise
this you-know-what off the ground.
Two days later, Cousin Tommy was found.

I won’t describe the exact details,
but what Malone did sent him to jail
and Tommy to old Doctor Pendergrass
where he got ten stitches and a right arm cast.
But like I said, Cousin Tommy is strong
and he’ll never admit he was wrong.
“Just one of those things,” he’ll probably say
when a funny prank went astray.
But I heard a rumor just last night
that Tommy bought a ticket to a Martial Arts site
where he’ll learn the art of Jujitsu,
then when Malone’s jail time is through
they’ll meet up in the parking lot,
a very open, public spot
and settle their differences like loving brothers.
But neither will turn his back on the other.
Cousin Tommy will never learn.