This past week, walking on Historic Main Street, I decided to seek silent respite from the heat by entering the Antique Emporium, a cavernous space draped in shadow. The building had once been a theater during the early nineteen-twenties.
Fading red-velvet walls, in various stages of decay, surround one, as forgotten objects compete for the eye's attention.
I was drawn to a box in a wooden case, obscured by various glass panes. Inside the cardboard box, among the collection of post cards and photographs from Time-gone-by, there was one photo in particular that remained in my hand.
The photograph is of a man, old and weathered. Hunger, poverty, ill-health have aged him noticeably He is carrying a large bucket of water. There is a straw basket strapped to his back. The basket appears full, heavy. The man is dressed simply. He wears sandals on his feet. The sun is shining brightly overhead. His grey hair is tousled. Perspiration glistens on his face. There is determination in his gaze.
I look at the photograph, for a long time. I study it. The figure in the image possesses humility, without being an object of humiliation. Presence is power. The straight-forward honesty of the photograph inspires deep introspection, and closer examination of the Self.
I decide to keep the printed image. It is a gentle reminder that we, regardless of our station in life, must always live in the Truth.
Purchase in hand, I smile knowingly. With my gift-wrapped treasure, I walk uphill towards home.
It is good to know where one is going.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Thursday, June 28, 2012
From A Sandaled Foot
Yesterday, I was sitting outside on a bench, enjoying the sunshine. The cool breeze blowing through my hair felt refreshing after days of triple-digit heat. I was doing my best to read mail I had received in the post, but a persistent bee kept attacking the small toes on my right foot.
I kicked the bee away, once, twice. After the second attempt kicking at the air, I felt the stinger just beginning to pierce through the skin of the toe. "Ouch!" I screamed. Giving up all sense of Rights To Ownership, I admitted defeat to my winged adversary, and I ran inside as quickly as a bruised ego would allow.
In my suite of rooms, nursing the injured toe, I tried to see the story from the bee's perspective.
The flowering trees and wildflowers were bursting with pollen. I remembered my itchy eyes and throat at the time---and the sneezing! But, I had ignored the pollen, so insistent had I been to claim my space on the bench.
"This is my bench!" I all but roared.
The worker bee had been doing its best to collect pollen, minding its own business, that is, until an invading giant happened to come along. It was I who had been the intruder, interloper, aggressor. I had desired to claim a space not wholly my own.
Bees don't attack unless they themselves feel attacked. If I had chosen to co-exist in peace with my busy neighbor, how much happier we both could have been.
I chuckled, as I soaked my foot in soothing water.
My thoughts kept going back to the incident at the bench. Like bees, we humans each have a specific role to play for the good of the community. Each of us has a unique purpose.
Success or failure in our lives, like that of the humble bee, is measured in degrees to which we are at one with that purpose.
I kicked the bee away, once, twice. After the second attempt kicking at the air, I felt the stinger just beginning to pierce through the skin of the toe. "Ouch!" I screamed. Giving up all sense of Rights To Ownership, I admitted defeat to my winged adversary, and I ran inside as quickly as a bruised ego would allow.
In my suite of rooms, nursing the injured toe, I tried to see the story from the bee's perspective.
The flowering trees and wildflowers were bursting with pollen. I remembered my itchy eyes and throat at the time---and the sneezing! But, I had ignored the pollen, so insistent had I been to claim my space on the bench.
"This is my bench!" I all but roared.
The worker bee had been doing its best to collect pollen, minding its own business, that is, until an invading giant happened to come along. It was I who had been the intruder, interloper, aggressor. I had desired to claim a space not wholly my own.
Bees don't attack unless they themselves feel attacked. If I had chosen to co-exist in peace with my busy neighbor, how much happier we both could have been.
I chuckled, as I soaked my foot in soothing water.
My thoughts kept going back to the incident at the bench. Like bees, we humans each have a specific role to play for the good of the community. Each of us has a unique purpose.
Success or failure in our lives, like that of the humble bee, is measured in degrees to which we are at one with that purpose.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
In God's Country
The homeless man on the bus was sitting in the seat in front of me.
He reeked of alcohol, tobacco, and soiled clothing. He was speaking out loud, perhaps to the bus driver, perhaps to no one in particular, or perhaps to the very specific people living in his head.
Preoccupied with my own thoughts, I did my best to not listen. Yes, this was out of character for me.
In my mind, I was engaged in a heated discourse with God. I did not wish to participate in my Present. In my anger and resentment, I chose to consciously ignore the homeless drunk and his psychotic ramblings. Dear reader, just now, did you notice how cleverly and cruelly I reduced this man; dehumanizing him with a sharp-tongued phrase? Have patience, dear friend, my comeuppance was mere moments away.
The homeless man, so I had named him, said, " It is so nice to be up here in God's country, to see how the top ten percent live, before having to return to live with the other ninety-percent. That's why I ride the bus up here on the week-end, just to get away from where I live, and see something truly beautiful."
Now, these words, I heard most clearly! I sat upright in my seat. I had just received a spiritual lesson. In that one moment, the homeless man was no longer merely the homeless man. His words were no longer alcohol fueled expletives. He had become a Voice in the desert, delivering a well-aimed, aptly timed message.
"God's Country." The words echoed in my head, and rang true. This human being seated in front of me possessed Vision, where as I, due to my childish and selfish resistance to God's Will and Wisdom, had allowed myself to become blind.
I had become blind to the beauty of my present circumstances. Oh, the shame I felt!
How often do those of us who claim to be on a spiritual path willingly choose to lose our way?
We justify our resentment with lofty and ambitious worldly logic, determined, despite the obvious obstacles, to turn away from God. Self-Will is intoxicating; the ultimate street drug.
Then, in an instant, a stranger speaks in a Voice not his own, in words we are meant to Hear.
Where I only saw the depth of my loss, he that sat by me on the bus saw me as one living with the top ten percent of the Nation.
Yet another lesson in how self-serving I had become; in minimizing a fellow traveler, I had effectively minimized myself!
"This is God's Country." Inside my head, his words continued to repeat themselves in a loop.
"Where is this so-called God's country?" You may be wondering, my most bosom companion, perhaps with thoughts of relocating?
The lesson on the bus that day is that God's Country is all around us, always; if only our hearts remain open enough so that our eyes may see.
I have given myself a homework assignment. Whenever I hear myself whining and complaining, I shall make the best effort to pause, breathe, and make the conscious decision to choose Gratitude.
Like any other muscle, the more we exercise Gratitude, the stronger it becomes in us. Let us thank Goodness for that.
Amen.
He reeked of alcohol, tobacco, and soiled clothing. He was speaking out loud, perhaps to the bus driver, perhaps to no one in particular, or perhaps to the very specific people living in his head.
Preoccupied with my own thoughts, I did my best to not listen. Yes, this was out of character for me.
In my mind, I was engaged in a heated discourse with God. I did not wish to participate in my Present. In my anger and resentment, I chose to consciously ignore the homeless drunk and his psychotic ramblings. Dear reader, just now, did you notice how cleverly and cruelly I reduced this man; dehumanizing him with a sharp-tongued phrase? Have patience, dear friend, my comeuppance was mere moments away.
The homeless man, so I had named him, said, " It is so nice to be up here in God's country, to see how the top ten percent live, before having to return to live with the other ninety-percent. That's why I ride the bus up here on the week-end, just to get away from where I live, and see something truly beautiful."
Now, these words, I heard most clearly! I sat upright in my seat. I had just received a spiritual lesson. In that one moment, the homeless man was no longer merely the homeless man. His words were no longer alcohol fueled expletives. He had become a Voice in the desert, delivering a well-aimed, aptly timed message.
"God's Country." The words echoed in my head, and rang true. This human being seated in front of me possessed Vision, where as I, due to my childish and selfish resistance to God's Will and Wisdom, had allowed myself to become blind.
I had become blind to the beauty of my present circumstances. Oh, the shame I felt!
How often do those of us who claim to be on a spiritual path willingly choose to lose our way?
We justify our resentment with lofty and ambitious worldly logic, determined, despite the obvious obstacles, to turn away from God. Self-Will is intoxicating; the ultimate street drug.
Then, in an instant, a stranger speaks in a Voice not his own, in words we are meant to Hear.
Where I only saw the depth of my loss, he that sat by me on the bus saw me as one living with the top ten percent of the Nation.
Yet another lesson in how self-serving I had become; in minimizing a fellow traveler, I had effectively minimized myself!
"This is God's Country." Inside my head, his words continued to repeat themselves in a loop.
"Where is this so-called God's country?" You may be wondering, my most bosom companion, perhaps with thoughts of relocating?
The lesson on the bus that day is that God's Country is all around us, always; if only our hearts remain open enough so that our eyes may see.
I have given myself a homework assignment. Whenever I hear myself whining and complaining, I shall make the best effort to pause, breathe, and make the conscious decision to choose Gratitude.
Like any other muscle, the more we exercise Gratitude, the stronger it becomes in us. Let us thank Goodness for that.
Amen.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
on Healing
He looked into the eyes of the wounded soldier, and said, " I shall tell you now my true identity. Forgive me if I withheld the truth from you before. But, trust takes time to establish. My real name is Faithful John. I am a lowly creature. Long ago, I made a mistake. I chose wrongly, and it cost me everything, including even my life. I died. I am dead now, and have been ever since that fateful error in judgment. But, even in death, I can still serve.
This is the Old Forest. Sometimes, there are those that wander in by accident, perhaps lost, or hurt. As I live in the Old Forest, I know where to find the deep, dark pond. Whenever I come across those that have wandered into the Old Forest, I reach into the deep, dark pond and bring out the gift, specially meant for that person. I have no foreknowledge of the nature of the gift. The pond knows. I only know that I am meant to wipe away the mud, and the reeds, and present the gift to its rightful heir.
For you, the gift turned out to be the Mirror of Truth. Perhaps due to the very real wounds and scars you received in battle, you have forgotten that you are not only the sum of your hurts. This Mirror of Truth may remind you that you possess a Golden Mane that, the light of which, will lead you out of the Old Forest, and back out into the One Light. It is the One Light from which we were all born, and to which we all ultimately long to return.
Though, I of course, must remain here, in the Old Forest."
The wounded war veteran smiled, and with a tear-filled eye said, " I had not realized this room was a forest. This room seems rather ordinary and plain."
He who is called, Faithful John, replied, " You are mistaken, Kind Person, if you think the Old Forest a place. The Old Forest is an enchanted moment in Time. The enchantment may last a minute, day, few weeks, months, or years. For others still, the enchantment, may last a lifetime.
The goal is to use the Gift one has received from the deep, dark pond to break through the enchantment, and to leave the darkness of the Old Forest."
"And, what of you?" The Wounded Warrior asked.
"We must each fulfill the purpose for which we have been Chosen. I am Faithful John. This story is meant for you, and for all others who shall hear it. But, they, who may be comforted by the telling of this tale, will certainly never hear it, unless you, Kind Person, share it, having once returned to the Light."
The wounded war veteran gazed into the Mirror of Truth, and once again recalled the innate power of the Golden Mane, and understood the futility and unbearable weight of a lifetime of loss and darkness.
Upon understanding this ancient Wisdom, the enchantment broken, the Warrior-Within regained the strength needed to re-emerge, as one newly awakened from a Nightmare; half-forgotten, half-remembered.
Arise! Arise! Dear reader, arise! Truth, once known, can always be remembered. Awakened, we heal. And, having healed, we live. Perhaps, not as before, but it is life-in-light, nevertheless.
To Life!
This is the Old Forest. Sometimes, there are those that wander in by accident, perhaps lost, or hurt. As I live in the Old Forest, I know where to find the deep, dark pond. Whenever I come across those that have wandered into the Old Forest, I reach into the deep, dark pond and bring out the gift, specially meant for that person. I have no foreknowledge of the nature of the gift. The pond knows. I only know that I am meant to wipe away the mud, and the reeds, and present the gift to its rightful heir.
For you, the gift turned out to be the Mirror of Truth. Perhaps due to the very real wounds and scars you received in battle, you have forgotten that you are not only the sum of your hurts. This Mirror of Truth may remind you that you possess a Golden Mane that, the light of which, will lead you out of the Old Forest, and back out into the One Light. It is the One Light from which we were all born, and to which we all ultimately long to return.
Though, I of course, must remain here, in the Old Forest."
The wounded war veteran smiled, and with a tear-filled eye said, " I had not realized this room was a forest. This room seems rather ordinary and plain."
He who is called, Faithful John, replied, " You are mistaken, Kind Person, if you think the Old Forest a place. The Old Forest is an enchanted moment in Time. The enchantment may last a minute, day, few weeks, months, or years. For others still, the enchantment, may last a lifetime.
The goal is to use the Gift one has received from the deep, dark pond to break through the enchantment, and to leave the darkness of the Old Forest."
"And, what of you?" The Wounded Warrior asked.
"We must each fulfill the purpose for which we have been Chosen. I am Faithful John. This story is meant for you, and for all others who shall hear it. But, they, who may be comforted by the telling of this tale, will certainly never hear it, unless you, Kind Person, share it, having once returned to the Light."
The wounded war veteran gazed into the Mirror of Truth, and once again recalled the innate power of the Golden Mane, and understood the futility and unbearable weight of a lifetime of loss and darkness.
Upon understanding this ancient Wisdom, the enchantment broken, the Warrior-Within regained the strength needed to re-emerge, as one newly awakened from a Nightmare; half-forgotten, half-remembered.
Arise! Arise! Dear reader, arise! Truth, once known, can always be remembered. Awakened, we heal. And, having healed, we live. Perhaps, not as before, but it is life-in-light, nevertheless.
To Life!
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Community
There are two women in the town where I live who are each facing the very real possibility of losing their homes.
Both women are single mothers. Both women work hard, six days a week, to support, and provide for their families.
Through no fault of their own, their homes may be taken from them. These women did everything right throughout the course of their lives, sacrificing, saving, to build their homes, and now due to unforeseen circumstances and events, they each may lose in one single day what it has taken an adult lifetime to create.
Miracles happen everyday, throughout the day, whether we are aware of them or not.
Some miracles happen for us. We are grateful, jubilant. Some miracles occur for the good of others around us. We are no less grateful, no less jubilant.
We can choose to be an active part of those miraculous events. We can choose to participate in God.
Please, dear reader, wherever you are, whatever you happen to be doing, I would ask a simple favor. Would you pause a moment in silent prayer for the two women today?
Please pray that by any and all Divinely inspired providence, both women may yet keep their homes, and may also succeed in keeping their families intact.
No matter where we are in the world as we read these words, when people unite in those humble, thoughtful, silent pauses, we form a community in prayer. There is great power in this.
The unselfish love of Other can make even the most withered Tree bloom!
Today, should you meet a mother, or father, burdened under the weight of Hardship, or if while on your Life's path, should you come across a homeless person, who may be feeling hopeless and alone, if at all, in anyway, you can help, either by thought or deed, please do, kind friend.
Expect nothing in return, except the joy of the possibility that on this present day, at this given moment, God may have used you to be His Hands, His Eyes, His Voice, His Heart, and ultimately, His Love.
Thank you, dear reader, and may you be blessed a hundredfold for the Good that you continue to do, and have done, in this, our world.
Peace.
Both women are single mothers. Both women work hard, six days a week, to support, and provide for their families.
Through no fault of their own, their homes may be taken from them. These women did everything right throughout the course of their lives, sacrificing, saving, to build their homes, and now due to unforeseen circumstances and events, they each may lose in one single day what it has taken an adult lifetime to create.
Miracles happen everyday, throughout the day, whether we are aware of them or not.
Some miracles happen for us. We are grateful, jubilant. Some miracles occur for the good of others around us. We are no less grateful, no less jubilant.
We can choose to be an active part of those miraculous events. We can choose to participate in God.
Please, dear reader, wherever you are, whatever you happen to be doing, I would ask a simple favor. Would you pause a moment in silent prayer for the two women today?
Please pray that by any and all Divinely inspired providence, both women may yet keep their homes, and may also succeed in keeping their families intact.
No matter where we are in the world as we read these words, when people unite in those humble, thoughtful, silent pauses, we form a community in prayer. There is great power in this.
The unselfish love of Other can make even the most withered Tree bloom!
Today, should you meet a mother, or father, burdened under the weight of Hardship, or if while on your Life's path, should you come across a homeless person, who may be feeling hopeless and alone, if at all, in anyway, you can help, either by thought or deed, please do, kind friend.
Expect nothing in return, except the joy of the possibility that on this present day, at this given moment, God may have used you to be His Hands, His Eyes, His Voice, His Heart, and ultimately, His Love.
Thank you, dear reader, and may you be blessed a hundredfold for the Good that you continue to do, and have done, in this, our world.
Peace.
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