All that we are is story. From the moment we are born to the time we continue on our spirit journey, we are involved in the creation of the story of our time here. It is what we arrive with. It is all we leave behind. We are not the things we accumulate. We are not the things we deem important. We are story. All of us. What comes to matter then is the creation of the best possible story we can while we’re here; you, me, us, together. When we can do that and we take the time to share those stories with each other, we get bigger inside, we see each other, we recognize our kinship – we change the world, one story at a time…
Richard Wagamese
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Touch My Soul
Let love lead your soul
Rumi
make it a place to retire to,
a kind of cave, a retreat
for the deep core of being.The leaves have been changing colors the past couple weeks around my condo. One tree has dropped most of its leaves. However, the greens are vibrant at Spring Creek Park with lush foliage in the trees and a well manicured lawn. I plopped myself on one of the park benches and watched the clouds continuously reshape themselves. Even though these clouds provided rain in the mountains, we did not get any. But, even without the rain, one of their tasks was to touch my soul.
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Let me linger…
It may be a product of getting older
Steven Charleston, Spirit Wheel
But sometimes I want to stop time.
I want to make the sunsets last just a little longer.
I want the quiet mornings to go on and on
The laughter at the dinner table
To stretch out into a whole evening
The beauty of the clouds as they race
Across the valley to never end.
It is not that I want to freeze reality, just slow it down.
I want life to move as slowly as I do.
For I have learned that life moves far too fast as it is.
It is a joy that endures but briefly
Made of moments that pass as quickly as hummingbirds.
Let me linger in the love I feel.
Let me see the light for as long as I can.I stopped on my ride this evening because these daisies caught my eye. However, I was not the only one interested in the daisies as this bee busily flitted from flower to flower. So busy in fact, I never got a good infocus shot. Oh well. I watched and lingered and loved the moment.
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Living a Privileged Life
mws
Someone rummages through garbage for food
Someone hides in the closet in fear of another beating
Someone loses their child in senseless bombing
Someone faces another day of dialysis
Someone receives an wanted pathology report
Someone contemplates their suicide
Someone buries a loved one
While I enjoy my coffee life and mocha latte
While I live a privileged life -
Facing the Coming Storms
We will be known as a culture that feared death
Mary Oliver
and adored power, that tried to vanquish insecurity
for the few and cared little for the penury of the
many. We will be known as a culture that taught
and rewarded the amassing of things, that spoke
little if at all about the quality of life for
people, for dogs, for rivers. All
the world, in our eyes, they will say, was a
commodity. And they will say that this structure
was held together politically, which it was, and
they will say also that our politics was no more
than an apparatus to accommodate the feelings of
the heart, and that the heart, in those days,
was small, and hard, and full of meanness.
Red Bird (2008)I’ll begin by saying it seems the majority of the world does not have the ability to develop relationships, even with themselves. I’m not sure I could 20 years ago. There is more focus on ourselves, our wants and a fear of losing what we already have. Relationships ask us to step out of our comfort zones and change. Thus, we have a world in constant turmoil and conflict with seemingly few solutions and people become disheartened.
I have changed throughout my life and hopefully for the better. Some changes have come from pain and suffering and some from asking questions that uncover self-knowledge already within me. I attribute some of that to my journaling. Many of those pages are filled with questions. Wonderfully each question leads to another question and another and another…. Can I look for the similarities in others rather than differences? Can I accept that I am not the center of the universe but a small, significant part of all of creation? Can I have the courage to believe others may have more to teach me than I have to teach them, requiring me to always remain a student? Can I believe peace starts within me, the small world I can touch and then spreads outward, not the other way? Can I be willing to take action in my life to stand up against any neglect, abuse, and stigmatization of all creation? Can I respect all of life? Can I change my way of living without expecting the rest of the world to change with me? I’ve become a firm believer that once there is a psychic change within anyone’s life they and the world around them change. And, what about this thing called forgiveness? How well do I forgive? Contrary to some, true change always starts with me! Having said that, can I now, like the mosquito in a tent, believe that I can make an impact on the world no matter how insignificant that may seem? Am I willing to take the risk to change, to be attacked by those who cannot relate or maybe unwilling to change themselves? History has shown that some have paid a high price when they change or suggest that we can change. We call them prophets. So, instead of living with a heart that is small, hard and full of meanness, I am seeking a larger heart that is soft and full of love. Can I believe my few words and actions can bring about change? Can I be the tree that stands on the ridge facing the storms of life?
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A Cloud
I wandered lonely as a cloud
William Wordsworth (1802)
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils. -
Listen With Their Hearts
the meadowlark sings his song
mws
from it’s perch atop an old fence post
what seems to be just a melody to some
is a beautiful song of love and hope
a gift carried by the wind to those
who will listen with their hearts