“O friend, Who could be so lucky? Who comes to a lake for water And sees the reflection of the moon? Who, like Jacob blind with grief and age, smells the shirt of his lost son and can see again? Who parched with thirst, Lowers a bucket into a well And comes up with an Ocean of nectar? Who could be so lucky? Or like Moses goes for fire and finds what burns inside the sunrise? Jesus slips into a house to escape enemies, And discovers a passage to the other world. Soloman cuts open a fish, and there’s a gold ring. Who could be so lucky? An oyster opens his mouth for a drop of water, And discovers a shinning pearl within himself Who could be so lucky? But, O friend, don’t be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold Your Own Myth!”
“Let us be still and listen for all the sounds around us… The noise of passing traffic, the steps of passers-by; a distant train or a barking dog; an aeroplane overhead… The wind in the leaves, the rattle of branches; the singing of birds, the patter of rain; the rustle of autumn leaves or the quiet of winter snow… The creak of a chair, the tick of a clock, the sound of our own breathing, the beating of our own hearts. Let us listen to the sounds within us, sounds known only to ourselves… The unspoken noise of our own tumbling thoughts, the silent shouting of our own feelings… The cascading pictures in our own minds’ eyes – all disturbing our quiet. Let us be still within. Let us listen to a stillness deeper within us. Let us listen to the voice of inner silence. Let us be still and know that God is here.”
Sydney H. Knight (1923 – 2004), Unitarian minister and hymn writer, quoted in Fragments of Holiness for Daily Reflection
“Make space for having a moment. Go outside and find the magical places. The hidden parts of the garden, the woods and the streams. Even if you’re in the city you can always find the wild. Back-alleys can be great places for that! As for ceremonies, they can be as simple as lighting a candle and giving thanks for the elements. I like to start with earth, to bring us out of our heads and ground; to send our roots down. It doesn’t have to be a big, grand thing. I’m not one for pomp and formality! It just is – we give thanks, our hearts open in gratitude, and we’re in a different place. A more loving place!”
“When you took the time to recognize what I was doing well, you were measuring water into the mouth of a desert-parched little girl.
Now I carry a pitcher, treasured legacy in my hand. I offer witness: a voice to say, “I see you.” affirm, “What you can do matters.” argue, “You have something good to share.”
Thank you for those flowers planted, for my sacred mandate to scatter seeds into every crack in the concrete; into every unclenched, opening hand.”
“One of the best preparations for the future is to pay attention to the present moment. Not by being provident, cautious, and miserly with life’s experiential wealth, but by attending to the unfolding of today’s events and one’s part within them.
For those who have places to go and tasks to accomplish, the active use of the imagination to shape their destiny should never be despised. There is no such thing as a “destined future” – one that is fixed and immovable – since every step we take toward the future, every action and intention, changes the dance of our life to some degree. By imagining our future in an active way, we become more sensitive to the influences and interests around us. This active imagining also helps break down our romantic or false expectations and sets up pathways of practice toward our life’s purpose, as we grow ever more sensitive to the unfolding patterns. Furthermore, it helps sustain us when achievement seems far off or unendingly delayed.
The work of shaping the future consists not in the ruthless excision of everything and everyone standing in our way, but in the gentle retuning of ourselves and our abilities to the pitch of our innate life’s purpose. This is a daily, intentional shaping whereby we become attuned to the song that is always singing us.”
From The Celtic Spirit: Daily Meditations for the Turning Year by Caitlin Matthews
“Matter and Spirit: These were no longer two things, but two states or two aspects of one and the same cosmic Stuff.. Matter is the Matrix of Spirit. Spirit is the higher state of Matter.”
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin (1881 – 1955), Jesuit priest, paleontologist and theologian, quoted in Christian Mystics by Matthew Fox
Image: The Emergence of Spirit and Matter from the Shiva Purana, Marwar, 1828
International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples
“In the old times, when people’s lives were so directly tied to the land, it was easy to know the world as gift. When fall came, the skits would darken with flocks of geese, honking “Here we are.” It reminds the people of the Creation story, when the geese came to save Skywoman. The people are hungry, winter is coming, and the geese fill the marshes with food. It is a gift and the people receive it with thanksgiving, love, and respect. But when the food does not come from a flock in the sky, when you don’t feel the warm feathers cool in your hand and know that a life has been given for yours, when there is no gratitude in return — that food may not satisfy. It may leave the spirit hungry while the belly is full. Something is broken when the food comes on a Styrofoam tray wrapped in slippery plastic, a carcass of a being whose only chance at life was a cramped cage. That is not a gift of life; it is a theft.
How, in our modern world, can we find our way to understand the earth as a gift again, to make our relations with the world sacred again? I know we cannot all become hunter-gatherers — the living world could not bear our weight — but even in a market economy, can we behave “as if” the living world were a gift?
We could start by listening to Wally. There are those who will try to sell the gifts, but, as Wally says of sweetgrass for sale, “Don’t buy it.”Refusal to participate is a moral choke. Water is a gift for all, not meant to be bought and sold. Don’t buy it. When food has been wrenched from the earth, depleting the soil and poisoning our relatives in the name of higher yields, don’t buy it.
In material fact, [wild] Strawberries belong only to themselves. The exchange relationships we choose determine whether we share them as a common gift or sell them as a private commodity. A great deal rests on that choice. For the greater part of human history, and in places in the world today, common resources were the rule. But some invented a different story, a social construct in which everything is a commodity to be bought and sold. The market economy story has spread like wildfire, with uneven results for human well-being and devastation for the natural world. But it is just a story we have told ourselves and we are free to tell another, to reclaim the old one.
One of these stories sustains the living systems on which we depend. One of these stories opens the way to living in gratitude and amazement at the richness and generosity of the world. One of these stories asks us to bestow our own gifts in kind, to celebrate our kinship with the world. We can choose. If all the world is a commodity, how poor we grow. When all the world is a gift in motion, how wealthy we become.”
From Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, Professor of Environmental Biology and enrolled member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation
“There’s a kind of vegetable in Vietnam called he (pronounced “hey”). It belongs to the onion family and looks like a scallion [spring onion]; it’s very good in soup. The more you cut the plants at the base, the more they grow. If you don’t cut them, they won’t grow very much, but if you cut them often, right at the base of the stalk, they grow bigger and bigger.
This is also true of the practice of generosity. If you give and continue to give, you become richer and richer all the time, richer in terms of happiness and well-be-ing. This may seem strange, but it’s always true.”
From Peace Is This Moment: Mindful Reflections for Daily Practice by Thich Nhat Hanh
“Let us have the presence to stand at the edge of the sea To sense the ebb and flow of the tides. Let us have the senses to feel the breath of a mist moving over a great saltmarsh, To watch the flight of shore birds that have swept up and down the continents For untold thousands of years, and see the endless running of the eels to the sea. Let us have the knowledge of things that are as nearly eternal as any earthly life can be.”
Bert Clough (Oxford Unitarians), adapted from words by Rachel Carson, quoted in Fragments of Holiness for Daily Reflection
“Believe me, I know how tempting it is to remain inside this blessing, to linger where everything is dazzling and clear.
We could build walls around this blessing, put a roof over it. We could bring in a table, chairs, have the most amazing meals. We could make a home. We could stay.
But this blessing is built for leaving. This blessing is made for coming down the mountain. This blessing wants to be in motion, to travel with you as you return to level ground.
It will seem strange how quiet this blessing becomes when it returns to earth. It is not shy. It is not afraid.
It simply knows how to bide its time, to watch and wait, to discern and pray
until the moment comes when it will reveal everything it knows, when it will shine forth with all it has seen, when it will dazzle with the unforgettable light you have carried all this way.”
King Edward Street Chapel 