“”Let us prepare our minds as if we’d come to the very end of life. Let us postpone nothing. Let us balance life’s books each day… The one who puts the finishing touches on their life each day is never short of time.”
Seneca, Moral Letters, 101.7b-8a

“Live each day as if it were your last” is a cliché. Plenty say it, few actually do it. How reasonable would that be anyway? Surely Seneca isn’t saying to foresake laws and considerations – to find some orgy to join because the world is ending.
A better analogy would be a soldier about to leave on deployment. Not knowing whether they’ll return or not, what do they do?
They get their affairs in order. They handle their business. They tell their children or their family that they love them. They don’t have time for quarrelling or petty matters. And then in the morning they are ready to go – hoping to come back in one piece but prepared for the possibility that they might not.
Let us live today that same way.”

From The Daily Stoic by Ryan Holiday and Stephen Hanselman

Saint Andrew’s Day and First Sunday of Advent

“Clear as the endless ecstasy of stars
That mount for ever on an intense air;
Or running pools, of water cold and rare,
In chiselled gorges deep amid the scaurs,
So still, the bright dawn were their best device,
Yet like a thought that has no end they flow;
Or Venus, when her white unearthly glow
Sharpens like awe on skies as green as ice:
To such a clearness love is come at last,
Not disembodied, transubstantiate,
But substance and its essence now are one;
And love informs, yet is the form create.
No false gods now, the images o’ercast,
We are love’s body, or we are undone.”

Real Presence by Nan Shepherd (1893 – 1981), poet of the Cairngorms

International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People

“If I must die,
you must live
to tell my story
to sell my things
to buy a piece of cloth
and some strings,
(make it white with a long tail)
so that a child, somewhere in Gaza
while looking heaven in the eye
awaiting his dad who left in a blaze–
and bid no one farewell
not even to his flesh
not even to himself–
sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above
and thinks for a moment an angel is there
bringing back love
If I must die
let it bring hope
let it be a tale”

Refaat Alareer (1979 – 2023), Palestinian poet, killed in an Israeli air strike on Gaza

“To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
All pray in their distress;
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.

For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is God, our father dear,
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is Man, his child and care.

For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity a human face,
And Love, the human form divine,
And Peace, the human dress.

Then every man, of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine,
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.

And all must love the human form,
In heathen, turk, or jew;
Where Mercy, Love, & Pity dwell
There God is dwelling too.”

The Divine Image by William Blake (1757 – 1827), poet and visual artist, born on this day

“Every particle of the world is a mirror,
In each atom lies the blazing light
of a thousand suns.
Cleave the heart of a raindrop,
a hundred pure oceans will flow forth.
Look closely at a grain of sand,
The seed of a thousand beings can be seen.
The foot of an ant is larger than an elephant;
In essence, a drop of water
is no different than the Nile.
In the heart of a barley-corn
lies the fruit of a hundred harvests;
Within the pulp of a millet seed
an entire universe can be found.
In the wing of a fly, an ocean of wonder;
In the pupil of the eye, an endless heaven.
Though the inner chamber of the heart is small,
the Lord of both worlds
gladly makes his home there.”

Mahmud Shabestari (c. 1250 – 1320), Persian Sufi master

“The exercise of force is contrary to the principles of God’s government; He desires only the service of love; and love cannot be commanded; it cannot be won by force or authority. Only by love is love awakened.”

Ellen G. White (1827 – 1915), co-founder of the Seventh Day Adventist Church, born on this day

“Befriending ourselves is the quiet revolution. It is learning to sit in the empty moments and find not exile, but home. To listen to the weeds of feeling- grief, anger, joy- as they push through the cracks, asking us to return to what is real. The body, like the earth, is always trying to rewild itself. Feelings rise like nettles and dandelions, insistent and alive, not to destroy us but to make us whole. And when we begin to trust our own company, the descent of autumn and winter is no longer something to fear. The pull inward becomes a homecoming. Silence becomes kinship. Darkness becomes a doorway.”

Brigit Anna McNeill

“At that moment a very good thing was happening to her. Four good things had happened to her, in fact, since she came to Misselthwaite Manor. She had felt as if she had understood a robin and that he had understood her; she had run in the wind until her blood had grown warm; she had been healthily hungry for the first time in her life; and she had found out what it was to be sorry for some one. She was getting on.”

From The Secret Garden, published 1911, by Frances Hodgson Burnett (1849 – 1924), born on this day

“Sheltering God,
I hide myself in You.
Head swathed and bowed,
I listen for the still, small voice.

Strengthening God,
in times of tumult and terror,
as the earth moves
and the horizon shifts,
You call me back,
to shelter and to strengthen.

Your song is in the sighing of trees.
Your light is in flicker and spark,
knowing and unknowing.
Your power is in the greening,
and in its passing.

Those with ears to hear, listen.
Those with eyes to see, look.

War and peace,
trembling and tenderness,
all that we create
and all that we destroy
hold a holiness
we do not understand.

Illumine our being,
that our doing
might manifest You.”

Psalm 46 Redux by Carla Grosch-Miller

Feast Day of Saint Cecilia, patron saint of music

“When we pay attention to nature’s music we find that every thing on earth contributes to its harmony. The trees joyously wave their branches in rhythm with the wind; the sound of the seas, the murmuring of the breeze, the whistling of the wind through the rocks, hills, and mountains, the flash of the lightning and the crash of the thunder, the harmony of sun and moon, the movements of the stars and planets, the blooming of the flower, the fading of the leaf, the regular alternation of morning, evening, noon, and night – all reveal to the seer the music of nature.

The insects have their concerts and ballets, and the choirs of birds chant in unison their hymns of praise.. foxes and wolves have their soirees musicales in the forest, while tigers and lions hold their operas in the wilderness. Music is the only means of understanding among birds and beasts. This may be seen by the gradation of pitch and volume of tone, the manner of tune, the number of repetitions, and the duration of their various sounds. These convey to their fellow creatures the time for joining the flock, the warning of coming danger, the declaration of war, the feeling of love, and the sense of sympathy, displeasure, passion, anger, fear, and jealousy – making a language of itself.”

From The Mysticism of Sound and Music by Hazrat Inayat Khan (1882 – 1927)