The first thing that must change is that in me which insists upon the smaller view of myself and tries to make that permanent … I watch my personality from the reality behind it. In that moment I am no longer identified with ego. Spirit begins to emerge and know itself. The dance changes! I no longer dance to become worthy or prove my value. Continue reading “I Dance …”
We forever drift in and out of the miracle before us. As our eyes dilate and constrict in order to see, we are opened by love, wonder, and truth into the immediacy of all that is incomprehensible, only to wrestle with pain, loss, and obstacles that make us constrict. Continue reading “The Work Of Listening: To Keep The Song That Comes Out Of Nowhere Alive …”
I believe that within me lies an extraordinary radiance, and I commit to letting my light loose in the world. Continue reading “The Real Woman Creed …”
Yes, it is true. I confess,
I have thought great thoughts,
and sung great songs—all of it
rehearsal for the majesty
of being held. Continue reading “Accepting This …”
I never really thought that I’d spend as much time in airports as I do. I don’t know why. I always wanted to be famous and that would mean lots of travel. But I’m not famous, yet I do see more than my share of airports.
O God, we thank you for this universe, our home; and for its vastness and richness, the exuberance of life which fills it and of which we are part. We praise you for the vault of heaven and for the winds, pregnant with blessings, for the clouds which navigate and for the constellations, there so high. We praise you for the oceans and for the fresh streams, for the endless mountains, the trees, the grass under our feet. We praise you for our senses, to be able to see the moving splendour, to hear the songs of lovers, to smell the beautiful fragrance of the spring flowers. Give us, we pray you, a heart that is open to all this joy and all this beauty, and free our souls of the blindness that comes from preoccupation with the things of life, and of the shadows of passions, to the point that we no longer see nor hear, not even when the bush at the roadside is afire with the glory of God. Give us a broader sense of communion with all living things, our sisters, to whom you gave this world as a home along with us.
We remember with shame that in the past we took advantage of our greater power and used it with unlimited cruelty, so much so that the voice of the earth, which should have arisen to you as a song was turned into a moan of suffering.
May we learn that living things do not live just for us, that they live for themselves and for you, and that they love the sweetness of life as much as we do, and serve you, in their place, better than we do in ours. When our end arrives and we can no longer make use of this world, and when we have to give way to others, may we leave nothing destroyed by our ambition or deformed by our ignorance, but may we pass along our common heritage more beautiful and more sweet, without having removed from it any of its fertility and joy, and so may our bodies return in peace to the womb of the great mother who nourished us and our spirits enjoy perfect life in you.
— by Walter Rauschenbusch (1861–1918)
I believe that there is a mysterious and graceful and miraculous Coherence stitched through this world.
I believe that this life is an extraordinary gift, a blink of bright light between vast darknesses.
I believe that the fingerprints of the Maker are everywhere: children, hawks, water.
I believe that even sadness and tragedy and evil are part of that Mind we cannot comprehend but only thank, a Mind especially to be thanked, oddly, when it is most inscrutable.
I believe that children are hilarious and brilliant mammals.
I believe that everything is a prayer.
I believe that my wife is the strongest and most graceful female being I have ever met, with the possible exception of my mother.
I believe that a family is a peculiar and powerful corporation, lurching toward light, webbed by love, a whole ridiculously bigger than its parts.
I believe, additionally, that friends are family.
I believe, deeply and relievedly, in giggling.
I believe that the best of all possible breakfasts is a pear with a cup of ferocious coffee, taken near the ocean, rather later in the morning than earlier, preferably in the company of a small sleepy child still in her or his rumpled and warm pajamas, his or her skin as warm and tawny as a cougar pelt.
I believe that love is our greatest and hardest work.
— Brian Doyle (Credo) from Leaping: Revelations & Epiphanies