come, meet me
in the garden of my life.
Lure me into elation.
Revive my silent hope.
Coax my dormant dreams.
Raise up my neglected gratitude.
Entice my tired enthusiasm.
Give life to my faltering relationships.
Roll back the stone of my indifference.
Unwrap the deadness in my spiritual life.
Impart heartiness in my work. Continue reading “Awaken Me (Easter Meditation) …”
How did they know
it was time to push up through the long-wintered soil?
How did they know
it was the moment to resurrect,
while thick layers of stubborn ice
still pressed the bleak ground flat?
But the tulips knew. Continue reading “Desert Day 40: How Did They Know (Spring Meditation) …”
As you light a candle:
Listen, all you seeds in the Earth,
buried in your dark Earthen tombs,
as this flame of my spring candle
penetrates the darkness,
may your young tender stems pierce the Earth
to dance in wind and rain
just as this flame, like a tiny sun,
now dances before me. Continue reading “Desert Day 22: Song of Awakening (Spring Meditation) …”
In the spring, it is my job to envision fruitfulness
and commit to it. It is my task to breathe in the air
and perceive the earth and ripe, vulnerable seed,
to grasp the possibility. Continue reading “The Task of Spring …”
There comes a time when the world gets quiet and the only thing left is your own heart. So you’d better learn the sound of it. Otherwise you’ll never understand what it’s saying.
— Sarah Dessen
Continue reading “The Language of the Heart …”
Winter is black and beige down here
from drought. Suddenly in March
there’s a good rain and in a couple
of weeks we are enveloped in green.
Green everywhere in the mesquites, oaks,
cottonwoods, the bowers of thick
willow bushes the warblers love
for reasons of food or the branches,
the tiny aphids they eat with relish.
Continue reading “Another Spring …”
A New Moon teaches gradualness
and deliberation and how one gives birth
to oneself slowly. Patience with small details
makes perfect a large work, like the universe.
What nine months of attention does for an embryo
forty early mornings will do
for your gradually growing wholeness.
— Rumi from The Essential Rumi
Your life is an overflowing closet. You know it is. There are sweatshirts folded up in a corner of your mind where your children’s birthdays should be stored. That worry about the rust on the car is taking up the space that you had reserved for a slow cup of tea in the morning. I know how you feel. And guess what? There’s a way to get stuff back where it belongs: let go of some of it. Continue reading “Blessed by Less (Lenten Meditation) …”
Everything is so inseparably united. As soon as we begin to describe a flower or a tree or a storm or an Indian or a chipmunk, up jumps the whole heaven and earth and God Himself in one inseparable glory.
— John Muir from My First Summer in the Sierra
Learn to see God in all manifestation, in all people, through all events. The ordinary person sees only the lump of matter. Not so with the awakened soul. He sees in all things the Divine Mind at work molding out into expression what it feels itself to be of life, of color, of form and beauty. There are some illusioned ones who claim that what we see is all false, and that the so-called material universe is an unreality. What a mistake! What we see is the body of God, full, free, complete, whole. Continue reading “See the Good In All Things (Spring Meditation) …”
The simplicity of winter has a deep moral. The return of Nature, after such a career of splendor and prodigality, to habits so simple and austere, is not lost either upon the head or the heart. It is the philosopher coming back from the banquet and the wine to a cup of water and a crust of bread. Continue reading “The Winter of Listening (Lenten Meditation) …”