I often pray during & after reading the daily news. I feel moved to offer a prayer for lives lost needlessly or for the suffering humanity only seeking a freedom for themselves & their families. I feel grateful when I’m with my family & friends for our blessings & freedom. On a smaller scale, little gestures of kindness can mean so much to people who are total strangers. Helping reach an item in the store or allowing them to go ahead of you, smiling, saying thank you & connecting verbally. Thank you for your contributions!
Offering prayer or messages of love and kindness after the news is a lovely practice, Janie! And your observation about little gestures of kindness like reaching an item in a store or allowing someone to go ahead of you in a line seem to me like what I'm thinking of as prayer actions or active prayer. I just let someone go ahead of me in a line at a crowded grocery store on my long drive home from the conference I spoke at this weekend, and I felt a rush of goodwill that carried me into the last few hours of the drive. Which made me think about how kindness so often comes back to the giver, multiplying like love does.
I linger in the garden several times during the day. Most all of my garden beds are still covered in snow. The parts that are not have little green shoots of snowdrops and crocus popping through the earth. I linger with much anticipation of the spring flowers to come.
What a lovey image you created with your words, Cherie! Thank you for sharing it. I am smiling thinking of your lingering in your winter garden, admiring those green shoots of spring poking through the snow.
Since I began to live with chronic illness and the narrowed life that it entails, I have practiced this way for a while now. I can no longer join others or participate in formal shared rituals, so I have learned to do this - pausing often to become aware (Spirit, I am here), to return to gratitude (so grateful for this…) and praise (what an amazing thing or person, what a wonderful world, what a beautiful life). It is a life-enriching practice! I notice all kinds of marvelous things all around me. I have much joy!
Kathryn, You have found such richness in your life, I wouldn't say it is "narrowed" by your chronic health condition, rather that it is different, but still deep and full of spirit. Your practices are so gracious and wonderfully open to the grace around you. It's no wonder you find so much joy. Blessings to you!
Life is a process, and we get to practice as long as we are here! It took me a long time to accept that the times when Lupus lays me in bed or makes me so fatigued that simply getting up is a huge effort also are times full of the richness of simply letting myself go and being, heavy-limbed with exhaustion and all. Fighting didn't work, railing against the universe didn't work, sulking and feeling sorry for myself didn't work. (I know, because I tried them all.) So I learned surrender, and I know that's a lesson you know well and have probably learned far better than I ever could. I think you have so much to teach us.
Yes, surrender. Letting go of resistance. Watching the scroll unroll moment by moment, without judgment or interpretation. I’ve been learning this approach now for some time, and I’m grateful for the meditation teachers, and those who have recovered from this disease, who now spend their time helping the rest of us.
I appreciate your references to your own struggle with health, because, although I do not have lupus, there are many parallels. And I discovered you by reading Walking Nature Home,, and it gave me a wonderful flare of hope. Thank you!
I think surrender may be my most difficult and most important lesson. Intellectually, it makes so much sense, but in practice.... It's not easy to watch the scroll unroll and just let life be what it is!
I'm glad Walking Nature Home was useful and even gave you some hope. Many blessings to you!
I'm grateful now for pointless stress because I've come to recognize it, stop, and make a silent prayer to whomever is listening to guide me to the right path or the next thing.
And I hope it's okay to share, but as a fellow animal lover trying to do what I can to help, this short essay from my early morning with a squirrel in trouble fits with your message here.
Trevy, Thank you for sharing your essay about "Mr. Squirrel" and the hawk. I applaud you for learning to recognize pointless stress and ask for wisdom in dealing with it, and for recognizing in your essay that our perspective sometimes doesn't allow us to understand the whole of what is happening. Hawks have to eat, just as humans have to eat, and squirrels have to eat. (We don't hear the trees screech when squirrels chew off their buds and blossoms, but other plants respond to their distress signals, so we know the trees are responding with distress. And we know that plants feel pain and do their best to avoid it, just as animals do.) It seems to me that keeping our hearts open to the whole of life, the suffering and the joy, is part of learning how to embrace the fullness of existence. A life-long lesson of sorts!
For me, three times come to mind when I pause in my normal day and give thanks.
1. standing in line at the grocery store when I give thanks for the bounty in my cart, the people who grew the food, raised the animals, worked the packaging lines for it, drove it safely to the store and stand for hours making small talk with customers. I pray for each of them and offer a smile and thanks.
2. Driving through the beauty of western Oregon anywhere as each season changes.
3. Watching and listening to the birds on walks through nature.
Pamela, your practice of giving thanks for the bounty in your grocery cart and those who raised, processed, delivered the food, and sold it, is a lovely one. I would add thinking the food plants and animals themselves too, which I'm sure you do. May your food and the beauty of your landscapes and the birds you enjoy uplift you as you honor them!
I will never look at roadkill the same! My nature ritual is relating to the tides. We can see down into a tidal cove from our home, and I love to pay attention the rhythm of the highs and lows throughout the day. I cross a bridge on the way to work, and a lobster boat is sunk in the channel. I can tell the tide by how much of the boat is showing above the waterline. It's my daily reminder that things are always in motion and changing.
Todd, Your tide ritual is a fascinating one, and a beautiful way to connect to the literal ebb and flow of life. I hope you have access to that tidal cove as well as being able to see it from your home, so you can go down to the shore wen you have time and dip your fingers into the liquid pulse of the ocean. What a gift to live near water and see the tides!
Oh, what a gorgeous poem! Thank you for sharing Phil Spect's work, @defarmer. The glimpses we have, the lives we touch as we pass through this existence, are what expand our souls.
Love, love, love this Susan. I've been writing about this topic today. One of the places I encounter the sacred is the swimming pool. It's also one of the places where my body and brain can really prove an impediment to the quiet space of prayer. I'm writing about the practice of being with my brain and body so that I can encounter myself and the water in new ways, so that I can pray.
It's interesting that swimming brings you in touch with the sacred, and is also where you encounter "monkey mind" with your brain and body. I wonder if the rhythms of the swimming and the buoyancy of the water are part of what brings you into sacred space, and if they are also what allow you to be aware of how your mind and body create so much chatter that fills the silence.
Absolutely, rhythm is another thing I've been thinking a lot about lately. It does bring me into sacred space. I like your addition here of the rhythm also allow me to hear the chatter. I think that's very true - and helpful!
I think the chatter of our minds and bodies is pretty-much constant, and we screen it out most of the time. And then when we do find a space that allows us to be aware of our own internal voices/signals, we are surprised by how much noise there is!
My daily rituals: opening the blinds each morning and letting the sun cast its light over me, examining the sky and clouds, watching the crows wing by on their journeys. Cracking open the window on temperate days and letting the fresh air circulate all day long, so when I go to bed I am breathing wild air. Looking for the moon rising or setting or just shining her blessings on me. I do not think of these rituals as prayer, yet I often praise the life I see around me for its loveliness and how it fills my heart.
Wonderful rituals, Carmine. I especially love your phrase "wild air." So much more evocative than the usual, "fresh air." Because the air we breathe is wild, and full of lives of all sorts. Blessings of the day to you!
Thank you for this.
I wasn't sure anyone would appreciate it but me! Thank you.
I often pray during & after reading the daily news. I feel moved to offer a prayer for lives lost needlessly or for the suffering humanity only seeking a freedom for themselves & their families. I feel grateful when I’m with my family & friends for our blessings & freedom. On a smaller scale, little gestures of kindness can mean so much to people who are total strangers. Helping reach an item in the store or allowing them to go ahead of you, smiling, saying thank you & connecting verbally. Thank you for your contributions!
Offering prayer or messages of love and kindness after the news is a lovely practice, Janie! And your observation about little gestures of kindness like reaching an item in a store or allowing someone to go ahead of you in a line seem to me like what I'm thinking of as prayer actions or active prayer. I just let someone go ahead of me in a line at a crowded grocery store on my long drive home from the conference I spoke at this weekend, and I felt a rush of goodwill that carried me into the last few hours of the drive. Which made me think about how kindness so often comes back to the giver, multiplying like love does.
Thank you, fellow nature companion. It's always nice to know one is not alone with these thoughts.
You are most definitely not alone, Karen! I think we just don't say these things aloud, and it seems to me it's time to speak up. So I am. :)
I linger in the garden several times during the day. Most all of my garden beds are still covered in snow. The parts that are not have little green shoots of snowdrops and crocus popping through the earth. I linger with much anticipation of the spring flowers to come.
What a lovey image you created with your words, Cherie! Thank you for sharing it. I am smiling thinking of your lingering in your winter garden, admiring those green shoots of spring poking through the snow.
Since I began to live with chronic illness and the narrowed life that it entails, I have practiced this way for a while now. I can no longer join others or participate in formal shared rituals, so I have learned to do this - pausing often to become aware (Spirit, I am here), to return to gratitude (so grateful for this…) and praise (what an amazing thing or person, what a wonderful world, what a beautiful life). It is a life-enriching practice! I notice all kinds of marvelous things all around me. I have much joy!
Kathryn, You have found such richness in your life, I wouldn't say it is "narrowed" by your chronic health condition, rather that it is different, but still deep and full of spirit. Your practices are so gracious and wonderfully open to the grace around you. It's no wonder you find so much joy. Blessings to you!
Thank you. It’s a process and I am still practicing.
Life is a process, and we get to practice as long as we are here! It took me a long time to accept that the times when Lupus lays me in bed or makes me so fatigued that simply getting up is a huge effort also are times full of the richness of simply letting myself go and being, heavy-limbed with exhaustion and all. Fighting didn't work, railing against the universe didn't work, sulking and feeling sorry for myself didn't work. (I know, because I tried them all.) So I learned surrender, and I know that's a lesson you know well and have probably learned far better than I ever could. I think you have so much to teach us.
Yes, surrender. Letting go of resistance. Watching the scroll unroll moment by moment, without judgment or interpretation. I’ve been learning this approach now for some time, and I’m grateful for the meditation teachers, and those who have recovered from this disease, who now spend their time helping the rest of us.
I appreciate your references to your own struggle with health, because, although I do not have lupus, there are many parallels. And I discovered you by reading Walking Nature Home,, and it gave me a wonderful flare of hope. Thank you!
I think surrender may be my most difficult and most important lesson. Intellectually, it makes so much sense, but in practice.... It's not easy to watch the scroll unroll and just let life be what it is!
I'm glad Walking Nature Home was useful and even gave you some hope. Many blessings to you!
I agree about surrender. For me, it's just a continuing to open, over and over again to what comes, to change.
I love this Kathryn. Thank you so much for sharing. The whole conversation between you and Susan is tremendously helpful and affirming for me.
This entire community is populated by fascinating people! I’m glad it was helpful.
Indeed!
I'm grateful now for pointless stress because I've come to recognize it, stop, and make a silent prayer to whomever is listening to guide me to the right path or the next thing.
And I hope it's okay to share, but as a fellow animal lover trying to do what I can to help, this short essay from my early morning with a squirrel in trouble fits with your message here.
https://trevythomas.substack.com/p/humbling-our-humanity?utm_source=profile&utm_medium=reader2
Trevy, Thank you for sharing your essay about "Mr. Squirrel" and the hawk. I applaud you for learning to recognize pointless stress and ask for wisdom in dealing with it, and for recognizing in your essay that our perspective sometimes doesn't allow us to understand the whole of what is happening. Hawks have to eat, just as humans have to eat, and squirrels have to eat. (We don't hear the trees screech when squirrels chew off their buds and blossoms, but other plants respond to their distress signals, so we know the trees are responding with distress. And we know that plants feel pain and do their best to avoid it, just as animals do.) It seems to me that keeping our hearts open to the whole of life, the suffering and the joy, is part of learning how to embrace the fullness of existence. A life-long lesson of sorts!
Thank you, Susan. I've read about plants and pain but it's all still a bit mind boggling to me. Beautifully said and I appreciate your comment.
For me, three times come to mind when I pause in my normal day and give thanks.
1. standing in line at the grocery store when I give thanks for the bounty in my cart, the people who grew the food, raised the animals, worked the packaging lines for it, drove it safely to the store and stand for hours making small talk with customers. I pray for each of them and offer a smile and thanks.
2. Driving through the beauty of western Oregon anywhere as each season changes.
3. Watching and listening to the birds on walks through nature.
Pamela, your practice of giving thanks for the bounty in your grocery cart and those who raised, processed, delivered the food, and sold it, is a lovely one. I would add thinking the food plants and animals themselves too, which I'm sure you do. May your food and the beauty of your landscapes and the birds you enjoy uplift you as you honor them!
I agree with the words on my T- Shirt, "In a world where you can be anything be kind."
That's a great t-shirt, Linda. I think we should all have that reminder tattooed on our hearts.... :)
I will never look at roadkill the same! My nature ritual is relating to the tides. We can see down into a tidal cove from our home, and I love to pay attention the rhythm of the highs and lows throughout the day. I cross a bridge on the way to work, and a lobster boat is sunk in the channel. I can tell the tide by how much of the boat is showing above the waterline. It's my daily reminder that things are always in motion and changing.
Todd, Your tide ritual is a fascinating one, and a beautiful way to connect to the literal ebb and flow of life. I hope you have access to that tidal cove as well as being able to see it from your home, so you can go down to the shore wen you have time and dip your fingers into the liquid pulse of the ocean. What a gift to live near water and see the tides!
The Longest Night
(I am trying to process strange grief.)
Just a dead bird on the road.
The color matched a thrasher.
I was taking part in the bird count. I was mystified.
It couldn't be. And it wasn't.
But in my head a thrasher's mate called.
For I had heard it for days. Mourning.
That dead thrasher on the road never coming home.
Nor was this male Rufus Eastern Screech Owl.
Thrashers have long migrated south.
I spent enough time researching this owl species,
(for this was during the official count)
to find they often mate for life;
when eggs are incubated, male the sole provider.
It was in dreaming on the longest night,
part of this melancholy journey one past day
spent at the International Owl Festival.
There with a man first to my bedside once,
hospital bed, and a last to his before he left us.
Now he with the owl as companion in the mystic.
Where the thrasher's mate calls.
And why a poem now? A dead bird?
Even the longest night is short.
But gives a glimpse.
Phil Specht
Oh, what a gorgeous poem! Thank you for sharing Phil Spect's work, @defarmer. The glimpses we have, the lives we touch as we pass through this existence, are what expand our souls.
Love, love, love this Susan. I've been writing about this topic today. One of the places I encounter the sacred is the swimming pool. It's also one of the places where my body and brain can really prove an impediment to the quiet space of prayer. I'm writing about the practice of being with my brain and body so that I can encounter myself and the water in new ways, so that I can pray.
It's interesting that swimming brings you in touch with the sacred, and is also where you encounter "monkey mind" with your brain and body. I wonder if the rhythms of the swimming and the buoyancy of the water are part of what brings you into sacred space, and if they are also what allow you to be aware of how your mind and body create so much chatter that fills the silence.
Absolutely, rhythm is another thing I've been thinking a lot about lately. It does bring me into sacred space. I like your addition here of the rhythm also allow me to hear the chatter. I think that's very true - and helpful!
I think the chatter of our minds and bodies is pretty-much constant, and we screen it out most of the time. And then when we do find a space that allows us to be aware of our own internal voices/signals, we are surprised by how much noise there is!
Very true!
My daily rituals: opening the blinds each morning and letting the sun cast its light over me, examining the sky and clouds, watching the crows wing by on their journeys. Cracking open the window on temperate days and letting the fresh air circulate all day long, so when I go to bed I am breathing wild air. Looking for the moon rising or setting or just shining her blessings on me. I do not think of these rituals as prayer, yet I often praise the life I see around me for its loveliness and how it fills my heart.
Wonderful rituals, Carmine. I especially love your phrase "wild air." So much more evocative than the usual, "fresh air." Because the air we breathe is wild, and full of lives of all sorts. Blessings of the day to you!