Still Points, a guide to living the Mindful, Meditative Life

 

Haven’t been on here for an age but just popping in to let you all know that: 

“Still Points; a guide to living the mindful meditative way,” 

will be published by Hachette Press on the 22nd of September!

A book of meditations, poems, sacred pauses and reflections that brings you through the cycle of the seasons in a contemplative way, it is now available for pre-order at:

https://www.easons.com/Still-Points-A-Guide-to-Living-the-Mindful-Meditative-Way-en-us.aspx

Or from Amazon or (preferably) from any good independent bookshop!

May it bring a little peace+

Forest Faith

 Forest Faith

When the edges of my mind fray,

and the golden sacred thread 

seems pulled, gathered, caught 

upon the briar of my broken being,

and my hearthome holds too much

behind its ancient doors 

so there is no breathing space at all,

I take myself to the woods.

For there I become not young,

but small again and feel the rising 

ocean tides of sap lull me at last

into the deep greening rest of soul 

only the old tall ones know 

the sky touchers, earth drinkers 

we call in our dull infant speech, so simply, Trees.

So I place my foot upon the winding path

and dew the way with tears 

and sometimes even blood,

until their windleaf song sounds soul deep, and slows and halts me long enough 

to feel their verdant canopy of calm,

and I greet them then,

as the keepers of the way they are;

the blessed Beech and noble Holly,

the Oak and Ash and Thorn, 

grey brown brothers and sisters 

of the branching dance of being. 

Their familiar oldness a reminder 

of my passing place 

in all this; they leaflean down 

to teach me once again 

the way of prayer as being 

and being as prayer,

allowing the holy breath to play along my spine as within their trunked tallness

while standing through the shifting seasons

they grow slowly, imperceptibly, always,

until flower and fruiting follow in their turn,

then the seeming fall, 

asleep asunder for awhile,

as my life now flutters, cast upon the winds

lost in wildness, a wintered leaf, 

dry and brittle, 

but here in their stately shadows

daring to read the scripture of their state, 

and hear their prophecy proclaimed in stillness; that old roots dig deep 

and deeper still, 

that branches bend so not to break and 

that there is a joy in storms when yielded to.

So for a while I breathe the sylvan air 

and greet the great and green,

these guardians of natural grace,

and then when I have walked long enough to become reminded, rewilded and 

rehomed in heart, I bow in thanks 

and leave the woods to plant their sainted seeds throughout my world and life;

to feel a forest grow within

and make the faith feathered one

a home.

Meditation for Midsummer’s Eve

I post this for Midsummer’s Eve each year and each year it seems more true for all of us… the blessing is in the paradox!

The Paradox of Presence; 

a Meditation for Midsummer's Eve

Here I am Lord;

I am a passing shadow

I am a breath on the edge of being

I am a body of dust and ashes

I am a child of earth

I am from nothing

I am only ever almost

I am a ripple in the pool of life

I am a whisper in the silence

I am lost in time

I am unfulfilled yearning

I am a distorted reflection

I am delusion

I am desire

I am for now

And yet,

Here I am Lord;

I am made in your image

I am growing into your likeness

I am an idea in the Divine mind

I am called forth from nothingness

I am an exhalation of love

I am a child of God

I am an eternal soul

I am a word spoken by the Word

I am the temple of the Divine

I am from Being itself

I am called by name

I am held in being by Love

I am interpenetrated by light

I am sustained by pure attention

I am healed by Divine Compassion

I am redeemed by Mercy

I am for eternity

And so, I answer once again

caught in the pain of paradox,

on this point between the

shortest night

and the longest day:

Here I am Lord;

To be light in the shadows

To be your breath of love

To be the place where Being heals being

To be the moment where time touches Eternity

To be the voice who speaks the word into the silence

To be the torch aflame in the darkness

To be the temple of Divine encounter

To be the emptiness without absence

To be the call to compassion

To be the wound that heals

To be the child of heaven and the child of earth

To be in time and dwell in eternity

To live my I am in the I AM

To lose all so as to find all in you.

So,

Here I am Lord;

journeying from nothing to something

journeying from darkness to light

journeying from emptiness to fullness

by

journeying from something to no-thingness 

journeying from light to light so bright it blinds and darkens my still too earthly sight

journeying from fullness to emptiness of being...

Here I am Lord;

a pilgrim on this paradox path

lost and found 

and lost again

but with faith in the finding always...

and on this night of edges and shadows and barely there darkness 

I surrender to the 

silence of the Word

and simply say with open hands and 

broken heart,

Here 

I

am

Lord.

Holding on to the beads

Saturday Thoughts: hold on to the beads.

These are Rosaries that were made by Catholic prisoners in Nazi concentration camps.

They made them from bread and thread from their clothes.

They made them from bread.

They were starving and they gave up their tiny rations of bread to make the beads.

They were freezing and they took threads from their clothes.

They made Rosaries knowing that to be found with them meant a beating, torture or even death.

But they held on to the beads.

They held on because they knew that to hold on to the beads is to hold on to the hand of the Mother.

They held on knowing that not even the power of hell can cut the cords of love between the Blessed Mother and her people.

They held on to the beads knowing she was with them in her pain and in her sorrow and that she would be with them always.

They held on to the beads when Mass was impossible and the Church looked like it would never live again.

They held on to the beads as a witness to the power of faith, of hope and of love to light the darkest of times.

They held on to the beads and their testimony speaks to us down the ages.

Whatever you are going through… hold on to the beads… 

Your Mother is holding on to you.

St. Anthony of Padua

Reflection for the Feast of St. Anthony 

Anthony Ascends:

His long travelling days over,

there is now only one direction left;

up, or is it, perhaps, 

more truly, in?

The hilltop hermitage

was not high enough

to discourage those

who would still

seek his words,

disturb his deep prayer,

his long sought peace.

So now the boughs 

beckon him higher

to a cell, a nest woven

between the branches

by the brothers.

This is his place now;

held halfway between

Heaven and Earth

What matter?

His heart has lived this way

all his life;

now the rest of him does so too.

Here, finally, the weariness

of the world may be dropped,

as he, worn out from roads

and crowds, and even from miracles

climbs just a little nearer 

to the clouds.

His body, almost too frail now 

to hold Heaven’s fire. 

Still, there are glints

of golden flame along the edges,

in his flashing eyes, 

in his measured movements,

or on his tongue 

as it tells the hours

in psalming whispers.

He is now,

a prophet become a burning bush,

a priest become a burnt offering,

a brother following the seraph song

all the way to Heaven’s vestibule.

He leans his back 

against the trunk, 

sits still and slowly fades.

A brown robed, grey-friar,

a hooded crow, upon the branch 

as weather beaten as the wood 

on which he rests.

His chapel vault, 

an arching branch.

The greening sunshine 

through the leaves,

his stained glass window.

His choir, the birds.

And he who has learned 

at last, their song of innocence,

hears, understands, and smiles

at their skyborn summons.

From here he will ascend,

this sylvan stylite,

and will be ever after known,

and busied even in eternity as,

Finder of the lost things,

Friend of the poor ones,

Pilgrim preacher of peace,

Brother to the sisters 

in their needs.

But for now, at least, 

there is a moment’s rest,

here upon the hillside

under the passing sun 

and moon,

beneath the branches, 

and breeze played leaves,

above the earth,

alone, at last,

where all the words

are dropped

like leaves

upon the wind,

Anthony 

simply

is.

(At the end, St. Anthony retired to a hermitage but owing to the crowds who came the brothers built him a treehouse in in which to spend his days in uninterrupted prayer. Icon by Br. Robert Lentz)

Feast of our brother St. Anthony of Padua today! Known as the "Good Doctor" for his immense wisdom and learning he was an indefatigable preacher and teacher of the Gospel and the first teacher of theology to the Friars from amongst their own number. 

Known for the immense number of miracles worked during his life he was granted the title of Thaumaturge or Wonderworker. He also worked tirelessly on behalf of the poor and opposed corruption wherever he found it. His last years were spent living as a hermit (in a treehouse!) and teaching the brothers. He is the patron of the poor, of children and pregnant women and of preachers and teachers, and is invoked to find that which is lost and, above all, of miracles! 

He is one of our truly extraordinary brothers and one of my own special spiritual teachers and friends. We entrust ourselves to his prayers this day and always +

(Photos include wonderful moment I got to venerate the cross St. Anthony burned into the wall of the Cathedral in Lisbon with his finger when only 12 years old in order to repel a temptation of the devil to leave his studies to become a priest.)

.

SAINT ANTHONY OF PADUA - JUNE 13, 2018

.

Glorious St. Anthony, I salute thee as a good servant of Christ, and a special friend of God. You once were favored to hold the Christ Child in your arms as you cherished His Word in your heart.

Today I place all my cares, temptations, and anxieties in your hands. I resolve ever to honor you by imitating your example.

Powerful patron, model of Purity, please win for me, and for all devoted to thee, perfect purity of body, mind, and heart I promise by my example and counsel to help others to the knowledge, love, and service of God. Amen.

The creator of the heavens obeys a carpenter; the God of eternal glory listens to a poor virgin. Has anyone ever witnessed anything comparable to this?" .

"The birds are the saints, who fly to heaven on the wings of contemplation, who are so removed from the world that they have no business on earth. They do not labour, but by contemplation alone they already live in heaven." ~ St Anthony of Padua

The relics of St. Anthony of Padua (of Lisbon originally) exposed for veneration. A detail of them that always makes my heart ache is that upon forensic examination of his bones it was found that his foot bones were worn almost away due to the countless miles he walked to preach the Gospel and serve the poor... Miraculously, his tongue and vocal chords have remained incorrupt to this day.

The Surfacing of Summer

In gratitude for peaceful Summer evenings...

The Surfacing of Summer:

At last,

the tide of Summer

turns.

And the land,

like a great grey whale, 

sudden surfacing

from the deep of

winter's waters

into sunshine's seas

feels the waves 

of warmth,

white tipped with

tree blossom 

foam,

call her

into blessed breaching

and joyous 

jumping.

Singing her wild

whale song

of summer in every 

form of

flower

she charms us 

who chase 

light,

and spouts 

the fragrance 

of the 

Summer Kingdom into 

hearts

that remember a 

home

once lost 

and longed for, 

and now, 

lilting

lovingly draws

lo,

in each 

lauds

praising

of love's 

eternal

conquest.

Basking in 

blessedness,

she becomes the 

Summer Isle,

on which we shivering 

sailors

pitch up and 

recover 

rest,

while white birds 

soar

above her in blue

and lift our souls

skywards

once

more

to the stillness

of stars

in a summer's

night sky,

offering their 

divinely

ordered dance

above the 

phosphorescent 

flash

of mountaintop flukes,

tipped 

with the golden 

sheen

of last 

light's touch 

of love.

June; the month of the Sacred Heart

A poem of old remembrances as we enter June, the month of the Sacred Heart:

Sacred Heart

I remember still, 

with the sharp light 

of a child's knowing of newness, 

my Gran's bedroom. 

Spartan, yet equipped with things 

of a quality we do not have 

in many places now.

Long used. 

Loved. 

Meant to last.

Her carved bed seemed enormous to us 

as we flung ourselves onto its satin spread, 

sliding across it to thump, 

giggling, 

on the hard floor.

A mirror, a brush, a comb, all laid out 

upon the dresser as carefully 

as a surgeon's tools, 

heavy and cold to the touch,

but glowing with the warm barley sugar 

inner light of polished tortoise shell.

An old clock that worked, sometimes, 

its numerals glowing in the dark 

a faded ghost green. 

And there, upon the dresser too 

he stood, in stone stillness. 

Flaking slightly, but still royal 

in his red robe, revealing the love 

that is at the heart of all things. 

He seemed huge to my small hands.

I would climb onto the bed beside her 

as she whispered her prayers 

in his direction;

she would hand him to me then 

and he would sit comfortably 

upon my knees,

as I, entranced, traced the thorns 

entwining his poor heart, 

and tried to pull them out;

feeling his heart a flame, 

a fire for me, for her, for all!

I would whisper to him then,

my childish news and secrets

and I remember (can you believe it?)

sometimes, he whispered back

words of such love

they exist now only as 

scattered shards of light 

within my own heart's memories.

There and then I promised, I would 

one day, pull out those thorns.

Gran smiled when I told her this

"Maybe you will", she said toothlessly,

the liturgy of dentures coming after prayers

in the morning's ritual,

"But maybe you'll put another thorn or two 

in there too; 

don't worry, we all do from time to time, 

but never forget He loves you still!" she said, 

smiling sadly at my stricken face.

Then I kissed him hard, as children do,

and made the foolish promise

of a child to ease his heart a little.

A promise I confess I have yet to fulfil,

though no shortage of thorns 

have I added to his crown.

Devotions done she restored him to his place 

upon the dresser,

and I, sliding off the bed,

now thought only of the day before us: 

of buses into town, bookshops, 

and Bewley's cafe!

Then we went downstairs 

to breakfast on tea and toast,

always, me going first,

she coming behind,

her breath, 

her voice as one, 

whistling upon each step,

the background music

of her life;

"Sacred Heart of Jesus,

I place all my trust 

in Thee."

Saturday thoughts for May

 Thoughts for a Saturday of May...

Rosary

Unite 

bead with 

breath 

and being

so

awareness 

appears.

Inspiration 

ignites

Love's 

luminescence 

as

mysteries 

manifest 

in

meditation

with

the

Mother

and

then,

in heat of

Heart's 

hearth,

warmed by 

wonder,

the seed of 

silence

long planted 

in

prayerful 

possibility 

grows 

greatly

until,

in

sacred 

stillness,

the

red rose

buds,

and,

blooms

blessing.

(Pic uncredited on web)

For the May Full Flower Moon tonight

 The May Full Flower Blood Super Moon tonight so this one calls me....

The Path of Lady Moon.

Will you take 

the old path 

of 

the Moon?

The path 

of poetry 

and prayer;

of myth, 

and magic,

of beauty, 

and blessing,

known only to 

monks, 

and mages,

and mystics,

and mothers,

and those who 

keep the vigil

of the long small hours?

Will you sit 

beneath 

her 

golden benediction

and receive her gift of 

stillness,

as you watch her dissolve 

into emptiness 

monthly? 

Will you let her 

teach you,

and all upon

this heart harried Earth, 

to trust

in Resurrection?

Will you bask 

in her 

pure light,

that invites 

you across 

the ocean of dream

to read 

the sacred circles 

of her 

graced Gospel

inscribed by angelic art

upon her

pale pure visage,

long before 

she smiled upon 

those sleeping spouses,

newly named,

and vigilled Eden's first 

dew drenched dawn?

Will you allow 

her light

to illume your life 

with the

silent music

of the forest

when, 

vested in deepest

midnight

and filigreed

in silver, 

the leaves dance in

the liturgy

of life and offer 

their

praise in whispered

choir?

Will you let her shining

tears

wash you in their tides

and beckon you 

to walk upon

the waves from 

storm to still,

as once she shone 

upon His face

and lit His way upon 

the waters?

Will you take 

the old path of 

the Moon,

and touch there the holy 

footprints 

of the Mother 

and the Maiden

and the Queen,

whose orb she proudly is,

in royal resplendence

hung beneath her 

mantled might

and starry crown,

and find

remembrance 

there of 

all that is

and was 

and will be,

in the embrace 

of a mother

and her

son,

as the first 

gift of grace.

Look up and see

my brother,

Look up and see

my sister,

the soul sky is never 

so dark,

that

the old path of the Moon,

the path of blessing,

always ancient 

and ever new,

may not 

be taken

nightly.

All Ascends

 All Ascends

Even the wounds went with Him,

windwards, ever up.

Points of pain, now portals,

doorways divine, our worst wedded

to grace in glory,

Like makers marks upon glittered gold,

He bears them now as blessing,

before the astonishment of angels

the amazement of apostles;

our brokenness that beat

iron into ire before God’s grace,

pricked and pierced,

hammered heavily into soft humanity

so to brand the bearer

as slave, as sinner, as sin,

a punishment for preaching peace.

But with breath and beating heart 

He arose again, 

transfigured and transforming all,

a resurrection, yes rightly, but in Him 

all rises, all shines, shimmers, shakes

free of first failure, and at last 

faithwards flys!

Upwards ever upwards 

He brings all home,

carrying the crossmarks as 

five fiery flames,

as proof of pain, 

but more so love, 

now lamps to light our way 

for world’s wilding,

heaven’s homing, 

and all humanity

at last restored in 

resurrection’s resting.

For He by dulled dark nail and 

silver sharpened spear 

our remaking redeemed, 

who now ascends to stand again 

in bright blessedness before 

the One who walked with us 

in Eden’s even light 

and all called us in 

as Adam and as Eve, 

now newly seen, 

as from our long limbo 

we are loosed by love 

and set at last anew upon 

the throne of grace,

for through Him death has died, 

in Him right has risen,

and with Him 

all ascends.

.

A meditation poem for the vigil of the Ascension, celebrated in Ireland on the 6th Sunday of Easter.

May Thoughts

              May Thoughts:

Even our sister Mother Earth speaks of the Heavenly Mother often and keeps her ever before us for those with eyes to see... a shadow of stone, a shape in the clouds, an angle in the crook of a tree, a turning of the head or the rising and falling of the light, these are the sermons of the earth and they always reveal her. In these gentle whisperings she is always near... always watching over us... always leading us to her Son... always calling us home... always calling us into the embrace of the sacred totality of her yes to God.

Beginning, always beginning.

Beginning; Always Beginning.

O God of beginnings 

help me to begin.

To shrug off the burdens of before.

To leave aside the anxieties of after.

To release the chains of regret.

To simply begin.

Here.

Now.

In this moment.

With you.

O God of beginnings 

help me to begin.

To gift you my brokenness.

To yield to you even my failures 

of a moment ago.

To know that our life is built with you

moment by moment,

step by often faltering step,

as you draw us daily deeper into

the fires of love and there transform us.

O God of beginnings 

help me to begin.

To begin to love.

To begin to live.

To hear your unbinding call.

To walk out into the light

of the true life you offer

beyond the tomb of time.

O God of beginnings 

help me to begin.

To shrug off the burdens of before.

To leave aside the anxieties of after.

To release the chains of regret.

To simply begin.

Here.

Now.

In this moment,

and in every moment after.

Until all our little moments fall away

and we are called into the ending

that is really the eternal 

beginning.

The Path of Pebbles

The Path of  Pebbles

At dawn

each day 

begin

again

by

lifting 

the pebble 

of the 

moment.

Hold it 

with the

full awareness 

of your

senses.

Warm it 

with 

your breath,

as you smooth 

its surface

with 

compassion's

touch.

Then,

as dusk 

descends,

place it 

gently

on the 

cairn of 

experience.

Let it 

settle

there

until,

silently,

the 

deep 

rich 

moss

of Wisdom

grows,

and

Divine Love

enters,

building anew

the 

temple

of your 

being.

The May Magnificat

 The Month of May is dedicated to Our Lady and brings with it a plenitude of heavenly riches indeed! 

Our Mother is the one who in her own person brings in the One who is the Light of the World and, with Joseph as his earthly guardian, guides Him to readiness for His Mission. 

In and through Mary we receive every gift: for while the Church, and the Sacraments come to us from Christ, Christ comes to us through Mary. 

Christ, the Eternal Word is spoken into our world by Mary's word: it is through her "fiat!", her "Yes!" that we have communion with Christ. 

Salve Regina Angelorum!

Today traditionally people greeted the May sunrise and gave thanks for the first fruits and flowers of Summer by dressing the Holy Wells and the wayside shrines to Mary. In the home the May Altar was erected and fresh flowers placed there throughout the month. Consecration of homes, families and individuals to Mary’s protection took place and May processions and crownings of Our Lady’s Icons and statues were celebrated...

So however you celebrate these days may our holy Mother be with you and yours!

The poem May Magnificat by the mystic and poet Gerald Manly Hopkins puts it so beautifully;

The May Magnificat

 

MAY is Mary’s month, and I 

Muse at that and wonder why: 

    Her feasts follow reason, 

    Dated due to season— 

 

Candlemas, Lady Day;         

But the Lady Month, May, 

    Why fasten that upon her, 

    With a feasting in her honour? 

 

Is it only its being brighter 

Than the most are must delight her?         

    Is it opportunest 

    And flowers finds soonest? 

 

Ask of her, the mighty mother: 

Her reply puts this other 

    Question: What is Spring?—         

    Growth in every thing— 

 

Flesh and fleece, fur and feather, 

Grass and greenworld all together; 

    Star-eyed strawberry-breasted 

    Throstle above her nested         

 

Cluster of bugle blue eggs thin 

Forms and warms the life within; 

    And bird and blossom swell 

    In sod or sheath or shell. 

 

All things rising, all things sizing         

Mary sees, sympathising 

    With that world of good, 

    Nature’s motherhood. 

 

Their magnifying of each its kind 

With delight calls to mind         

    How she did in her stored 

    Magnify the Lord. 

 

Well but there was more than this: 

Spring’s universal bliss 

    Much, had much to say         

    To offering Mary May. 

 

When drop-of-blood-and-foam-dapple 

Bloom lights the orchard-apple 

    And thicket and thorp are merry 

    With silver-surfèd cherry         

 

And azuring-over greybell makes 

Wood banks and brakes wash wet like lakes 

    And magic cuckoocall 

    Caps, clears, and clinches all— 

 

This ecstasy all through mothering earth        

Tells Mary her mirth till Christ’s birth 

    To remember and exultation 

    In God who was her salvation.

Gerald Manley Hopkins sj

Queen of the May

 For the First of May, Our Lady’s Month and 

Lá fheile Bealtaine

Queen of the May

O Lady of the White May Crown,

who brings the greening glory,

the sun sparkle upon the waters,

and the great sap surge of ancient trees,

enfold us in your blue mantle sewn of sky,

of Swift and Swallow jewelled,

embroidered with the Blackbird song 

of bright beckoning, 

that we might sing the song of Summer with you.

O Lady of the purple dawn and evening,

whose brow is crowned with starlight

and rainbows of sudden storms arising,

shine upon us now your thrice reflected light,

lowly, and lunar, and loved by the lost,

who find in you their path, their peace, their way home again.

O Lady of the Summer Lands,

whose passing step

now warms and wakes the seed,

the bloom, the berry upon the bough,

and brings to beast and bird

the burgeoning days of nest and den,

and sweet deep secret places

of nascent newness playing,

where eternity touches time

in the ancient song of making,

for of you life itself chose its bearing place.

Bless us too with birth, with life, with long sunlit days of joy, 

that in their serried passing draw us forward 'neath 

the Sun you bore within and then, 

onward into His wondrous light,

that past and childed summers shine with still within our memories, soul sprung from innocence that only you have kept,

then keep for us as greeting kiss bestowed 

upon our final homing into holiday.

Here, Now, In; 3 Doors to Presence

3 Doors to Contemplative Presence:

Here.

Now.

In.

There is only one time: Now.

There is only one place: Here

There is only one direction: In

There is only one time: Now.

The past can only become a source of wisdom, after that it is left in the hands of Divine Mercy...

The future is hidden, but belongs to Divine Providence... 

So worry and anxiety are useless. 

God intends the best for you and will not deny any gift or grace that will enable you to become all you are meant to be. 

What we perceive as a "No" in prayer to a desire is really always a "Yes" to the fulfilment of the desire in a better and deeper way than we could have imagined at that time.

The Present arises from the moment by moment loving attention of Divine Compassion... 

Your "job" is to get past the distractions so as to see the Now for what it is: 

Divine Love in action... 

Co-operate with this Love that is God, 

yield to it fully and be faithful to its call 

and the present becomes an infinite space 

of encounter with the God who IS Love.

There is only one place: Here

You are nowhere but here. 

Here, wherever it is for you in this moment we call now, is the place of Divine Encounter. 

It is your desert, your temple, your tabernacle, your burning bush. 

“God", said St. Bonaventure, "is One whose centre is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere." 

Divine Presence is always fully present to you. You are just distracted by all the thoughts and desires of egoic nature that would have you yearn to be elsewhere in different circumstances. 

If you are here then so is God and your here is where He will work with and through you for the building of the kingdom, if you but tune in and know; and it is this attendance to the present moment that changes our circumstances. 

If you are in a place of trauma or pain then this may require physically moving from that space. But you are never journeying to God. God is with you here in your pain and with deep listening to Him right here, right now the path and call to move and to heal will be made clear.

He is where you are 

that you may be one day 

consciously where He IS.

There is only one direction: In.

All other directions are limited. 

Eventually we tire of them, 

we exhaust them and are exhausted by them.

We discover that they are fading and will one day fade completely. 

All except In. 

Only In lasts. 

Only In is. 

In is the direction that brings us to the true self, and through the true self to the place of stillness and emptiness and clarity, 

beyond the false and fallen self, 

where we finally know our true centre, our heart, 

beholding it in the Light of Divine Love 

from which it first arose as a perfect idea. 

We were eternally an idea in the Divine Mind, 

a movement of the infinitely creative love that we call God, 

who in the fullness of time 

brought us into being, 

loved us into being, 

holds us in being in Love 

and calls us to abide in Love eternally. 

In teaches us who we are. 

We discover we are love loved by Love. 

All other names may change, 

all other circumstances 

may come and go, 

arise and fall, 

change and even disappear. 

Only love is eternal. 

Only In In brings us to the source of real Love.

There is only one time: Now.

There is only one place: Here

There is only one direction: In

Entering the Doors of Glory

              The Doors of Glory:

There are 

moments 

when 

the world 

opens up

and is 

revealed

as a door 

to glory;

when, 

between 

the twined trees, 

or upon 

the stacked stones,

or along 

the shingled shore,

or within

the heavy houses,

in a landscape 

long known,

but fading

daily

into familiarity,

the 

slanting sun 

sudden touches, 

in its rising 

or 

in its setting,

details, perhaps 

unnoticed 

until then.

Gilding them 

gold, its beams, 

bell like, 

sound

a soul call

to slow,

to stop, 

to stare,

to attend 

upon the 

filigreed 

moment

when the 

divine depth

welcomes 

us 

home again

to the 

holy beauty

of that 

which is.

There we, 

struck still, 

and wounded 

anew

by wonder's weal, 

find our 

inner eye

opened,

and soul-see 

all afire

with

glory,

now making of 

our 

everywhere 

a door,

a gate,

a garden,

where 

our senses,

barefooted 

and blessed

anew,

behold 

the Light

by which

all 

that is

abides.

Pic of sunset on one of the fairy hills

Suggestions

 Suggestions:

Look at the sky; to do so draws you up and out of your thoughts.

Look at the ocean; in its flowing tides, its calms and its storms it will give you a sense of perspective.

Look at the trees; they will reach you both rootedness and the ability to let go.

Look up from the ground and meet the world with compassion.

Look at each person you meet as a teacher sent with an important lesson for you.

Live seasonally; enter fully the joy and the beauty of each one as it arises and then do not cling to them as they bid you farewell.

There is nothing you can do about the passing of time except to learn from the past and then live in the present.

Experiences without reflection are just events.

Experiences with reflection become wisdom.

Know the difference between the tears that purify and the tears that do not. 

Never hold back the former. 

Touch, taste, smell, listen deeply to all that is, remember, if it exists it has meaning even if it does not reveal it to you.

Living plants are better than cut flowers but always try and have a little of nature near you.

Listen for the birds, greet the dogs and cats and all creatures you meet along the way as fellow citizens of the one earth as brothers and sisters in being.

Live so as to cause as little harm to other beings as is possible.

Advocate for the weak and the downtrodden,

make space for those who have been silenced by life to speak and then listen.

Plant seeds. 

Grow a garden, and, if possible eat from it, it will teach you your dependence on the earth for bodily sustenance.

Sing, hum, whistle; let music be part of you especially the music that arises unbidden and seems to come from deep within.

Spend time with the very young and the very old, both will help you be yourself again.

Share.

Speak less. Listen more.

Pause before you post anything online. Ask will it bring more compassion to the world?

Learn the names of things: 

not just Tree; but Beech, Oak, Ash. 

Not just Bird; but Robin, Jackdaw, Wren.

Be polite and thankful towards those who have the job of serving you; waiting staff, shop assistants, cleaners etc and remember that everyone you meet has a story at least as complicated as yours.

Bend, stretch, move, dance; do not become confined in or separated from your body,

honour it with respect and kindness. 

Tell it you love it until you do. 

Rest.

Draw, paint, doodle, play with colour and shapes and as you do so watch what emerges. 

Do not characterise it as good or bad.

Compare yourself with no one. 

There is no universal map for a human life, but there is a universal destiny; to become love.

Remember the greatest potential for good or ill exists just as much within you as it does in others

Watch the dawn and the dusk often, both are great teachers in their own way.

Seek truth always. 

Be open to the fact that you could always be wrong.

Apologise.

Be polite.

Smile when you feel you are able to,

but be honest about how you feel.

Teach yourself the value of unstimulated solitude. 

The fear of being alone can lead to poor choices at any age. 

Treasure solitude and treasure connection. The balance you will need between them is unique to you.

Let your eyes rest on books more than screens. 

Read the older stories. 

If they are still with us it is because they have much to teach us. 

Laugh, as much as possible, as often as possible. 

Do not make the mistake of surrounding yourself with sad media when you feel sad. 

If you can’t take being happy at that moment at least choose that which brings equilibrium.

The most difficult mystical teaching of all is this: forgive everyone for everything and remember that Love is an act of will, not an emotional reaction.

Learn to sit still, to breathe consciously and to watch your thoughts and feelings as they come and go. They are not you.

Pray, meditate and do so as much in silence as with words.

Honour your ancestors. 

No matter their story they have something to teach you about how to be, or how not to be.  

Realise the vast majority are doing the best that they can with the knowledge that they have in that moment.

Be.

Finally; 

before all else and above all else; 

act justly,

love tenderly

and walk humbly with your God.

Meeting Otherness; a poem for these days

 A reminder for these troubled days...

Meeting otherness.

When you meet the other,

whoever they are,

stop.

Just stop.

Stop 

long enough

to become

present

to their

being

as a door

to

Divine Presence.

When you meet the other,

whoever they are,

bow.

Just bow.

Bow 

low enough

to reverence

their being

as a gift

held in existence

by

Divine Love.

When you meet the other,

whoever they are,

listen.

Just listen.

Listen 

long enough

to hear

their truth

revealed

as a page

of the story

written by

the

Divine Word.

When you meet the other,

whoever they are,

stop.

Just stop.

Bow.

Just bow.

Listen.

Just listen.

And then,

only then,

in the 

hallowed

space

between you

and the other,

whoever they are,

speak.

Earth Day 2021

 A meditation for Earth Day:

To live in Contemplative Communion is to live with the eye of the heart open; to see behind and beneath the veils of sense into the mystery of sacramentality, the mystery of divine presence made manifest in and through creation. 

It is to see the earth in its beauty and maternal seasons of fruit and plenty as a call to trust in providence and live according to its rhythms and patterns; and then, in time of scarcity to feel the call of compassion and mutual sharing. 

It is a call to know its very stones as a lesson in stability and stillness, to know its trees as torches lighting the way to heaven, their leaves as sparks upon the wind. 

It is the call to recognise in every creature the living breath of the Holy Spirit who sustains life, and to bow in reverence before such temples and tabernacles of the Most High. 

It is the call to recognise the wholeness at the heart of our brokenness, the mercy that is new each day and in each moment. 

It is the call to know time itself as a revelation of the eternity from which it arises and to find infinite depths of love and service available in each moment. 

It is to know that even sin and evil may be turned to our good when seen in the light of Light and surrendered to the grace of Love's love.

It is simply to dwell in grace, and then in and through grace to become grace for others.

(Pic found on Google with no attribution)