TRIUMPH OF SPIRIT IN LOVE, NATURE & ART

Latest

Ode to a One-Eyed Dog


You open our eyes to the Infinite

with your soft-brown, one-eyed stare,

your gentle, pink-tongued kisses

and your deep, dark, velvet ways.

You open our hearts to Eternal Love,

joining in our displays of affection,

cringing at discord in dire dejection,

Oh, Love-Dog with a failing heart!

You work your love-magic on all you meet

with a willful wag of your toy-like tail

Soothing us in sorrow and defeat

with the soulful “ear” of your only eye.

In your own pain, you comforted us.

Losing Dad, you licked Mom’s tears.

When Mom died you brought us back

from the shrieking world of grief and fears.

And you are getting old, as I lie sick in bed,

my nose nuzzling your greying head,

inhaling your sweet doggie scent,

I feel the fragile flutter of your tender heart.

Lulled by the hum of your delectable delight,

warmed by your love, touched by your joy,

filled with awe at each breath you take,

I see in you God’s mystery of life.

Divine Romance


Our third decade together. And the love grows deeper against a background of eventual, inevitable loss. A loss more unimaginable than one’s own demise.

I look deeply into your eyes, my eyes linger, falling into your blue orbs, while you, in turn, delight in my gaze, going far beyond the polite looks people use in everyday conversations. We pause too long. I fall into the abyss of your sky blues and feel reverence. Reverence for your happy spirit, infectious mood.

It is not the Eros of our first decade that waned in the second and all but disappeared in the third. Attraction, yes, but of a different nature. Attraction of the heart, the soul, the spirit. We bring each other to pure joy, bliss, a sharing of spirit. We give each other a taste of oneness with all.

Turtle Tears


It is before dawn on a moonlit night. The moon has swept the trees and grass in silver. I await the sun. The moon woke me to whisper about the silent beauty of the predawn hours. The yard is white magic and I imagine a monarch butterfly now sleeping, awaken to find a turtle so it can drink its tears. Monarch butterflies drink turtle tears. Why are the turtles crying? They cry for the ailing earth. They cry for those who suffer. They cry for the dying. They cry for those striving to become one with all. They cry for the sap in the trees flowing. They cry for the animals who are constantly on guard for their lives. They cry for the bird egg which will not ever hatch. They cry for the dying stars in an ever expanding universe. They cry for the unawareness of the high and mighty. Turtle tears are like diamonds sparkling in candlelight, like rain drops on a drooping Lily of the Valley. Come now to drink my tears, dear Monarch. Your beauty gladdens my heart. Your heart drops manna from the heavens into my soul. Come now, dear Monarch. Come lick the dew drops in my eyes.

Tears for America


Valarie Kaur of the Revolutionary Love Project talks for 7 and a half minutes about the rage and indignation we feel in the face of the domestic terrorism attack on the Capitol on Wednesday January 6th, 2021. She tells us how to channel the rage and indignation and powerlessness we feel. And she ends with a short Sikh prayer song.

Beings of Light


December is my favorite time of year.  In this month of darkness, in this the darkest month, the light of the human spirit shines forth in a fullness shown by so many, in so many ways.  As the days grow shorter, houses and trees are decorated, and snow falls.  In the hushed silence of the nights, lights shine in windows, and the beauty is shared by all.  For this season of giving brings the festivals of lights: Diwali, Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa.  Each tradition incorporates light in its ceremonies and decorations.  

A neighbor friend of mine who lives down the road where we used to live, a donkey in his stable, reminds me of the story of another manger 2000 years ago.  And seeing him snug in his stable with snow on the ground used to give me the illusion that all is right in the world.  But all is not well.  Not now, not then. Millions know no peace in any season. A world-wide pandemic rages. Politics that divide us runs rampant.

This year some have no food, no home. Others fret over how to pay bills. Yet even living in darkest of times we can see the light of the human spirit and celebrate the season of light in personal ways.  For the human spirit is indomitable.

In December’s darkness we light lights.  For we are beings of light.  A light glows within each one of us.  And, at the most basic level, we are beings of light because we are made from stardust.  Perhaps that is why the stars hold such majesty for us– for we are made from star material.

Einstein said: “A human being is part of the whole, called by us the ‘Universe”– a part limited in time and space.  He experiences himself, his thoughts, and feelings, as something separated from the rest– a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness.  This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us.  Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.”  We are all cut from the same cloth and our inner light unites us.

And in this holiday season we behold the night sky as shepherds did two thousand years ago on the birth of the holy infant, in a stable like the one down the road where my donkey friend lives.  That night a star (maybe the congruence) lit the whole sky to guide the shepherds, and on these deep, long, silent nights as we light our houses, our candles, our trees, if we are blessed enough to have them, let us look inside ourselves and find the glow that may guide us to The Light.

Reaching for the Stars


“I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree… a tree that looks at God all day and lifts her leafy arms to pray.”  The opening lines of the poem,“Trees,” by Joyce Kilmer.  Indigenous peoples through the ages have talked of tree spirits and trees as wise ones.  Trees are striking as they permanently lift their arms to the Heavens in seeming prayer, day and night in communication with the Creator, their outstretched arms reaching for the stars. 

Reaching for the stars.  The image calls to mind a dance of the Kalahari Bushmen who were featured in the movie “The Gods They Must be Crazy.”  The Kalahari, the last men born of the Stone Age culture according to Laurens Van Der Post, have no sense of individuality and so share all they have. They have a dance of gratitude which Van Der Post describes in his book entitled “A Mantis Carol”: “I never see their dancing without feeling deeply moved and utterly irreverent and blasphemous because of our own incapacity for acknowledging what life will give if only we will let it in.”  And then there is their dance of the “great hunger,” a dance that says we do not live by bread alone, a dance at life’s end fraught with longing, with arms outstretched taughtly towards the Heavens as they reach for the stars.

My grandfather reached for the stars.  He came here,  a 16-year-old peasant stonecutter from the mountains of Sicily, knowing no English.  He wound up carving the Lincoln Gettysburg address at the Lincoln Memorial in DC.  While working on the Gettysburg Address he studied English at night school.  I remember him telling me how he was the laughing stock of his fellow stone cutters because, inspired by Lincoln’s words, he carved his initials at the top of the monument, “A.L.” for Anthony LaManna (and, of course, for Abraham Lincoln), followed by: “Attorney at Law.”  Working his way through school, he actually did eventually become a VA lawyer.  He reached for the stars and touched them without ever forgetting where he came from.  And he was childlike as he took care of me, as we danced to records on the victrola or as he played the mandolin and sang to me.  I always think of him with a tinge of sadness, for more than anyone, he taught me to reach for the stars. 

Reach for the creator–  that is what the trees say.  At this time of year I yearn for the days of childhood in which God seemed close.  This yearning fully ripens each year at Thanksgiving/Christmas/Hanukkah when the people brighten their houses with festive lights.  It is a time of year in which we light up our hearts and look to the heavens and sing songs of love to a babe born not so very long ago, or in which we give thanks for the oil to light the lights of the temple for eight days.  We are all really seeking the love that motivated the Kalahari Bushmen to do their dance.  We are seeking a savior, and yearning for the Light in this overlit, commercialized, complicated world in which the inspiring simplicity of the Bushmen, the peasant, is rapidly disappearing.  And the trees touch my heart in their upward reach for the Heavens.  For at this time so many millions of them are sacrificed as they become our Christmas trees and Hanukkah bushes, to be discarded after the holidays are over. 

May we enter this holy season with a simpler yearning, not for presents and parties and hoopla, but with our hearts full of gratitude, taking lessons from the trees, from the Kalahari Bushmen, from our ancestors, and seek Love, in whatever form it takes in our souls.

Leaves Falling


 

Notes from a Very Noisy Mind


Presence.  Stay in present.  Stop projecting into future.  Stop the negative daydreams.  Worse than nightmares.  “What if”, “what if”,”what if” ad infinitum.  Put ice yogurt on grocery list.  Add potatoes.
Is Tom getting a cold?  Flowering plant blooming.  The “spirit” of mother.  Her secret sign.  Our doctor appointment soon.  Afraid to go.  Pandemic fear.  Pandemic fear.  Pandemic fear.  Leak in wall.  Will super come?  He doesn’t respond.  Annoyance.  Will they have to bash the wall in to fix?  Will they have Covid 19 and bring it into our home?  What will happen??  What?  What? What?
Untense your back.  Feel sensation.  Relax body.  Deep breath.  Fear of losing Tom.  Stirrings of a migraine.  Can not stand mind anymore.  Eckhart Tolle said similar thing.  Concentrate on senses.  A flower.  The sky.  Can’t see much sky.  Buildings. Screen.  Windows.  Apartment.  Other lives.  Other deaths.  Look back at the flower.  Flower responds to attention.  Eckhart Tolle says flower does not know it is pretty.  Responds to attention.  Have heard this before.  Plants feel sensation.  Plants have responses to people.  Russians researched this.  Be like a plant.  Feel sensations.  Not fears.  Thoughts are the enemy.  Only for planning.  Avoid thought.
Time to meditate.  A few seconds of peace.  Fight sleep. Fight thought.  Just look, don’t fight thoughts. Just observe.  Follow the breath.  Almost over. Peace for a few seconds after noisy thoughts.
Will I ever be present?  I once was.  Long ago.  Medication fought psychosis but blocked presence.  Can I get there again?

Introduction to Daaji


The most humble guru I have yet encountered and his meditations are the most relaxing.  Heartfulness meditations.

The Spirit of Snow


The Spirit of snow

highlights the love of line

the loving grace of trees in winter

bare and spiritual

the horses a gift of color

in otherwise black and white

MOONSIDE

TRIUMPH OF SPIRIT IN LOVE, NATURE & ART

Silent Songs of Sonsnow

"I have enough time to rest, but I don't have a minute to waste". Come and catch me with your wise words and we will have some fun with our words of wisdom.

le Cœur immense

"Là où il n'y a pas de rivage" (Al Hallaj)

Diary of an Aesthete

Follow the Journey...

Fiesta Estrellas

creativity and gentleness gathers here.

Stars Of Life

Keep Shining!

Wandering with a purpose

Life, experiences and most importantly the lessons learned.

Soni's thoughts

No Fear, Express dear

saania2806.wordpress.com/

Philosophy is all about being curious, asking basic questions. And it can be fun!

artpens

*Love, Nature & Life*

Horseracing Wrongs

Patrick Battuello

Embracing Forever

Explorations in Authenticity by Michael Mark

Holistica2be

Living in harmony with "All that is"

in sacred Presence

silent blessings by ineffable grace

artmark.me

oil paintings by mark toner

Eagèrneśš

"Desire to know the world..."

forgottenmeadows

thoughts from my mind to yours

e-Tinkerbell

Literature, books , sport and whatever intrigues me

Life Changing the World: A Phoenix's Aria

"A torn jacket is soon mended, but hard words bruise the heart of a child." Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Godly Chic Diaries

BY GRACE THROUGH FAITH

PrinkeshWorld

Looking World At My Own SiTe

Poetry and Prose

From soul to soul

Motivation Booster with jr.Pathania

The effective stuff that always matter

%d bloggers like this: