When the world makes no sense
and I am weary of its horrors,
I close my eyes and imagine myself
in the Blue Ridge Mountains, see
the purple and pinks of its sunrise,
the shadows in its ridges.
I imagine myself where Native
Americans once lived, respected
the earth and its animals, and
I see the wildflowers and plants
used by wise women as medicines.
I look up and see a hawk slowly
swooping in circles and floating
lazily among the clouds. My
body relaxes and my soul is fed.
There is this:
Another shooting by
an angry young man,
bombs falling in Ukraine,
more books banned,
a decision reversed by
men who have never
been pregnant,
acts of hate increasing,
and a budget that
cannot be settled by
pontificating politicians.
And then there is this:
On a cool morning
gentle rain is falling,
soft moss surrounds
an old tree in the woods,
a magnolia blossom
graces a tree on the
side of the road, and
the wood thrush’s throaty
voice calls among
other birds twittering.
What would it be like
to start each day with
beginner’s mind? To marvel
at a body that functions
without our control,
that feels and sees
and smells and thinks,
that communicates in a
language developed
centuries before our
births. What would it be
like to see each sunrise
and sunset as a miracle,
each wildflower with
new delight, each
redbud as a wonder, each
bird as a new marvel?
What would it be like
to wipe the mind clean
of all thoughts and opinions,
to see the spark of the
divine in everyone and
everything we meet,
and act from a place
of love? Just imagine
what it would be like
to start each day
with beginner’s mind.
Inspired by the daily meditations of Richard Rohr
The earth was hushed
that morning and a light
snow was falling, uniting
ground and sky, the still
and the moving, brown and
white. Pine needles on the
path were covered by snow
highlighting an intricate
design like a fisherman’s net
or spider’s web, an encounter
between life and death.
The cosmos was showing off
its artistry in twisted bare
branches, in an ethereal
light on a skim of ice, in
things seldom observed.
Nature was sparking the
imagination with the
magnificence of creation
with no intention other
than to simply enchant.
Surprised by you this morning
as you nestled among the brown
leaves and pine needles,
I was delighted by your
tans and greens decorating
a broken branch on the path.
Even in winter there is color
and joy. All you have to do
is keep your eyes open and look.
What makes mist gently
move across the pond or
the pond reflect the clouds?
What makes the sound
of the wind, and why do
pine needles fall to
the ground? What makes
the lavender flowers…these
lavender flowers at my feet
or the white ones beside them?
What makes the blue heron’s
neck so long and why does he
stand so still at our approach?
And what about the algae
on the fallen branch or
the orange mushrooms?
You might say that it
is all explained by science.
But what explains science?
Does anyone really know?
Do we work too hard
to make sense of it all
when perhaps we are
just meant to be amazed?
Good morning earth
with your
mist rising,
buttercups floating,
cardinals calling,
woodpecker pecking,
streams flowing,
lilies blooming,
echinacea stretching,
hydrangeas budding.
Good morning earth.
Under an arch of bare limbs and trunks
was a banquet of Stars of David,
six white petals in each flower
so striking against the green that
I wanted to take them all into
my body like bread and wine.
Such an exquisite gift for a
Sunday afternoon communion.
Three dogs met in Deep Run Park. They
wagged their tails, sniffed,
and kissed. One was
brown and white, one
black, and one brown. One was big and
one medium,
one was small. No
exclusion here.
What if, like those dogs, humans saw
other humans,
not color, race,
only humans?
The silence. The stillness.
The solidness
of ancient boulders.
The cold raw air.
Mountain after mountain
like gentle waves
rolling in.
A mind cleared
and a soul stirred.
Oh! The breathtaking
beauty of it all.
May we here today
save it for the
generations to come.
untangling the web 