When it seems as if the world is

     breaking and a

        new horror hits

            the headlines each

                 day, and hate and fear encourage

                     further madness,

                        trauma, heartache,

                            and hopelessness,

                                we MUST go back to the basics,

                                      model respect

                                              for all beings,

                                                     spread love, not hate.

My personal spiritual authority does not come

from creeds written by men of power

hundreds of years ago or from TV preachers

with clay feet pontificating on

shoulds and should nots, from people

who think they know what

I should or should not do,

believe or not believe.

It comes from moments of being totally present

to all beings, all creation, all experiences,

when I say yes to each thought, feeling,

and emotion that crosses my path,

when I open myself to mindful surrender,

let go, and allow loving kindness,

gratitude, and appreciative joy

to permeate my whole being

Those moments when the world stands still,

the heart opens,

the curtain is parted,

and I sense something beyond…

something that I sometimes glimpse,

that sometimes eludes me

but I know is there

in the deepest part of me

where all chatter ceases

and authenticity and compassion reign.

(with gratefulness to the Chrysalis Institute’s leaders for the 2015-2016 Spiritual Paths: Carol, Kay, Philip, Susan, & Vicki)

The path to the final destination

is a meandering one with many steps.

There are no short cuts and help

comes from unexpected sources.

Sturdy roots help along the way and

a strong sense of right and wrong

helps you through the impediments

that block your way and to ignore the

easy short cuts promoted by the ego

and shunned by the Self.

The further you go on the journey,

the clearer and richer your perspective

as you approach the last step.

When narrative mind twists old hurts,

stories into

tangled balls of

twine that roll and

ricochet, sapping energy

that could be used

in ways that move

one to wholeness,

Take a deep breath, feel the air move

from nose to toes.

See that twisted

twine float away.

(with thanks to mindfulness meditation teachers Kay and Phil Davidson)

Have we forgotten that all creation is one

glorious outpouring from the womb of the Divine?

Early bird song and emerging light,

the rhythmic crashing of ocean waves,

a baby whale leaping with its mother,

and peony buds unfolding their delight.

The solid silence of mountains,

the gurgling of streams,

the fecund smell of wetlands,

and sunlight on bare sycamores.

Green daffodils shoots pushing up,

warm puppy body curled up in the night,

and oh that sweet smell of a baby.

All created things

breathing together.

Have we forgotten we are one?

What would happen on this planet

if all humanity remembered?

Stop, stand still!

Do you feel the hush

enveloping the woods?

Do you sense bare branches

waiting patiently for the

first flakes to caress

their outstretched arms?

Smell the cool freshness,

hear the crinkling as

flakes hit the hood of

your coat, and watch the

path slowly disappearing

as you and your dog head home.

Have you ever thought about

how a stream approaches a

rock that blocks its way? It looks

for a crack, an opening,

and then easily finds its

way while making beautiful

music for all to enjoy.

Frost on the ground and a nip in the air,

controversy over Starbucks cups and 114 dead,

twinkling candles in window frames,

Senate blocks expanded gun checks,

trees on car tops and Handel’s Messiah,

14 dead in San Bernardino,

decorations down from attic and wreath on the door,

a friend’s son killed in a crash on I-64,

sun finds diamonds in frost-kissed grass,

irate candidates fume and blame,

soft belly breathing and a bank teller’s smile.

All part of the tapestry of this complex life.

Like sprinkled sugar on a cake,

frost on green grass

and gray slate roofs,

air cold and fresh.

Maple trees display bare branches,

Pumpkins on steps,

Luna prancing,

on morning walk.

Business done, we head home, and

she calmly waits

for food, water.

Such a good dog!

Like the sound of an approaching train,

first distant, then gathering in force,

the breeze travels from Whiteface Mountain

through the narrowing gap

that is Osgood Pond,

passes through, then total silence, complete silence

before it begins again.

At night there is the haunting cry of loons

and the dark, silent white pine sentinels

that line the shore as young pines

snuggle up to those who have

withstood the ravages of time.

Sun drops behind the trees and

its reflection disappears from pond’s surface.

And then darkness only experienced far away from city lights.

On an afternoon walk, we see fresh-faced students

from a nearby college, armed with pad and pencil

to record what they know and do not know.

A wrong turn grows an hour to two

but adds a bridge across a bog

and the wonder of running ground-pine

pushing its shoots through fecund earth.

Moss-covered paths and the pond itself invite us to explore

secluded spots to read, to float, or just be.

A rustic tea house accessed by an arched wooden bridge,

a boathouse with kayaks, a rowboat, and canoes,

a ping pong table and ancient bowling alley,

and living treasures — lady hat pins, water lily blooms,

spotted frogs, hidden creeks, celery grass,

and a chance meeting with a woman

dwelling on an island in the middle of the pond.

For a time worries recede and I am at peace,

grateful for these moments

when Mother Earth embraces me

and rocks me in her

sights, her scents, her sounds.