Speak to me of serenity, of treasures yet to be found, of peace that flows like a river. Tell me of tranquil places that no hand has marred, no storm has scarred. Give me visions of standing in sunlight or the feeling of spring mist against my cheek as I live and move and breathe. Show me paths that wind through wild lilies and beds of buttercups. Sing me songs like the mingled voices of wrens and meadowlarks, the lowing of gentle cows, the soft mother-call of a mare to her colt. Lead me past a glass-smooth pond where frogs croak of coming-out parties, their graduation from frisky tadpoles to squat green frogs. Find me a place in the sunlight to sit and think and listen to the sweet inner voice that says so quietly, "Peace, be still."
If we are going to care for the soul, and if we know that the soul is nurtured by beauty, then we will have to understand beauty more deeply and give it a more relevant place in life.
There is no art to wandering. If I have a destination, a plan -- and objective -- I've lost the ability to find serendipity... I search for the Holy Grail of particularity and miss the chalice freely offered, filled full and overwhelming.
I am the breeze that nourishes all things green
I encourage blossoms to flourish with
ripening fruits ...
I am the yearning for good.
The rock strengthens me.
The river rushing through me
Cleanses
Insists
That I keep moving toward
A distant light
A quiet place
Where I can be
Continuous
And in rhythm with
The song of summer
That you have given me.
In THE SNOW LEOPARD, Peter Matthiesen describes his son, Alex:
In his first summers, forsaking all his toys, my son would stand rapt for near an hour in his sandbox in the orchard, as doves and redwings came and went on the warm wind, the leaves dancing, the clouds flying, birdsong and sweet smell of privet and rose. The child was not observing; he was at rest in the very center of the universe, a part of things, unaware of endings and beginnings, still in unison with the primordial nature of creation, letting all light and phenomena pour through.
I gazed across the swamp, its beauty overwhelming. I prayed for guidance, then slipped deep into the realm of silence, still not sure as to where I was going or what I was searching for. It did not take too long to reach deep into the quietude of the sacred silence, and in a flash of clarity all body and mind were gone. I emerged into the dazzling brilliance of the swamp in full light. In my imagination the swamp took on a new feel, a feel that reached into the consciousness of my very soul, purifying and healing. All around me was the flow of life ... green carpets of moss, tranquil pools full of frogs and fish, choruses and movements of all manner of birds, other animals dancing to the rhythm of the Earth, and a sense of beauty the like of which I had never experienced before.
The more sensitive we are to the interdependence of things, the more we see how the quality of our own lives affects not only the people we actually meet but also all beings... In this mysterious universe of subtle and vast interconnections, each one of our actions is as delicate and far-reaching as the butterfly flapping its wings. And the freer we are from greed, hatred and ignorance, the more our lives will be for the benefit of all. Reflecting on that fact can infuse our meditation practice and our lives with spaciousness and love as we travel this ancient and contemporary path.
God's creation is to be experienced in the rhythm of our lives, which I see as: exoteric -- the mechanical, habitual body needs (human-made time); mesoteric -- that which we do with intention, awareness ... the pressure is gone, we slow down; and esoteric -- here we meet God, experience the gift and beauty of life with gratitude. Such moments are filled with awe and silence, without limit or measure ... all pressure, tension, worry, and unnessary suffering is gone. What a rich moment is God's Moment, what a rich time is God's time.
May the stars carry your sadness away,
May the flowers fill your heart with beauty,
May hope forever wipe away your tears,
And, above all, may silence make you strong.
So much of life we all pass by
With heedless ear and careless eye.
Bent with our cares, we plod along,
Blind to the beauty, deaf to the song.
But moments there are when we pause to rest
And turn our eyes from the goal's far crest.
We become aware of the wayside flowers,
And sense God's hand in this world of ours.
The sun flecks gold through the sheltering trees,
And we shoulder our burdens with twice the ease.
Peace and contentment and a world that sings
The moment of true awareness brings.