BLESSINGS, dear friends, as we enter another life-giving Springtime season of new blossomings bursting from the earth and, hopefully, arising in our hearts as well. In the silence of early April mornings, listen for the promise of winter's gestate seeds awakening. What flowers await birth in your inner soul garden? Be still ... in the silence, you will know.
We as a people are only now beginning to learn to read the language of the earth once more. We are beginning to see what our actions create. Since the beginning there have been those who have listened to the earth's song. We are a note in the discord or the harmony of this world. The way we walk is the way it becomes. Speak in anger and anger will come to you, speak with caring and love and these too shall be drawn to you. Our choices in action are sacred. To choose to work our way through our emotions and actions in a good way can be a most sacred act. Each action affects all others.
The old tree of eternal creative life lives
with an open heart, very deep roots,
and many branches waiting to
transform into new life.
All universal truths are available to us. All universal knowledge. Nothing is withheld. Our soul has a limitless capacity to enfold and know all. This is part of the dynamic of the soul. We are faced with the job of healing the planet, healing it from the multitude of messes we have created. The only way this can happen is for people to change their attitudes toward nature As we each open to the broader reality of nature, our attitudes will automatically shift, and how we treat our immediate environment will alter to accommodate those shifts in attitude. We will live our lives differently. We will have different motivations for what we do. We will become active co-creative partners in life. We will behave as if the God of ALL life mattered.
In the early evening we see the stars begin to appear as the sun disappears over the horizon. The light of day gives way to the darkness of night. A stillness, a healing quiet comes over the landscape. It's a moment when some other world makes itself known, a numinous presence beyond human understanding. We experience the vast realms of space overwhelming the limitations of our human minds. As the sky turns golden and the clouds reflect the blazing colors of evening, we participate for a moment in the forgiveness, the peace, the intimacy of things with each other.
What did you find in the fields today,
you who have wandered so far away?
I found a wind-flower, small and frail,
and a crocus cup like a holy grail;
I found a hill that was clad in gorse,
a new-built nest, and a streamlet's source;
I saw a star and a moonlit tree;
I listened... I think God spoke to me.
How glorious is Your dwelling place,
O Loving Creator of the universe!
In the Middle Ages saunterers were considered saint de terre as they wandered the countryside.
Sunset in the ethereal waves:
I cannot tell if the day
is ending, or the world, or if
the secret of secrets is inside me again.
The three months of solitude were of the greatest significance for me. I came away from them very much strengthened — ready to share my insights with people who were interested in hearing them. Still today, I have the sounds of the jungle in my ears: the cries of the monkeys and birds and the wind rushing through the banana leaves. But there were also times of utter silence, at dawn and twilight. I took walks in the jungle in order to look at nature as a part of myself.
The solitary globe of night
pours out its calm and clear light
in the midst of the silence and
contemplation of nature.
You set before me the book of Nature; and I understood how all the flowers created by You are beautiful, how the splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not lessen the perfume of the little violet or the delightful simplicity of the daisy. I understood that if all flowers wanted to be roses, Nature would lose her springtime beauty, and the fields would no longer be decked out with little wild flowers... It is the same in the world of souls, Your living garden.
The earth is not a mere fragment of dead history, a stratum upon stratum like the leaves of a book, to be studied by biologists and antiquarians chiefly, but living poetry like the leaves of a tree, which precede flowers and fruit — not a fossil earth but a living earth.