As a river flows in ideal sequence May your love discover time is presence.
How many oceans have vanished in sand, how much sand has been prayed hard in the stone, how much time has been wept away in the singing horn of the seashells, how much mortal abandonment in the fishes' pearl eyes, how many morning trumpets in the coral, how many star patterns in crystal, how much seed of laughter in the gulls' throat, how many threads of longing for home have been traversed on the nightly course of the constellations, how much fertile earth for the root of the word: You -- behind all the crashing patterns of the secrets You --
Sabbath time. Sabbatical time. Jubilee time. Time to rest, to delight in what is given, to breathe in the beauty. Time to be fallow, to heal wounds, forgive, regenerate. Time to restore the world to its primal pattern. Time to anticipate a new world in which justice, mercy, and peace truly flourish. Time that anticipates the end and fullness of all time when tears, mourning, and death itself will yield to the bountiful, blooming garden of God’s own time.
You are free before the sun of the day,
and free before the stars of the night:
And you are free when there is no sun
and no moon and no star.
You are ever free when you close
your eyes upon all that is.
There is no protection against adversity.
There are no guarantees.
What you have is yourself, made
in the image of something very great,
the Greatest thing.
You have yourself, and
the particular circumstances of your life.
What you create
is your measure of love.
What you create
is up to you.
We choose what we will risk.
But only the freedom that drives the risk matters.
Attachment is the loss of freedom . . .
Non-attachment is freedom . . .
Our destiny is to be free.
As I read the prayer I began to sense something amazing. I could hear music, as if someone were playing an instrument in the next room. Then I realized that I wasn't hearing the music with my ears, but with my heart. It was prayer. The prayer was singing itself to me. I picked up my guitar and played along. The music was beautiful, and it continued until I finished the entire song . . . When it was over I realized I had just received an amazing gift. I also knew that one is never given a gift of this magnitude unless one is meant to share it.
Music is a universal language
Taking our differences away.
And when we stand together singing,
We are all the same.
We will sing a song for every season.
We will sing a simple song of peace.
Dona nobis, dona nobis pacem.
Grant us peace, grant us peace
We have lost sight of the original harmony: If you could hear the sound that is produced by the sunflower as it keeps on turning its head toward the sun, the friction between the flower and air, and if you could hear the sound produced by the galaxies, you would hear the symphony of the spheres; and you would realize that this symphony is based upon a basic harmony, the harmony of the spheres.
Two years ago, I heard about a singing class "for people who think they can't." That described me. I mustered my courage, signed up, and found that with proper instruction, I can sing decently! Every week, the deep breathing exercises inspire me; the songs I sing make me and those around me smile. I now understand what I once read: The Australian aborigines say the world was sung into existence.
All one's life is music, if one touches the notes rightly and in time.
Sometimes the bird turns away. Sometimes it does not open its mouth to sing. Sometimes it is afraid of the dark. But when it forgets it is afraid and opens its mouth to sing, it fills the world with light.
Silence and music
Ebb and flow:
Beauty of bird-song,
The silence that follows:
Afterglow which warms the heart
Sets us yearning
For our own soul-song:
Journey in silence
Take the path of Mystery
To the music of your heart.
Ever in my life have I sought thee with my songs.
It was they who led me from door to door,
and with them I have felt about me,
searching and touching my worlds.
It was my songs that taught me all the lessons I ever learnt;
they showed me secret paths
they brought before my sight
many a star on the horizon of my heart.
We will never "solve" life, crack its ultimate code, or frame it with consistency. It is forever enigmatic and resists control by words or concepts. What is left to us is the rise and fall of a songline and the vision of a Great White Rose.
The music that ushered in the cosmos plays on, inside us and around us.
As I was listening I thought about being in conversation with God, and I was struck by how much Bach's Fugue in G-Minor mirrors my relationship with God. When I first began conversing with God, it was very simple. In reply, God did not repeat my melody but responded in a harmonic way, just as Bach has his instruments do. Over time, our conversation -- the Divine and mine -- has built in richness, complexity, depth and beauty, like the fugue builds. Ebb and flow occur in the dynamics of both music and my communication with God, but my soul is constantly stirred by the heartbreaking beauty of what I hear and what I know.
Experiencing grace involves the expansion of consciousness of self to all of one's surroundings as an unbroken whole, a consciousness of awe from which negative mindstates are absent, from which healing and groundedness result. For these reasons grace has long been deemed "amazing."
You looked with love upon me
And deep within your eyes imprinted grace.
This mercy set me free,
Held in your love’s embrace,
To lift my eyes adoring
to your grace.
This much I have learned: within the sorrow there is grace. When we come close to the things that break us down, we touch those things that also break us open. This is the point of healing: when we have told the story, we can leave the story behind. What remains is hidden wholeness, alive and unbroken.
Probably one of the first strokes of grace in my life is my father's become totally paralyzed when I was eight years old, because it led me to become the kind of person I am now. Sometimes we understand grace only in retrospect. If someone were to ask me what grace is, I would probably respond, "It's all grace."
Grace has been defined as the outward expression of the inward harmony of the soul.
The state of grace is a condition in which all growth is effortless, a transparent, joyful acquiescence that is a general requirement of all existence. Your own body grows naturally and easily from its time of birth, not expecting resistance but taking its miraculous unfolding for granted; using all of itself with great, gracious, creatively aggressive abandon. You were born in a state of grace; it is impossible for you to leave it. You will die in a state of grace . . . You cannot "fall out of" grace, nor can it be taken from you.
We have all of us been told that grace is to be found in the universe. But in our human foolishness and short-sightedness we imagine divine grace to be finite. For this reason we tremble . . . But the moment comes when our eyes are opened and we see and realize that grace is infinite. Grace, my friends, demands nothing from us but that we shall await it with confidence and acknowledge it in gratitude. Grace, friends, makes no conditions and singles out none of us in particular; grace takes us all to its bosom and proclaims general amnesty.
Grace is what happens when openness to chance yields a deeper awareness of the cosmos or one’s place in it . . . when luck leads to spiritual insight . . . Proust called chance experiences "earth experience of grace."
Grace is what happens when openness to chance yields a deeper awareness of the cosmos or one’s place in it . . . when luck leads to spiritual insight . . . Proust called chance experiences "earth experience of grace."
The winds of grace are always blowing.
It is for us to raise our sails.