Life’s labyrinth may look foreboding, thorny, and sentinels guarding your every step. Or, with soft eyes and open heart, the color, dance, and even the drops of nectar can leave you breathless in awe.
The cries of children are like a flute with so many notes depending on the breath and carved holes covered and uncovered. The first cry of a new born the note of celebration. The cry of hunger that draws milk from the mother’s breast. The heartbreaking cry of…..
Blustery winds and dark storm clouds. Even the feeding birds have fled. And yet a spear of light bold enough to enter the darkness. Danger dancing with needed rain. Light dancing with dark. All is One. All is well. All is.
Let a Teacher wave…..
I could not capture the yellow colors and streamers I saw. Perhaps that was the whisper. The brief moment of sun piercing the cloud quilt was too bright. A beckoning beacon created from the dissolution of details. Sweet sweet…..
The struggle of the eyes does gift wonder filled delights sometimes. Looking out the window I puzzled at how the tiny white flowers growing in the yard were moving without wind. The image was fascinating. Grabbing my camera I zoomed closer. Ahhhhhh, was not the…..
Life is a precious experience of ritual. Ritual is not a habitual way of doing things. Like the Tea Ceremony, it is transforming habits into sacred expressions of conscious life. While dusting shelves and my precious feathers, I pondered the gift of ritual. In a…..
Light dances with the water. Light paints the predawn sky. Light uncloaking sleeping reflections. A morning pause and reminder to honor darkness and light’s union. The beauty within the dance.
An empty bench. A sprinkler dancing. After a walk a morning shower probably needed. RSVP – a simple yes.
I turned the curve, the old vacant store, one of many, I knew well. This morning something was different. A bench for resting was sitting in front of the long abandoned store. Not only a bench, but a soft colorful quilt like material cushioned the metal hardness. A street of homeless abandoned buildings. Someone…..
I see words as threads we weave into patterns upon the loom of our mind. I lost count how many times the word “recover” was used today. When something keeps lingering in front of you, I’ve learned to take…..
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