Labels: blogging, poetry, sacred moments, writing

Labels: meanderings, prose, sacred moments, spirituality, stories, word play, writing

Labels: beach, meanderings, poetry, sacred moments, stories, word play, writing

Much can be said for miracles. Read for a moment or two on blog topics like wholeness, cancer, poverty or economic struggle and you are sure to run across a ‘miracle story’ or two. Cancers are healed, injuries vanish, accidents are avoided, and consequences evaporate like a morning fog. We find ourselves in awe, even disbelief – amazed.

While all of these events are certainly worth noting and even celebrating, on occasion (like right now) I am reminded of what seems to me to be the greatest miracle of all. This is not a miracle of healing, financial success, physical triumph or an underdog victory. I would describe the greatest of miracles this way: that a person whose very soul is broken, twisted, ill worn and misshapen can - from the very core of their being, change and become someone of loving and graceful spirit.

Or, said another way – that God can transform a human heart.

It is a miracle I depend on, every day.

Labels: emotion, recovery, sacred moments, spirituality

After attending a faculty concert at the University Of North Carolina School Of The Arts in honor of Mozart’s birthday (great music), my wife and I decided to rent and re-watch “Amadeus.”

The movie is a master piece and tells the story of Mozart’s musical genius through the eyes of the aged, embittered Salieri, a court composer and contemporary of Mozart. What struck me profoundly was Sallieri’s struggle – he speaks of holding within himself the appreciation of and desire to create, divine music and yet, he must live with the reality of his inability to do so.

I believe many of us struggle with similar tensions, unrealized passions. I believe we often find ourselves frustrated by the limitations of our craft to contain something larger than us. Yet, I also believe that it is this desire to manifest something greater than ourselves that can make us truly a vessel of Divine love and empowerment. It is a reoccurring theme and one perhaps worth acknowledging…

Labels: emotion, sacred moments, songs, spirituality, word play

The painter stands apart from the painting

The poet lays aside the parchment

The sculptor steps back from the statue

Each, in turns applies craft upon an object

Releasing it, complete and whole

They remain.

Where then, do we find the line separating the dancer from the dance?

Body, spirit and movement are at once creator and creation

The dance exists only with and only in a moment of movement

And in its incessant demand to be, the dance will – always does –

Consume the dancer leaving

Him draped across the floor

Her broken over the chair

Leaving them worn thin in each other’s arms

Only able to gasp a memory of remembering

The dance, only shadows of their life

Gone

Is the dance

As the dance continues upon

Another

one, two, three…

Labels: meanderings, music, poetry, sacred moments, stories

In the tropics, the air whispers tales of the end of the journey and the beginnings of breathing. The horizons appear endless, barely even the fine line dividing planet and heavens can be seen, and that as only the obligatory nod to the proclaimed laws of physics. Seas pool in transparent marine, crystal refractors of laughter and indulgence. If the breeze blows, it is the compilation of every faded caress, every long lost lover, as the humidity clings, mocking her absent touch.

In the heat of these places, a man’s metal is tested, not by the level of his strength or the length of his endurance, but rather by the depth of his passion. For the blasting sun will lay siege to all muscle and cause even the fittest flesh to run dry. Left only with emptiness where fictitious power did reside, the soul of the man of the tropics must find relief and value elsewhere. In time, in his weathered smile - carved with canyon lines of today’s joy - can be seen the scars of victorious battles with self and the final surrender to all that surrounds and captures him. The paradox of surrender and freedom combine on the shore as waves meet sand.

There, where the deep is found in one man’s being or lost in the darkest of sea resides my destination.

Labels: blogging, sacred moments, travel, writing

The words of his that are most likely familiar to you are “The cat is in the cradle and the silver spoon – little boy blue and the man in the moon – when you coming home dad – I don’t know when - but we'll get together then son...”

Harry Chapin stands alone in my mind with the few true storytellers in the music profession. His music is not only made of melodies that can be as haunting as inspiring, but of words, beautifully crafted words that cast a spell of magic – taking the listener on a journey into themselves, into life lived and life often lost. He was a troubadour of American life at the time when we needed a voice of conscience. Most of his songs were too long for radio broadcast, so only those willing to invest time in an album or a concert truly got to know Harry Chapin. If you don’t know his music, give him a listen – it will be unlike anything being written and sung today.

A consummate entertainer, Harry Chapin died early in an auto crash in 1981. He was an advocate for political change, ending hunger and human rights. He was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal after his death, in 1987.

Of his songs, I recommend to you – “A Better Place to Be,” “I Wanna Learn a Love Song,” and “W*O*L*D” to get you started.

Labels: blogging, sacred moments, songs, word play, writing

Time at home has allowed me to dig out some old CDs and take a musical ride through time. With the holiday season and all of the festivities associated with it all but over, we have cleared away the torn wrapping paper, empty boxes and some of the Christmas decorations. Today I’ve managed a few minutes to simply sit in the living room and listen to music. I would normally listen to satellite radio or an iTunes play list, but today I’ve dusted off some of the CDs stacked about the room and found an array of music that I haven’t heard for some time. Right now, it’s Jethro Tull’s “Aqualung.”

With this music comes a specific memory. This album takes me back to 1975, Myrtle Beach, SC where I grew up. I remember one very specific day in May, an afternoon after my birthday but before the summer break in between my junior and senior year of high school. I was still driving the hand-me-down family car, a 1966 Chevrolet Bellaire, and at that particular moment was cruising north on Highway 17 between Murrells Inlet and Myrtle Beach headed into town to join friends for pizza and some night time fun. The car stereo was blasting, powered by an 8-Track tape player as I listened for the first time to “My God.” What I remember today, is somehow in that drive I felt very free, and I knew that even though I didn’t fully understand what Tull was saying – I knew two things: There was more about God to learn than my parents had taught me and I liked this crazy, in-your-face, music.

I still know those two things.

"My God"

People -- what have you done --

locked Him in His golden cage.

Made Him bend to your religion --
Him resurrected from the grave.
He is the god of nothing --
if that's all that you can see.
You are the god of everything --
He's inside you and me.
So lean upon Him gently
and don't call on Him to save you
from your social graces
and the sins you used to waive.
The bloody Church of England --
in chains of history --
requests your earthly presence at
the vicarage for tea.
And the graven image you-know-who --
with His plastic crucifix --
he's got him fixed --
confuses me as to who and where and why --
as to how he gets his kicks.
Confessing to the endless sin --
the endless whining sounds.
You'll be praying till next Thursday to
all the gods that you can count.

Labels: emotion, sacred moments, songs, spirituality, travel

Labels: blogging, Christmas, sacred moments, spirituality

The ringing is incessant and then becomes a silent part of the constant din of noise – cars starting and driving off, and people hurrying by, captured in constant conversation about the last or next shopping destination. And there I stand, most of the times in the cold – always ringing the little brass bell.

I volunteer through my Rotary Club to ring the Salvation Army bell each year. Each year I hesitate to sign up for a couple of hours of standing in the cold. Each year I think of hundreds of other things I could be doing instead, and each year I sign-up to ring that little bell.

It happens to me every year. Somehow, as people walk by – a variety of faces, ages, economic classes – I see them acknowledge the bell and the bucket and what it represents: the presence of charity in our world. And as slowly and steadily breath brings life into my lungs, each time I speak to the passersby “Happy Holidays” or “Merry Christmas” I feel that elusive spirit of Christmas enter into my spirit and I know that beneath and behind all of the trappings of the holiday, people know , need and seek the blessing of Charity.

The ringing of that bell is when I find Christmas, every year and this year, on December 22^nd, I will do it again.

Labels: blogging, Christmas, family, sacred moments

Years ago I received a Christmas card with the text below. It remains my favorite Christmas message of all time. The card had a simple dove in flight, descending on the front of a navy card. Inside, it read:

“Remembering that once, long ago, heaven reach down and touched earth and Hope was born anew.”

Amen.

Labels: blogging, Christmas, family, sacred moments, spirituality

There is little in this world more beautiful than someone who takes care of themselves in order to be able to care for someone else.

I overheard a woman discussing her recent workout routine with a friend. Her goal was to increase her upper body strength in order to better lift and care for her handicapped child.

Beautiful woman.

Labels: emotion, exercise, gender stuff, life on life's terms, sacred moments, work out

A Child

Pats the water with her foot

Ripples

Spread gently, caressing the surface

Gliding outward, searching for shore

Fading to smooth

Tiny toes

Break the fluid plain

Movement

Life upon the stillness

Reaching

Longing

Hoping for a place to land

Again and again

Each gentle touch fades

Weakened waves reaching

Never touching the distant sand

Destination

SPLASH!

Surges churn turbulence of sea

Arms and legs violate the stillness

Liquid rage calls

To the depths

Unknown concentric waves

Demanding, diminishing, stopping

Stillness

Descending shimmers

Calming the spot

Closing the circle

Cessation

Now

On a distant shore

Small ripples lap the sand

Lap the sand

Home

-Once, an Adolescent that I knew took her own life. This poem is dedicated to Cathy.

Labels: life on life's terms, poetry, sacred moments, writing

Labels: blogging, emotion, gender stuff, poetry, sacred moments, word play, writing

The beach remembers

Lover's tastes and trash

And it can't forget

Too many breezes blow

In strong currents

And sand tossing tourists

Piles of humanity

Discarded playthings

And burnt butts

Cans crushed under foot

Seasoned among sea oats

And barley stained

His hands upon her

Rumpled sands swaying

And tides wetting

Every passion gets remembered

By the beach beneath us

And our trash

Labels: emotion, family, life on life's terms, meanderings, poetry, sacred moments, sea, spirituality, vacation destinations

Have you ever had to write?

I have.

There are times when the creative urge within us demands to be released and those of us that contain even the smallest creative tendency are imposed upon – it is a tempest. For these are the moments when the convergence of internal climates mock the posing power of even the most extreme external weather - for in these moments, the storm of passion assails us and we can but ride the storm out.

Sometimes the storm washes up marvelous beauty upon the sands for others to find as they walk by. Sometimes.

Labels: blogging, life on life's terms, meanderings, prose, sacred moments, spirituality, writing

Labels: life on life's terms, quotes, sacred moments

Labels: blogging, emotion, hiking, meanderings, pets, prose, sacred moments, spirituality, writing

Your now seldom trodden paths fall under new feet, withstanding each impact of soul and sole, bearing up upon unyielding and ancient rock the weight of another exploration, an adventuring spirit, another of the millions of creatures that you have felt wander across your very spine, and with thoughtless query your impatient question of 800,000 years rises again...

Will this be the one? Will this be only another impertinent and transient creature that errantly uses the earthy mystery of this space for gathering dirt and stone, or ripping foliage aside for consumption, or splattering in fury another's blood upon you hoping you will shroud its evil from detection? Or will this one impede human conquest and domination long enough to pause momentarily, stand still enough - long enough to allow your archaic message to creep from the core of this vain of our origination and stir as deeply within them as it resides within you, the tendril of impervious and undaunted myth that is your message?


NOTE: Written after walking the Blue Hole path in Bermuda.

Labels: meanderings, sacred moments, vacation destinations, word play

Labels: blog games, blogging, emotion, life on life's terms, meanderings, sacred moments, smile and move, spirituality

I saw the face of God the other day. 

I was in a stranger’s home, where my new work often takes me, and was taken by an unframed painting hanging in the foyer. After dealing with several matters of business, I could not help but ask.

Me: I hate to pry, but who did that painting?

Proud Mother: My daughter. 

Me: It is lovely, very moving, actually.

Proud Mother: That one over there was the first painting she ever did. (She pointed toward the dining room)

I am a father. I have seen the ‘firsts’ of a lot of things. My daughter is a good artist, and her first attempts look just like that: efforts that show promise, but lack the presence of an educated and trained talent. This painting showed nothing, and I mean nothing, of being a first, except the first masterpiece. I then heard how this young artist had never as much as drawn a stick figure (beyond childhood), nor shown any interest in art until her senior year in high school. Her family had moved her to North Carolina from New York the summer before her senior year and she reacted as one might expect. To make matters worse, not only had she been ‘forced’ to leave her friends and classmates, because of the North Carolina educational requirements, she had to take two art classes, one a junior class and the other a sophomore introductory art class. After a brief introduction to the use of canvas and paint, she had responded to her first assignment with a painting, a painting that now held me captive. Her muse had been a photo taken of her cradling her cat. She had decided to paint the self portrait and replace the cat with an infant child.

I wish you could see the work as it is now permanently burned upon the canvas of my mind. I wish I could post a photo of it for you to see. I wish that my ability to write could come even within a universe of describing what I saw hanging on the wall in that home. I wish you could feel the chills running up your skin as I did. I wish that every human could see the wonder and awe of the creative moment that she managed to capture. It is pure beauty. I long to describe what I saw, but alas I cannot. I will simply honor the wonder and miracle of that moment when the efforts of a young woman captured for me and gifted me in that moment of time with a glimpse of the Divine.

I saw the face of God the other day.

Labels: blogging, emotion, meanderings, sacred moments, spirituality