“We’re all just walking each other home.” – Ram Dass With all of the sadness and tragedy in the world, especially today, it is worth remembering that the most important thing we can do is to take care of one another in the best way we can. Be kind. Be gentle. Be honest. Ask for help. Give it freely. Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable. Hug people. Send a note. Smile. Cry on each other’s shoulders if you need to. As hard as it can be, refuse to let hatred, violence and anger pull us further apart. We’re all in this
The mountains have long stood and guarded the plains, while a thousand summer evenings have sighed and slept. They have seen children created and homesteads blown away by western winds that through the valleys have swept. They judge not but they keep their faces to the light and in the evening they tenderly cradle the stars. Young cattle grow restless in the heat of the night and flushed couples tumble out of crowded bars. I wonder about the secrets of yours that they hold as you lay down amid the debris of another day’s labour.
Like many people, I have read and listened to Eckhart Tolle’s teachings for the past few years, finding them of great benefit to my own life. Yesterday, I listened to a recent radio interview with him on YouTube. He talked a lot about his early life and experiences, and his responses seemed more personal than before. I could hear that, while he says he is basically surrendered to the ‘isness’ of each moment, there are still difficulties for him–his sudden fame, busy schedule and lack of time and opportunity to hold one-to-one sessions with individuals. He also said that he
It’s burning and it’s brittle, this strange and little thing of ours; Sometimes I see the wings of the sun, then the gaping mouths of the stars, And can I help it, if I can’t stop dreaming of you? I wish you would lay down beside me, in the weightless cradle of the night, and speak only to accent the silence that shivers between wrong and right, But the moment you arrive, you have long begun to depart; The earth hides his face while the moon bares her heart. I don’t want to hurt you. I never mean to cause
In the softest shades of the night He spoke to me, Of chasing lions from the mountains To the level of the sea, Of curious, frozen fingers Upon aged sycamore trees, Of the feelings he has, But cannot give freely. It has long seemed a wonder to me, How words sputter forth Clouded mysteries, How these fragments of passion Pierce our vitality, Syllables shelled and cracked By the mouths of gluttony. It does little good to wish, I know, as the river runs to the sea In its own good time; but for me, Darkness swims beneath This lush valley
This comes with gratitude since, for a brief while, you saw something within me that resonated within you. And isn’t that life, entirely?
I took this picture in Salisbury Cathedral, Wiltshire, England about a year ago. I loved the reflections of the stained glass windows in the water of the black font. The inscription on the side of the font read: “As you pass through the waters, I shall be with you.” A reminder of the beauty of love, silence, stillness and grace, no matter what your religious or spiritual faith.
I have wanted to be with you for so long. The dream of you diluting my days into perfunctory conversations and people and chores I could do without. But these autumn weeks have been strange. Changing my focus onto more pressing things, less wishing I were far away. The boy stood up today and recited his first poem. Someone I barely know hand-delivered a card with the sweetest words scrawled in blue. The sick girl fell asleep on my arm. And the woman I love above all else squeezed me tight and said Thank God you’re here, Thank God you’re
The afternoon sun barely penetrates the clouds, torchlight through paper, seashell sounds. And everything is muted but my affection for you.
I have always been an animal lover, but recently I have really seen how much of a positive impact a pet can have upon a person who is ill, lonely or suffering. When my mum moved into my grandparents’ bungalow to look after them (my grandad, last summer, with an aggressive brain tumour and my grandma having Alzheimer’s), she took my cat, Maisie, with her. I say ‘my’ cat because that is how everybody refers to her, even my mum. Whilst Maisie these days is comfortable with everyone–even my young nieces and nephews who shower her with sometimes over-zealous cuddles