In the morning, he sits on the balcony
overlooking the pond and waterfall.
He breathes deeply — in 1,2,3,4
hold and count fast 1,2,3,4 — out
1,2,3,4 and on and on. The oxygen
goes in and the CO2 comes out.
Meanwhile, over the railing and
around the pond, the birch, arbor-
vitae, hemlocks, Norway spruces,
white pines, red pines, chokecherries
maples breathe in CO2 and breathe
out oxygen. The melody, the harmony,
the rhythm, the beat. What a great
way to make beautiful music. And
the backyard choir sings silently.

I am standing on a wooden
walkway just above the beach
with its hot, white sand and

I’m looking out at all the blind-
ing white and directly in front
of me is a young, attractive

blond woman wearing a white,
silky, chiffon-like shoulder wrap
blowing in the wind over a white

bathing suit and in the next
minute I am standing next to
the young woman and I am stab-

bing her over and over and the
only color on the beach other
than all the white is the red

from the blood — gushing and
splashing and spilling down the
woman’s body into the hot, white

sand. I have this dream over and
over and over I tell the therapist
to whom I have been going since

my blond wife died in a day from
blood rushing through her brain.
He pauses and then says, “Why

do you keep stabbing yourself?”
Since that day, I have never
again had that dream.

He wrote the note
because he knew
a fellow traveler would know
what he had been through.

He wanted to compare notes
with someone who knew,
someone in the proverbial “know,”
what the two had been through.

He wrote the note, and so
away it flew,
landing with the sure feet of a crow.
Indeed, that someone knew.

And in the note,
vulnerability, like birdseed, he did strew.
The fellow traveler did understand and know
stuff just comes along for the ride, too.

It’s called a confidence vote note,
trusting one with news that’s shared with few.
The fellow traveler indeed did know —
often, stuff comes along for the ride; it’s true.

He stands before the mirror,
full-frontal. He moves to the
side. Half his image is gone.
He says, “My image is half
gone. I’m half gone.” He
returns to where he was —
full frontal. He is there, fully.
He breathes a sigh of relief.
Love whispers in the man’s
ear, “Did you see me? I’m
here. I moved aside with
you and moved back. I’m
here with you — full-frontal.

*idea and image from commentary on
Meister Eckhart by James Finley at Richard
Rohr’s Daily Meditation

A theologian/novelist wrote, “It is possible to look at most miracles and find a rational explanation in terms of natural cause and effect.

It is possible to look at Rembrandt’s Supper at Emmaus and find a rational explanation in terms of paint and canvas.”

Let’s gather in thirty minutes by the lion on the north side of the steps for a group photo before heading to lunch. Wasn’t that Rembrandt exhibit just amazing?

*quote by Frederick Buechner

This shallow, superficial culture,
an inch thick, fed by a theology
also an inch thick, stroked by
absorption with “What are the
stars doing?” — this post-WWII
culture was ready-made for a
takeover by what Eisenhower
warned—a military/industrial
complex, which would guarantee
the fewest get the most and the
most is protected with violence
in fatigues, no names and the
ominous designation in capital
letters P-O-L-I-C-E while the
one percent feign happiness
and pretty, young, white wives
married to old, dementia prone
white billionaires (who own the
entertainment industry) lock
them in beautiful, gold-leafed
bedrooms while they have affairs
with younger white men who
simply and sincerely want to
entertain those lonely white wives
with the purest of motives fueled
by selfless altruism and sincere
patriotism and Second Amend-
ment rights in a culture one-inch-
thick fed by a theology one-inch-
thick where a president holds up
an upside-down Bible while the
P-O-L-I-C-E beat back M-O-M-S.

The heaviness hung even 
     on a light, bright day —
          a walk, a dog, a blanket,
a lake, joggers, cyclists, 
     fishers, three times around 
          the lake, a book to read 
and an unintended nap to refresh,
     relax, regroup. Through the 
          olive tree a hole -- light 
deflecting into rays of a cross 
     and dozens upon dozens of 
          dragonflies, glittering, silver
dragonflies flying around 
     the olive branches, peace, 
          lightness, spiritually lifting the 
heaviness, taking the heaviness up and away 
     and hummingbirds dancing with 
          the dragonflies and circling
the rays of light of the cross. 
     Lakotas say that hummingbirds
          come to tell us we need the 
purr, the whirr, the gift of 
     "the eternal lightness of being."

*idea from a meditation by
James Pennington

The man left his daily time of meditation
(to watch the news on TV)
only to encounter consternation.
He wondered,
Where can my new found Peace be?
Yes, the Temporary Occupant entered,
the man watched his new friend Peace flee.
Only then did Peace he again see,
“My Peace hasn’t fled;
my Peace is still here with me.
From that eternal Peace,
not even the Temporary Occupant
can blind me from knowing in my heart,
‘Once I was blind, but now I see.’”

Advised to search for a hermitage in my heart,
the idea wasn’t completely
a foreign entity to me
but still, it came as a bit of a start.

Thomas Merton lived in a hermitage,
so, mostly, the idea for me
was of a place where one would go and just be.
But in my heart? That might leave me in an orphanage,

occupied by just one lonely one;
and that one would be only, lonely me,
but Peace was there and greeted me
as sure as the rising and setting of the sun.

And I could be with Peace anytime
along the arc of that sun.

*idea from a meditation by Henri Nouwen

“Bloom where you are planted,”
she often would say to me,
but blooming where you are planted
seemed so wussy to me.

I wanted to be out on the front lines —
there with all the action.
For confrontation, I would pine
and for justice, hopefully, get satisfaction,

but over the years I have learned
that I was making myself a victim
by perpetuating, with confrontation in my heart burned,
a violent system.

Chavez said, “I’m a violent man learning not to be.”
“In all your getting, be sure to get wisdom,” —
And so, that saying also came to me —
mysticism, contemplation, meditation, unitive
being with God (not win/lose, us or them, not violent
confrontation) lead to peaceful action.

In hindsight, her words return to me
“Bloom where you are planted,” so on the way
to the next demonstration, I’ll plant a tree
and help the earth breathe free.

*with appreciation for the meditations of
Richard Rohr, Matthew Fox and Henri Nouwen