Posts

Stay Pilgrim

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           I can only feel sorry for anyone who says, “You are not this body.” My heartbeat is the name of the Friend. My breath is the Goddess, her very form of beauty  rising from sacrum to crown. Hidden behind seven flowers, Jesus and Magdalene kiss in the vineyard of my flesh. Every initiation, every mystery,  has been revealed beneath  the open dome of my fontanel, where neurons are entangled  with the trompe l'œil stars. My fetus was pierced with doorways,  wounded with portals to higher worlds before I was born. In this cathedral of bones, what Bride and Groom ascend  the nave of my vertebrae  to be united in the sanctuary of a single Eye? My own Father and Mother? My first ancestors perhaps? Or those two mournful exiles  returning to the garden to walk with me in the cool of the evening  while trillions of tiny ocean globes  sing the sun t...

Don't Worry

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  What is there to worry about in the present moment? Five times in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells us not to worry. Don’t worry about your life, about what you eat or drink, about the clothes you wear, or about the future. Take no thought for tomorrow!”   Can you worry in the miracle of Presence? Worry is the past and future. The mind of worry is the mind of time. And time is made of your thoughts. When thoughts of the past and future dissolve, there is no time, no worry.   On this Sabbath morning, for a few minutes, or at least for a breath, can you relinquish the past and future, let go of stories, and simply feel this inhalation, this exhalation? Not in your mind, for that is only the concept of “breathing,” but in your chest, as pure sensation. Put your hand on your solar plexus, with tender love, in the valley just below your beating heart, just above your belly. This is the valley of prayer. Feel the rise and swell, then the fall and kenosis, “...

Activist

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      What is an “activist”? You can be an activist planting Winter squash, walking in a fern forest, listening to your children, or smiling from your heart at someone who is lonely. True activism means, to gently immerse your whole astonished body in the river of Presence. To be moved by the breath of beauty like a golden leaf, falling right where you are. To drown in the mystery of communion with whoever stands before you, and serve them by Being. Out of Being, doing arises. This is love. And whatever action happens in that moment is your politics. The politics of compassion has no party, and no platform. It is groundless. A disheveled crow, a boy in the rain with his shining basketball, a spider web catching the moon, a crone at the grocery store marveling at all the soup. These are your tribe. This is your native country. It is all a sacred homeland. Now crush a late-summer blackberry on your tongue. Surely this is why you are here. Earth is not transfigured by...