Meditation for January 1

The new year has dawned across the world; the explosions of fireworks, the dance music, and the traditional year-end tribute of "AULD LANG SYNE" have faded from the ears and are rapidly fading from memory, but people are out and about wishing everyone a happy new year. 

HYPOCRITES! 

They so often express joy, laughter, good wishes, and yet they go home and instead of spreading peace, contentment and joy, they begin the same things of the previous year, instigating strife, hatred, pain and sorrow. And they wonder why nothing has changed!

We cannot spread peace unless we, ourselves, are at peace. We cannot spread joy unless we, ourselves, are joyful. We cannot spread love unless we love ourselves. And while we cannot completely eliminate strife and contention, do we even try to bring it down? Probably not.

But hatred, true hatred is very rare. More often, it is a combination of greed, envy and poverty. Not poverty of the flesh, mind you, which is exceedingly common, but poverty of the spirit, the soul. People deny such poverty; they deny they have it, they deny it even exists. But it does, and the people are unhappy. They seek solace in things, in religion, in hobbies, but everything leaves them cold and bitter. They just do not acknowledge it.

I pray for all, those who cannot acknowledge their own poverty of spirit. I recognize mine, I still work to overcome it. Acceptance of our own spiritual poverty is not apathy toward it. People so often treat it that way. Rather, it must be a catalyst, a burning desire to eliminate it.

For the few of you out there who truly know peace and love, may you have the most blessed of New Years. For the rest, I wish the courage to fight on, to be able to find true peace, joy and contentment. May the freedom that comes from our creator find you, grant release from the burdens which you do not even know you carry.

May the new year bring bountiful blessings to you, and may you have the eyes to see them when they arrive.

Thought for December 15th

 Autumn attempts to gather her strength for another assault on the southern lands. It will be her last try; she has felt winter stir within her womb and recognizes it is soon time for her long sleep which will, ultimately, result in her reincarnation 9 months in the future. The movement within her has caused her to begin a thoughtful, sad soliloquy, commemorating her victories and defeats. Her voice is a mournful melody, and gently nudges the sky into an impromptu light show, while the Maker releases a torrent of tears upon the dry ground. The Orchestra stirs, woodwinds beginning to play quietly, and prompting the trees into a bit of unrehearsed choreography to their tune.

Autumn’s victory in the north has upstaged her defeats in the south; she is pleased by the wins, but realized that she has, once again, lost the war which she waged upon the south. She sighs.

Our own lives are this way, as well. But all too often, we allow our defeats to take forefront in our lives, rather than focusing on our victories. But shouldn't we put the defeats behind? Do we look at them and mourn, or do we allow the wins to give us fresh eyes with which we can see new paths, new options?

The past is behind us; we must learn the lessons it has taught and slog ahead, through the muck and mire of the future, paving the way for those to come. Yet, even they will not follow the same paths. They will choose different turns, make a wrong turn here and there. It is part of the human experience.

We can only live life to the fullest. We need to be able to look back and say, “I have done my best. I have experienced life, joy, love.” If we cannot do that, we have failed.

Thought for the day

I have, today, wanted to take the sky in my arms to comfort her. For the last week she has worn widow’s weaves, shedding them only briefly, as if for a shower...or simply to change from one set of garments to another. I have wanted to reach out, assure her that all is okay, and remove the darkness from her soul. It seems wrong, the constant gray, like clothes on a Venus di Milo, or a blanket over a flowerbed on a hot summer’s day.

The sky has wept over the week; today more than others. Is a memory of a hurt 50 years ago? Is it a wrong more recent? Or are they tears of anguish of times to come? Or are they tears of joy, for a love with whom she was reunited, or a parent whose suffering has ended?

Her tears perform tasks, however. They replenish the lakes and rivers. They give plants a drink, and allow the same plants to get food more easily. They flatten hillsides, filling holes, settling dust and dirt, washing the world. Maybe the sky merely needs to wash her garments for the next fashion show. I am incapable of comprehending the majesty and reason behind the rain.

Are we like the sky in this manner? Do our tears cleanse or our souls, wash the wounds, heal the hurt?
Have we taken someone in our arms, saying nothing, just being a comforting presence in a time of sorrow? Or have we ignored hurt and pain, like the priests of the story of the good Samaritan? Have we passed by on the other side of the road to avoid hurt and pain, keeping to ourselves, instead of offering our own assistance, even at great cost?

We cannot change what we have done in the past in such a matter. But we can learn compassion. Or we can be the vulture who feeds on the remains of hurt and misdeed. The choice is ours. The reward is eternity. We may not see it today—but if we don’t see it, does that mean it isn’t real? Or does it mean that we are simply blind, waiting for our eyes to be opened by the compassionate man who happens by? Or will we call out, only to be ignored?

No, this isn’t the law of the jungle. It is the law of love.