Still There Is Hope When the Doors Are Closed

this morning as i sit to write, my body aches from lifting many, many boxes and moving many, many pieces of furniture.  i have bruises and cuts on my legs, arms, and torso.  around me in the kitchen bowls and dishes are piled on the counter tops.  but slowly, things are being put in their proper places.  the stacks of boxes in the garage are getting smaller.  two of the three cats have adjusted well to their new home and are now residing on the back deck instead of in the garage--we're not certain when the last cat will make the transition.  the three bedrooms are in good order, and we can sit in the den without boxes surrounding us.

it's amazing how things are beginning to shape up.  for a while, we were overwhelmed by the enormity of the task of unpacking thirty years worth of accumulated precious things, but, as we've bitten off little pieces each day, the end of what seemed impossible is now in sight.  we can even begin to think of getting outside and working to bring the overgrown shrubbery back under control and ridding the beds of the vines and other weeds that have begun to take over.

life is full of seemingly impossible goals that can only be accomplished by hacking away at the work to realize them steadily, a bit at a time.  we can't make world hunger disappear but we can help feed a few of the hungry in our own communities.  we can't eliminate poverty everywhere all at once, but we can contribute to organizations that are enabling poor families to support themselves.  we can't house all the displaced people in the world, but we can promote efforts to open our country, state, and town to refugees of war, famine, and persecution.  if each of us does a little, a lot will be accomplished.  we must not give up because the needs are so great.

may we do our part each day to make life better for others.  may we not be so absorbed in our own lives that we forget that others are suffering just as we are.  in loving ourselves, may we also share love with others.  shalom.

I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes Unto the Hills

from the windows of the kitchen in our new home where i sit each morning for my daily meditation i can see the mountains in the distance.  each day they have a different appearance.  one morning the clouds were dark and flowed over them rapidly in our direction; another morning the pink glow of the new day peeked over them, bathing them in a beautiful light.  this morning the peaks of some have disappeared in a mist, while others are barely visible.  i am amazed that each day a new picture presents itself from the kitchen windows.  the mountains are unchanged, yet their appearance is always different.  how fortunate i and all others who look in the direction of the mountains are!

when i consider the beauty that presents itself each day, i am enveloped in a great peace.  the mystery of nature's wonders is the deepest sort of religious experience.  in the face of such an experience, all things seem possible:  the elimination of poverty, hunger, and homelessness, the cessation of our inhumanity to one another, the end of prejudices and the persecution that flows from them, protection of our planet from the ravages of our greedy ill treatment.  one wonders how our race can allow so many evils to continue when it is within our power to change.  what is our motivation to harm others and the planet on which we live?

it seems to me that we are presented with two opposing visions of our purpose here.  one vision promotes competition between us to control more and more, a constant striving to enrich oneself at the expense of others.  the other sees us all in the same boat, needing to paddle in the same direction without any one of us striving for control of another's paddle as we all move in the same direction in a spirit of mutual cooperation.  we have the ability to end the suffering caused by hatred, war, greed, and pride, to stop craving that which we do not need and to stop clinging to that which is not necessary for our existence.  will we give up the quest for power and control and work together to end as much suffering as we can, or will we continue along the path that pits us against one another?

for me, the mountains are a silent testimony to the right course of action.  the mountains make no deals, they do not strive for more and more.  they simply are, gracing us with beauty that is fresh each morning.  we can be like the mountains, content to be, new each moment yet somehow always the same.  we can let go of our clinging and craving and, in so doing, allow suffering to dissipate for ourselves and others.

may we see our common humanity.  may we let go of those things which cause suffering for ourselves and for others.  may the struggle for power and control cease, as we embrace loving kindness and compassion.  shalom.

Rest Comes Sure and Soon

we continue to unpack boxes and spend much of our time looking for things we've unpacked and put away in places that are unfamiliar to us.  yesterday, though, we spent the day traveling to, attending, and returning from my uncle's funeral.  he was the last in our family of the generation that preceded ours.   our parents and all their siblings are now gone.  my dad's brother celebrated his 100th birthday last february and was in good health then.  in may he came down with the flu, then with pneumonia, and he didn't have the strength to recover.  his passing marked the end of an era, making my generation the elders of the family.

his funeral was held in the cemetery where he is to be buried beside his wife and son.  as we set in the covered pavilion open on all sides to the beautiful trees in the cemetery, i thought about how fitting the site was.  my uncle loved the outdoors.  he had carried on the family tradition of operating a sawmill and was an expert on every kind of tree that is native to this part of the country.  the views of the leaves rustling in the gentle breeze reminded me of how he had lived his life, as had my dad, his father, and his father's father and generations before them.

as the minister spoke the usual words of comfort, assuring those present that my uncle was now reunited with loved ones that have gone before, i wondered whether those words are true.  i'm not content to take scattered passages of the bible about life after death and resurrection as literal truth.  it doesn't worry me that i may not spend eternity with my parents and grandparents wandering around a city with gold-paved streets after passing through gates made of pearl.  i can't accept that anyone can speak with authority about what happens after our bodies take their last breaths.  i'm content to wait for whatever may happen.

i want to believe that there is something for us after this life is over, but i'm more concerned with what happens now.  what's important is how i live my life in the present; the future can take care of itself.  i hope that i get a chance to improve on the failings of my present life, but my greatest hope is that i will live a good life in the here and now, a life filled with loving-kindness and compassion.  i hope that each day i will live more skillfully than i did the day before.  i hope that when i pass i will leave a legacy of having made life better for those my life touched.  i hope that i will live on in the memories of others and that those memories will be good ones, just as my memories of my uncle are.

may each of us live fully in the present, unconcerned about what happens after this life is over.  may our hearts be open to all of life's experiences and may we rejoice in the gift of each breath we take.  may our troubles be transient, tinged with the joy of living mindfully.  may we love and be loved.  shalom.

My Song Is Love Unknown

during the past several days, we have been in the process of moving and getting settled in our new home.  now that most of the furniture is in place, the task of unpacking and finding room for everything that we spent many weeks packing up is well underway.  last night, it dawned on me that i had not posted anything in my blog last tuesday, and this catch-up post will be short.  i have been able to revive my meditation practice but other parts of my daily routine will have to wait until more order emerges from the chaos of boxes and packing materials.

as i type, one of the three "outdoor" cats that we moved with us is rubbing his small head against mine.  we rescued him after a friend found him abandoned in the park near our former home and was unsuccessful in adopting him.  he lived in a large bed of bushes and flowers at the park entrance but could be coaxed out by bowls of food and water.  it took several attempts before we persuaded him to move into our yard.  now he trusts us and is the most loving cat anyone could wish to share life with.  somehow he injured his neck in the storage room that was to be his temporary shelter, along with our other two cats until they were acclimated to a new place, and he has moved into the master bedroom while he recuperates.  his transformation from an alienated, wary creature to a loving pet and friend is gratifying and reminds me that all of us are alone in this vast and often difficult world until we are adopted by others who share their love with us.

may each of us find a family that loves us without condition and may we return that love.  may we appreciate that even the most unlovely among us deserves love.  may we embrace the transformative power of love.  shalom.