2012 comes a bellowing....

My wish for all in 2012....and beyond....

May grace & dynamic peace find our hearts & may rain continue to teach us.

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RAIN AND GRACE: Dr. Anthony T. Padovano on Thomas Merton
"[...]The rain is unrelenting, God-like in its pervasiveness and its gentleness, in the relief it brings and the challenges it poses, in its capacity to make us eager for it and reticent at one and the same time. The darkness makes the rain mysterious. The sound is everywhere and yet one sees nothing. Merton tells us he sits absolutely alone, deep in the forest, late at night. Here, he writes, "in this wilderness I have learned how to sleep again." It is a silent night, and the rain intensifies the silence, the way music envelopes us in sound as it creates silence in our souls.[...]"

From the pages ~ Sophie Faith

12/29/11, Thursday
Starbucks on Stratford
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Where do I begin with my many thoughts? So many thoughts in a day.

As I drove my '99 Ford Explorer along Business-40 headed east into downtown, my thoughts perused the God subject. My thoughts perused the people subject, the humanity subject, mankind's purpose subject, the subject of progress, possibilities, the subject of faith.

Is "faith" an exclusive word designated only to theists?

My friend Alise has shared with me her pleasure in reciting Bahai prayers, not only the pleasure but the life changes as well. I enjoyed her sharings and they peaked my interest.

At times I desire a spiritual ritual. Hmm...I guess I do have spiritual practices, but I don't know if I would call them "rituals." To me a ritual involves a certain physical setting that I would attend to at almost the same time on certain designated days on a regular (like weekly) basis.

Yuck. Describing it that way sounds binding. Perhaps it would behoove me to begin thinking and defining "ritual" differently. I'll try to remember and look up the etymology when I have access to a dictionary.

After my conversation with Alise, I looked up Bahai prayers online. They read too similar to Psalms and mentioned "God" and "Lord" too many times for my personal comfort. So I probably will not purchase a Bahai prayer book, which I was contemplating.

Carol, what are your spiritual practices? Probably at this time of my life, at the top of the list, is being present.

Like this morning, as I romped with Sophie, a twelve-week old Sheltie puppy, upon the Green.

She prances in front of me with her mesh harness wrapped around her torso. I hold my end of the leash that at the other end is attached to the hook on the back of the harness. Sophie leads me out the door and to the right, down the sidewalk passing the old downtown shops, two being African hair design shops. She turns right onto the Green and finds her pee spot.

That is one of Sophie's rituals.

I then throw the man-made bone I have in hand. Sophie and I run as she chases her prize, I with leash in hand, one of those extendable leashes so Sophie can lead the way six feet ahead unencumbered.

She finds her prize and I throw it again and we romp through the green grass again. Over and over....ritual.

In between some throws, Sophie takes a break to chaw the bone. A city bus and a milk truck noisily drive by distracting her momentarily. She sniffs the ground with curiosity. Aromas. Thousands of paws romp this Green.

No one directs Sophie in this time of play, of discovery, of growth.

Sophie is simply present.

In this moment Sophie is my teacher; I choose to be present with her.

I think I'll call my spiritual practice for today "Sophie Faith."

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Time to leave Starbucks to visit Monkey and Rascal....with my Sophie Faith.

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Muse and Mist

Well, some say if you don't know what to say, say nothing.

Sound advice.

When it comes to writing though, I say, "Write something."

I've not been writing lately, and if I don't write, the muse seems to drift farther and farther away...like fog on a lake or clouds across mountains. The drift.

One of my favorite spots among the high hills of North Carolina is Roan Mountain. 'Tis a magical escape into nature. Nature, where our origins are. Sad that we escape to it rather than dwell therein.

I have enjoyed many a hike upon the Roan and its accompanying balds. Sometimes the clouds drift over the ridge. My feet glide through the grey and white fog, visibility limited to a few yards. Footing must be precise along the slippery rocks.

On one Roan trek, the cloud lay along the ridge, the cloud's mist rising only to my knees. I felt like a ghost from ages past as my feet and calves parted the mist upon the age-old mountain.

On my hikes, I am often awed by the thought of our ancestors taming, so to speak, the wild.

I climb into a mechanical and electrical device with wheels to arrive at my hiking destination. I wear Gortex designed boots with non-itchy wool socks to protect my feet. I'm equipped with other clothing and gear to help me traverse the elements.

Our ancestors wore cotton and leather and itchy wool. They arrived at their destination via their own two feet or via rides upon the backs of horses. They had to be a hearty lot to survive the wild.

Upon the Roan, I have felt my ancestors' presence...within the wind and the soil, the mist and clouds...an essence that simply is.

Upon the Roan I have felt the eyes of gnomes peering from behind young evergreens. Reality tells me it is the eyes of chipmunks.

But perhaps, it really is gnomes...in costumes.

0803//2010. Grandpup Yerba along the Roan Highlands...
the trail "melting into the horizon" as clouds roll in.

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Blogging Ideas?

If any readers want to add ideas, just leave a comment.

Thinkerings
Dichotomy enlightenment: Jekyll & Hyde
"God," "Lord," "Creator," .... Life & worship
Law of perception/perspective in lieu of LoA in light of purpose, chance, providence
LSF meditation program
Prehensile tails
Providence, purpose, chance
Psychopathy & wanting to believe in humanity - the balance
Questions, no answers

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Days are shorter now

I do not want to write these days.

My creativity feels so very stifled, dead.

I'm not sure why exactly. Perhaps I haven't the leisure time to create. But, I could if I chose. Such as when I walk dogs. I think I'll ask my heart today, commune more with it as I walk my canine friends, at least the ones that don't require so much supervision when we walk together.

Bruno and Buster are two toy poodles that aren't prissy poodles at all. They are rambunctious little boys that would make mischief wherever they go, if one allows them. The thought of them brings me a smile.

They love to eat worms, and on our walks after a rain, I have to be diligent to steer them away from their voracious appetite for the creepy crawly worms, though it seems to me that the worms would supply protein. I've read the worms can also carry bacteria not so friendly for dogs, bacteria the worms ingest from deep in the soil. But I can't imagine it'd be much worse than horse or cat manure, which dogs seem to have a palate for.

Someone recently contacted me about their experiences with my ex-therapist. My god, sometimes I think the man is just plain evil and really has no conscience. Then another side of me wants to come to his defense, feeling that maybe folks have blamed him for things he isn't totally responsible for. Yet, the facts show otherwise.

And all I have to do is recall the lies. Lies about me. Lies about others. Lie after lie after lie.

And all I have to do is recall his chameleon ways. Changing appearances, changing roles...another new venue with a new circle to influence.

I wonder how long it will take for the chameleon to again change colors.

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