At this fragile time, others have characterized my relationship with my beloved as “caring for her.” While it’s a perfectly understandable assessment, that’s not how I experience it. I don’t feel I’m doing anything for her. I’m simply attempting to honor my own sense of personal integrity. I’m attempting to act as best I
Imagine that every reasonably sane person who knows you feels you are one of the most joyful, kind, positive, resilient beings they’ve ever met––a touchstone of wisdom. Imagine having had as your life’s primary goal, since the day you were born so far as you can tell, living in the consciousness of God––to love
Dawn meditation had barely begun when I heard the soft, melodious baritone of a brass bell that, I guessed, was about the size of an orange. Its sound was irregular as if related to the movement of something or someone else. I’d heard it before, but never this close, as if an owl’s “Who cooks
Without discipline, love is compromised. Without love, discipline is almost assuredly harmful. Discipline is the perspective and practices that help us strengthen our ability to take meaningful action. These are resources every human needs to pursue whatever is important to them, from taking out the garbage on time to becoming a saint. Love is
The Big Unknown has come to call. My beloved’s well-being is uncertain. Our earthly life, therefore, is uncertain beyond the usual Who the heck knows? we all deal with. Maybe around a nearby corner a measure of predictability awaits. Maybe not. She and I tell each other there is nothing we can’t handle. But
I love resentment. I didn’t always. In fact, resentment just might be the nastiest, well-entrenched elephant in my cranial vault. In Little League I once got thrown out trying to steal home, and I probably held a grudge against that blind ump until well after I had my own Little Leaguer. That’s just one example.
My friend Lewis Griggs had a near-death experience. On a rafting trip, a tree fell from the river’s edge and cracked his skull sending him into a coma for quite some time. Medical experts said there was a good chance he would die. When, instead, he returned to consciousness, he didn’t know who he was,
Everything is a gift. The degree to which we are awake to this truth is a measure of our gratefulness, and gratefulness is a measure of our aliveness. David Steindl-Rast The other morning when Dear went to the barn she found our horse Fletcher with his ass to the automatic waterer in his stall trying