I worked for a time in the Philosophy department of a university.  It was hilarious hearing all their arguments and long-winded big-worded tirades on existence.  But it is truly something that has puzzled me–or fascinated me since I was a child.

What makes me “me”?  How am I me and not you?  What is it about myself that is the same from now that is identified with me as a blonde curly haired sweet little thing of the age of 7?  And are you really out there or is this completely a dream?  That’s what the Buddhists say–this is the dream and the meditative life is the truth.

But I’m not meditating much these days.  Sure, I should, sure.  I know that womb-life of heaven is just a few long deep breaths away.  But what am I here in the crisp cold morning air of my human existence to be?  To do?

Do be do be do–says Frank Sinatra.  Perhaps it is just mine to sing, dance, and play with this exquisite world, the astounding creatures, the very blessed event of being on Earth.

I get the RIDS now and again: restless, irritable and discontent.  Part of me feels taken for granted, though I am in a stage where I rarely do anything for anyone but myself.  Selfish and lonely perhaps.  Tired of giving, and then, interestingly enough, feeling more empty.

I believe that for the circulation of good to show up in my life, I have to BE a circulation of good.  Sending little things to those few friends and family; I’m doing that.  But this little crust of crankiness around me is a barrier.

Perhaps if I honor this resistance to life, perhaps if I tell this pouty little girl that she’s right, she needs to hole up and lick some kind of wounds that are rising to the surface.  Or perhaps it is a rest time, to conserve before energy is needed.

In any case, I dive into the Divine.  I swim in Her grace, glory and comfort.  I lose myself in the womb of Her safety and peace.  I can surround that little restless part of me in the ocean of goodness that is the Truth.

from Hafiz to guide me today

Life is like that big pot of steamy soup on the stove that we cook once a week.  It starts out with just plain water–an ordinary human day.  Then with a little color, like carrots or a letter from a brother, the flavor starts to melt.  Lots of celery is good, sort of like the vitamins, stretching and food for fuel that I prepare, more tasty background to my day.

The meat of the soup, the center of the day, is the heart of my morning when I claim the best part of my Friend.  I cut up Her love, fresh and forgiving, real and substantial, so it is the most flavorful part of the day. 

I surround myself in Her Presence and the soup cooks long on the stove of my heart, warming an aroma throughout my day.

Sometimes it is just the moment when the tears need to come.  Grief can reappear at any wave of life–walking in the grocery store 30 years since she died, her favorite song comes over the air and I miss her–tears.  Wading through boxes of paper I’ve saved for no good reason, I happen upon a small poem written by my brother–now biding his time in jail–when he was in high school.  Touching and tears.

A drawing by my daughter, a card from an old lost friend, a message from someone suffering.  Times for tears to wash through my soul awaiting the soft light of a cloudy day.

My Dear One hands me a tissue.  My Only Love is resting on my shoulder whispering that grace is eternal and tears are the signs of love.

I am a tree without sound, without a melody and await the wind through my branches to sing to me.  I let Hafiz serenade my empty heart and body today:

It’s frustrating that, with an addictive personality, I can’t get into regular exercise.  Why can’t we get addicted to what is good for us?  I suppose it doesn’t serve well as an escape from feelings–it increases our feelings of being good to myself, taking care of myself.  Alien ideas.

Ah to put on the idea of being wise with my energy like a scarf, wrapping it around me, yearning for that cozy comfort.  Perhaps if I am willing to be willing to allow that to happen, then with the Divine hit over the head in the middle of the night I could wake up and want to exercise, stretch, walk, run, dance till sweaty and work out.  I believe in the theory.

For now I will be good to myself as best I can, a little stretch here and there, a walk to the store.  A walk to the coffee shop for a hot caramel salted chocolate!  Nothing like bribing yourself to get to the path of wiser energy.

I am willing to be willing.

There is brilliance in every thing.  I seek to seek it constantly, always, forever.  With my last breath to cherish the people around me, faces of Divine-human life, the greenery, the animal companions and the warmth of sun and stars.

Open-arms great-full today.

Service gladly rendered, obligations squarely met, troubles well accepted or solved with Her Divine help, the knowledge that at home or in the world outside we are partners in a common effort, the well-understood fact that in the Creator’s sight all human beings are important, the proof that love freely given surely brings a full return, the certainty that we are no longer isolated and alone in self-constructed prisons, the surety that we need no longer be square pegs in round holes but can fit and belong in the Dear One’s scheme of things–these are the permanent and legitimate satisfactions of right living for which no amount of pomp and circumstance, no heap of material possessions, could possibly be substitutes.

True ambition is the deep desire to live usefully and walk humbly in Grace.

My life is filled with loving kindness.

My life is well.

My life is peaceful and at ease, and

My life is happy.

My heart is filled with loving kindness.

My heart is well.

My heart is peaceful and at ease, and

My heart is happy.