Sixth Day of Christmas

 On Sunday I was able to see water returning to the sea. I paused for a moment to witness that beautiful cycle before I stepped over the small stream. This is also the rhythm of Christmas when we return to the stories again and find our place among them. Hopefully, we do not simply step over them without pausing to listen to what new understanding is waiting to be born within us. By returning to the ancient scriptures, we learn again that despite the Herods of the world, we are held in a tender heart - the heart of the universe.   

Last night I dreamed that I was in a small and beautiful library made of wood. I am not there to read, however, but to witness the marriage of my brother (In my waking life I have neither brother nor sister.) I am with a woman whom I know as Mother (not the biological mother who birthed me into this life). She is creating a sort of crown for my soon to be sister-in-law: a circular universe based on the position of the eight planets of our solar system. However, where she might have placed a planet, she is attaching a tiny red rose along a thin, transparent plastic thread that will soon be formed into a circle. The roses are made of fiber. The creator of this small universe said that the thread will dissolve, but the roses will stay in their circle and will offer protection to her daughter-in-law whenever she wears it, not just on her wedding day.  

Despite the beauty that I am seeing, in the dream I am anxious. We are in Mexico, and I do not know the language. My mother tells me not to worry; I will understand.

    

As I was writing this, I heard my phone ding letting me know I had received a text. I wondered if it might be my friend letting me know that the birth of her granddaughter had begun. Alas, it was a notice announcing a shoe sale. The baby, as far as I know, is still safe in the sea of her mother's womb. I shall have to pass on the offer of a good deal on a  pair of shoes just now.     

  

"Listen, O drop, give yourself up without regret,

and in exchange gain the ocean.
Listen, O drop, bestow upon yourself this honor,
and in the arms of the Sea be secure.
Who indeed should be so fortunate?
An Ocean wooing a drop!
In God’s name, in God’s name, sell and buy at once!
Give a drop, and take this sea full of pearls."

~ Rumi

First Sip  

     

           

           

  

     

The photograph is one I took in June, 2024. The rose, as you can see, is not red, but I think it reflects the tenderness I experienced in the dream.  

--

Fifth Day of Christmas

 Yesterday (Sunday) Tyler and I both had the day off. Tyler briefly made the suggestion that we might use the day to clean the house. I quickly vetoed that logical and very sound suggestion. We then decided to explore Marin County. The traffic was not heavy so it was a pleasant drive. Where we ended up was Stinson Beach. We fairly quickly found parking and walked down a short staircase to the ocean.  

It had been years since we were there last. The beach is wide and flat with large rocks at one end. No dogs or other pets are allowed. (I am unclear as to what other sort of pets might enjoy the beach, but I guess those in charge want to be clear that no domesticated animals would be welcome. I think horses are right out.)  Partly because of this ordinance and partly because Stinson Beach does not seem to be a rabble rouser sort of town, the beach is clean, and the sea birds do seem a little calmer.  After our explorations, we then walked back up the stairs and found a place for lunch. It was warm and sunny enough to comfortably sit outside. 

As we ate and talked, a thought came to mind  that surprised me: "I am not sure I deserve this happiness." I mentioned this to Tyler who asked me, "Why would you think that?".

 I really had no answer. 

 

This morning I think happiness is a practice. It is also something we receive, like grace. It can be fleeting. One day you are basking in the sun eating a french dip sandwich, the next morning you are despairing about the news. Happiness takes a steady hand on the rudder as we live our lives, hopefully in gratitude and in relationship with the Sacred and with others on this journey.

 In the book,  A Way To the Heart of Christmas, editor Brian Linard includes a few paragraphs written by Alfred Delp, S.J.  I was unfamiliar with Father Delp's writings, but I have now learned that he was imprisoned and eventually executed by the Nazis. Although his hands were kept bound, he was able to write and smuggle his notes out with his laundry. That means there was someone there to receive them. I think there are good reasons why his book, The Prison Meditations of Father Alfred Delp, is worth reading, and I intend to do that. Was Father Delp happy as he wrote in prison? Highly unlikely. Yet, his faith held firm. He knew his purpose, and I am grateful for the inspiration.        

   

"God is with us. That was his promise ... And that promise has become a reality in our lives, in quite a different way from what we expected, a much fuller and much simpler reality than we had thought it would be. 

We should not try to avoid God's burdens. They are the way to his blessing. If we continue faithfully to follow the hard way, bearing God's burdens, we shall discover the inner source of reality and the world will reveal itself as being not silent in a sense that is quite different from what we had imagined. The silver threads of the divine mystery of all reality will begin to gleam and sing aloud for us. Those burdens will become a blessing for us, as soon as we recognize them and bear them as God's burdens."   

Alfred Delp, S.J. 

  

I have no answers as to why there are those who seem to think of little else other than controlling, imprisoning, torturing, and killing others. These actions are cowardly and ultimately do not work. They will never have the last word. The last word will always belong to God which means truth and love will prevail. Therefore, we can indulge in experiencing our happiness when it surfaces, knowing it is a gift. I know to some that seems an oversimplification, and it probably is. However, I think Father Delp knew and trusted that simplicity. 

Brian Linard and New City Press seem a bit lax about identifying actual sources such as books, but at least we have enough to follow the thread, which I always enjoy. This quote may or may not be from his book of prison meditations, but from another book of his. It does, however, seem like a good place to start. Regardless, blessings as you follow your thread this Christmas season and always. Trust your burdens and your joy.  Please leave us a trail. We are listening for your song.           

       

  

image:  "The Way Can Get Rough, But It Is Worth It"

             Stinson Beach, December 28, 2025

Graduating with a Yeti

 This morning I woke up giggling. I  had just had a dream where I am in my grade school auditorium. I am there to help with a graduation. I do not know from what grade these students were graduating from, but the one student I saw was quite young, and was trying to go up the steps to the stage. His mother, or some other responsible adult, told him that  they would not be going on stage, but rather would be on the floor in front of the seats. I replied, "Well, of course he wants to be on the stage."  Someone then decided to open the curtains. Nothing new was revealed at that moment; it was as barren as most auditorium stages are. I then realized that it was almost time to start. I had heard that someone was coming to help us, so I decided to go to the restroom and "freshen up" as women of another time used to say. When in public my mother would ask for "the little girl's room". That phrase always made me uneasy, even when I was one. 

I walked into the very small restroom. In one of the stalls I could see large feet attached to  lower legs that were wide and covered with long white fur. I knew I was looking at a Yeti, obviously one with some sense of decorum. I said no greeting, but quickly washed my hands in preparation for spreading the news about who would be joining us.

I walked back into the auditorium. The curtains on the stage were still open, and some men and women were talking about how the day would go. I announced that I had discovered that a Yeti would be helping us. No one seemed particularly surprised.   

As I wrote this, I did a quick internet search about Yetis - and yes, Yetis is plural, but I think that the plural is seldom used. Most of us will not ever see one Yeti much less two. I capitalized the word because surely a creature so grand and so rare deserves recognition.  When I first started my internet search to investigate how to write the plural of Yeti, all that came up were pricey insulated mugs and coolers with the word "Yeti" inscribed on them. Truthfully, I find that even more disconcerting than the possibility of spotting a Yeti, either in the restroom or in the Himalayas.  

Let us not be reduced to being simply consumers. To that child in my dream and to us all, I say let us keep climbing, and keep digging.  This is the second day of Christmas. To that child who will lead us (Isaiah 11:6), I am grateful.    

Tomtens, Eggnog, and Love

As Tyler and I sat in the living room last night and listened to the Mannheim Steamroller Christmas station, we decided to enjoy an eggnog. Shortly after we mixed and poured and grated nutmeg over the two cups, I received notification that a delivery was on the front porch. I knew it was the two books I ordered: The Tomten and The Tomten and the Fox, both written by Astrid Lindgren. The books are beautifully written and illustrated. I came across them when I was doing a little research about gnomes. I was not familiar with the word Tomten, but had I grown up on a farm in Sweden rather than a ranch in West Texas, I probably would have heard of them long ago. At least I hope I would have. Some would say these books are for children. I say they are for anyone who appreciates tradition, stories, and lore. To receive them on a dark winter night was pretty much perfect.

Tomtens and gnomes have much in common, but I do not think  they are one in the same. Tomtens are considered long-lived watchmen of farms and homes. They tend to move around at night, and in exchange for a nightly bowl of porridge, they keep an eye on the farm, check in with the animals, and keep a wary eye out for foxes.  As we read last night, at least one Tomten could even convince a hungry fox to enjoy a bowl of porridge rather than snag a chicken (Tyler was a bit skeptical about that part.) Tomtens can also converse with very young children. As most of us have witnessed at one time or another, the very young can converse with a variety of beings, both the seen and the unseen. When I was a child, I knew that fairies and elves existed. However, I was a realist (well, ok, not really) and knew that they could not live in West Texas because it was too dry. However, I was pretty content just to read about them. I really believed then, and even now, that if something can be imagined, that it must exist somewhere. Yes, that equation includes hope, peace, joy, and love.   

This Sunday is the 4th Sunday of Advent and the Winter Solstice. If you attend a Christian church, or light Advent candles at home, you will probably witness the candle of Love being lit. Yes, we are long overdue, but timely nonetheless.         

        

            

    

image: You have already seen a photograph of my Christmas gnomes, and I have no pictures of a Swedish farm, a fox, or a bowl of porridge, but I did come across one unexpected  December 2025 sighting which I will share.               

Thine Advent Here

Yesterday I finished my last Advent worship script for this year. I have always liked Advent, but this year, I found the ancient words of Isaiah and Luke deeply moving. Sitting in the predawn hours reading Isaiah proved to be a practice I think I want to continue. The prophet's continual reminder to trust God even in the midst of a marauding empire was humbling. This Sunday my small in number congregation will sing "People Look East" and hopefully as we sing we will remind one another that Love will come as Guest. Love will also come as a Rose, a Star, and  the Lord. Love just continues to come. That is who God is and what God does. The earth is bathed in this love. However, too often, we dismiss love.  In the midst  of earthly violence, despair, and greed, love can seem to be a quaint idea from another time, and Christmas is just another item on the calendar to be checked off come December 26. Let us not be foolish.   

Tyler and I did not put up a Christmas tree this year, but as usual I set out my twelve small gnomes on the speaker by the front window (Well, one figure is actually not a gnome but a small boy who has been with the gnomes for so long that any year now I expect to unpack their box and see that he has grown a white beard.)  I also decorated the mantle. I brought out two small creches, and I found fresh batteries for my candles that sit in the living and dining room windows. I purchased these candles just after 9/11. They automatically come on when darkness arrives, and turn off when there is sufficient light. For some reason, when the batteries expired the last time, I did not replace them. Maybe I needed to get a sense of the darkness of unlit candles - I needed to be reminded  how much a small light matters.  

I am an older pastor. I almost retired last year, but the election brought home to me how  important community is in times such as these.  There are health and mobility concerns  in the congregation now that were not so apparent in past years. One beloved member passed.  About three years ago we sold our much too large for us property. The proceeds have been invested, and we donate any interest we receive to 501c3's who are actively engaged in serving the hungry, the unhoused, and our beleaguered environment. We worship on Sundays in a small historical chapel  on a busy street. I am convinced that when we sing, angels come and listen. Not because we sing particularly well. They come because the acoustics of the building are so good that not only are our voices amplified, but also our hearts.  

 Look for the love; it can always be found, often in surprising places. Listen to the angels who always seem to say, "Be not afraid.". Listen to your heart. I preached all this when I was younger, and I am grateful I can still stand and preach it today.  

I am grateful for all of you.        

        

    

 image:  Gnomes and One More,  2025   

Dreams, Doors, and Shadows

There are strangers at the door   

tall, thin, shadowy,

made of nothing, 

but yet of something.

I am in a house that has been 

showing up in my dreams a long time. 

It is a modest house 

in a modest neighborhood. 

It is not my house. 

Sometimes it shows up as the house of my parents, 

but mostly it shows up as a house belonging to an aunt and uncle 

where Tyler and I stop on the journey 

to see my parents.   

Early this morning it belonged to a friend

who did not appreciate 

the shadowy figures that appeared on her doorstep. 

She locks the door made of glass (usually the door is made of wood.)

They do not leave, but they do not try to come in.   

 But I need to leave. 

I open the door as little as possible,

and squeeze through.  

The figures press closer.  

I shut the door behind me

but it will not lock. 

I am feeling stuck. 

I want to let my friend know 

that the door is unlocked.  

I knock. 

She comes to the door 

and shakes her head no.   

I try to tell her that 

I cannot lock the door.  

She does not seem to see or hear me.  

I worry about that.   

The door then locks.

I worry about that.    

        

  

             

image: When I began to look for an image, I had little hope of finding something that might fit.  However, I think this older photograph does nicely.  If we are fortunate, we all have doors. We certainly all have dreams and shadows, even when we forget.                                                                                   

 

A Dream and a 15th Century Advent Poem

Last night I dreamt that I was traveling through a city that I have dreamt about before. In the dream I am downtown and as always in my dreams, it is dark. There are others with me. I do not know who is driving - it could even be me. However, I do know we are on our way to a class and we are moving through a very hilly downtown. We decide to get out and walk. I do not know why we choose to do that, but now we are walking on a sidewalk that is actually a narrow, crumbling path on a fairly low cliff just above the ocean. The sun reflects off the rippling water and everything is bathed in beautiful light. We cautiously walk in a single file; there is no room to do otherwise, and it would be very easy to get distracted by the beauty and tumble into the sea. The day is clear and the colors are vibrant. The bright light bounces off the brilliantly blue water and sparkles like stars. Gently cresting waves are topped with pristine foamy white on our right, and to the left are small bungalows, each with its own for sale sign. Each dwelling has a small patch of well trimmed emerald green grass for a lawn, and they each are painted a different pastel color from the ones on either side. I marvel that these coastside properties have not been taken up by the wealthy for mansions, and I say out loud that here it seems almost anyone can live by the ocean.

We continue our single file walking, and we begin to discuss where we are going. We are on our way to study with a teacher. I have not met him, but I seem to know what he looks like. I believe him to be East Indian, and he helps people to learn about death. I am told that he will want to touch me on my left shoulder. This is not a somber walk. We do not journey in fearful silence, but neither are we boisterous. We simply seem to be enjoying ourselves and the beauty that surrounds us. I think there are less than ten of us. The teacher's name is never spoken. I believe that this is the first time I have ever been with these fellow students.

At the end of the dream the crumbling path begins to take a fairly gentle downward slope. A paved road is just ahead of us, and despite the fact that we are walking along a cliff, the road seems to cross our path, not just intersect. I do not know which way we should go, and I am grateful there are others ahead of me who are walking confidently.

I then wake.

+++

Today is the second day of Advent. I love this season when we hear again the ancient stories, hymns, and poems inspired by the birth of Jesus. I never tire of hearing about the dreams, the angelic encounters, the excitable shepherds, the sojourning mystics, and all of those who said yes to being a part of the story. It is encouraging to hear the ancient words of the prophet Isaiah reminding us once more to trust God; the way will be made plain, and that we, too, even though we sit in darkness, will see a great light. Yesterday I reminded my congregation that I believe all these wondrous stories, and I believe the retelling of them is so vital, particularly in these jaded times. We all need to learn to dream again. Perhaps in my dream we were on our way to meet Christ. If that is true, then Christ was with us in every wobbly step.

I leave you with the following poem that I found in a publication many years ago. Alas, that publication,"Thin Places", is no longer in existence, but this beautiful poem lives on. As far as I know, the author and the original source continue to be unknown. The photograph is mine.

I also leave you with the encouragement to pay attention to your dreams. You may be surprised to learn who may be tapping you on the shoulder.

Thou shalt know him when he comes

Not by any din of drums

Nor the vantages of airs

Nor by anything he wears

For his presence known shall be

By the holy harmony

That his coming makes in thee.

A Change of View

I woke yesterday morning from a dream where I was driving through a small desert town. I am glancing at my map, and it tells me I need to be on West Winn. I am on East Winn and there  is no West Winn in sight. I turn around and stop at a local, kind of run down bar. I am stopping there not to get a drink (In my waking life I no longer drink and it seems I no longer drink even in my dreams!) but to ask for directions. Everyone in the bar was watching a soccer game, and the first half was just coming to a close. Suddenly, the bar patrons began to change seats. I looked at the screen, and everyone on the screen was changing not only seats but were actually walking across the field and finding new seats on the other side of the small stadium.   

I spoke to a woman who also was just walking in. She introduced herself as the owner and, in contrast to the patrons and myself,she was professionally dressed in a red suit and matching heels. She said her name was Anna Baek, which she pronounced "Beck" (not sure when I learned the spelling). I mentioned how surprised I was to witness the seat changes, and asked if this happens in the big stadiums. She replied not so much anymore, but definitely in the smaller ones.

After people settled in once more, I asked for directions. I was assured by several people, including Anna Baek, that if I continued on East Winn I would eventually come to West Winn. I spoke aloud that I was a little skeptical. I then laughed and said okay, I would try again. There was something about the town, the simple, slightly run-down bar, and the people who also looked to be slightly run-down that I liked. I felt an inherent goodness all around me. I was tempted to stay overnight, maybe even longer. I woke before I made my decision, but I did wake with a smile on my face.    

This dream of changing sides reminds me of a wonderful story that I recently discovered in a sweet and generous book of essays entitled One Long River of Song written by Brian Doyle. In his essay entitled "The Hawk", he tells the story of a man who one summer took up residence on his former small town football field. Doyle wrote that the man, called Hawk, had been a terrific player in high school, showing an ability to wait, yes, like a hawk, until the perfect moment to strike. The name took hold. Hawk went on to play in college and then on to a career Doyle describes as being located in "the nether reaches of the professional ranks, where a man might get paid a hundred bucks a game plus bonuses for touchdowns and sacks". Hawk's career dwindled even more, and one summer he returned to his home field to stay awhile. The town actually let him do so. In turn he kept the field and surrounding area picked up and clean. People would drop by with cookies and sandwiches to see how he was doing. One woman left him coffee every morning. He told Doyle that sometimes he would sit on the visitor's bench, something he had never done before. One day a reporter came to get Hawk's opinion on what she called the "collapse of the social contract". He told her about the cookies and sandwiches. He then told her of the time when a woman stopped by with two infants. She let him hold one "that weighed about half of nothing". He and the young mother talked about football. He then asked the reporter the question, "What could be better than standing on a football field, holding a brand-new human being the size of a coffee cup? You know what I mean? Everything else is sort of a footnote."  

In a nation so polarized, I find comfort in the idea of periodically changing our viewpoints to get at least a glimpse of what the other side is seeing. Sometimes people cross mountains to do that. Sometimes, we simply get up from our comfortable seat to offer help to someone who is having trouble reading the map.

 

Worth Pondering

 This morning I came across this quote by Father Greg Boyle of Homeboy Industries.  I have always appreciated his straightforward language,attitude, and love as he goes about his ministry. Sometimes holidays can pose difficult expectations, making love seem impossible. Perhaps this might help?   

Blessings on your week and go ahead, let your love be known (especially to yourself), 

Sue Ann   

      

"Cherishing is love with its sleeves rolled up."

Father Greg Boyle        

    

     

        

image: Neighborly persimmon tree, November 2025

Vision Quest

 "Once we realize that the nature of our existence is beyond thought and emotions, that it is incredibly vast and interconnected with all other beings, the separation and fear and hope all fall away. It is a tremendous relief."

Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo

First Sip

    
 

If you are trying to follow the way of Jesus, you and/ or your church may be making plans for Advent. One of those plans probably include lighting a candle of hope on November 30, the first Sunday of Advent. When I read this post this morning, I found  myself asking, "How do we live without hope? Won't that simply leave us even further adrift?"  Then I realized that this comment  is a nudge to let go of our little self-focused hopes that are too often just cravings. We yearn for satisfaction, but such satisfaction usually does not last very long. Our hope needs to be much bigger. We need a vision for humanity.   

I vaguely remembered Jetsunma Palmo's name so I went to the internet for more information. I was reminded that she was the subject of a book, Cave in the Snow, written by Vicki Mackenzie (published in
1998). A friend of mine recommended the book to me a few years ago. I read it and loved it. This morning I am thinking I should read it again. The book is the true story of Jetsunma Palmo choosing to live alone for twelve years in a remote and high cave in the Himalayas, and  her emergence from the cave with a vision to establish a women's convent in India. She then worked to bring that vision to fruition. That is the power of vision.

Yesterday I went downtown, and as I walked, I felt some dismay. I was seeing a lot of poverty, and I thought that what I was seeing was a lack of hope. And I may have been. However, today I think I was seeing more. I believe what I was witnessing was a lack of vision. Regardless of what is happening politically, we cannot surrender our dreams to those in power. They cannot dream for us; their hopes and visions are too limited. We are more.        

I now see Advent as a vision quest. We light candles that wait on our communal and personal altars. In that waiting there is God, who is also waiting - waiting again to be born in the caves of our minds and hearts to bring light into our world. That light is not for a select few. It is for all to see - and live.   

    

"Because of our God's deep compassion; 

the dawn from heaven will break upon us,

to give light to those who are sitting in darkness

and in the shadow of death, 

to guide us on the path of peace."      

Luke 1:76-79  ( Zechariah speaking to his newly born son, John. Perhaps he sang this prophecy; we really do not know.)   

  

        

   

image: San Leandro, March 2025

Food for Thought

 The following excerpt from Nan C. Merrill's rendition of Psalm 137 came to me this morning in an email from Friends of Silence. I am reminded that we all need to give some thought as to where, and with whom, we are dropping anchor.  The image of the anchor is believed to have had deep meaning for early Christians who were suffering persecution, and I found some lovely  images online. The word anchor is actually not mentioned in the Psalms or any part of the Hebrew scriptures, but does appear in the New Testament in Hebrews 6:19 and in the story of Paul's shipwreck in Acts. Nan C. Merrill never claimed that her renditions of the psalms were translations. However, I do at times like today, find inspiration in her work.     

As I was pondering all this, I decided to eat an energy bar. I am about to take a walk, and I do not believe that the few slices of apple that I ate earlier will sustain me for much  longer. While perusing the cupboard, I found a well-aged RX Bar which I ate. I just realized that on the label, there is a depiction of an ancient Christian image of an anchor.

  

Thusly fueled, I go forward, grateful that we are held.      

   

  

Hide not from Love, O friends,
sink not into the sea of despair,
the mire of hatred.
Awaken, O my heart, 

that I drown not in fear!

Too long have I sailed where'ere
the winds have blown!
Drop anchor!

 

~ Nan Merrill, Psalm 137 from PSALMS FOR PRAYING    

  

     

One Key, Many Doors

 In the dream Tyler and I are at a lovely hotel in San Diego. He is scheduled to attend a conference; I am along as the spouse. While the dream does not reveal what kind of conference Tyler is to attend, we know he has a friend George, who is attending a real estate conference in the same hotel. We have learned that George is perturbed. His complaint is that he bought a very expensive suit and tie, and rented a luxurious limousine for this event. Upon arrival, he realized such items are not needed. 

George visits our room and tells me that his wife, Joy, is not happy, and has decided to stay in their room all day and watch tv. I think to myself that surely they have come too far to such a beautiful place just to watch tv. Even though I do not know her, I suggest that she and I go to the hotel gym, which is reported to be very extensive.  He replies that he thought that was a great idea and that he would go talk to her. I decide to visit the restroom in the meantime. Despite our luxurious surroundings, the bathroom is the very small bathroom in the first house where my parents and I lived on the ranch. I find that odd, but not particularly concerning.

When I return to the main living area, I am surprised to see George and Joy standing there. We all hug. Tyler, who apparently had stepped out for a few minutes, joins us. There is much laughter.  I then realize that I actually had not met George and Joy until now, but the laughter and hugs makes me feel like I have known them for a long time.

 I also realized that George was able to access our room without us letting him in. I commented on that, and he casually responded, "All our keys open all doors." 

I woke this morning with a smile and a sense of expansiveness. I hear "In my Father's house are many dwelling places (John 14:2)."  

We have the key to go where we need to be. Regardless of our destination, we will always be in the vastness of God that can be found in our very own hearts.  

    

  

      

      

   

"I will lead you along fresh trails of adventure,

 revealing to you things you did not know."     

Jesus Calling, Sarah Young    

 

image:  an older photograph, mine. 

Wisdom of the Stones

 "When I look inside and see that I am nothing, that is wisdom. When I look outside and see that I am everything, that is love.” 

Sri Nisargadatta  (1897-1981)

 

The photograph was taken at the Hickison Petroglyphs on our journey home via Hwy 50 through Nevada.  A beautiful journey. This morning I am pondering that very small stone in the foreground. Even stones are on a journey, and it was a blessing to be with them for a short while. I have much to think about. 

       

 

    

   

image:  September 2025 

I Should Memorize This

 Just in case you, too, are struggling with the barrage of news articles, opinions, hyperbole, virus threats (computer and otherwise), and blatant untruths, just to name a few.  Remembering I am part of the plural helps. We are still being carried forward. We belong to the Whole. This birth, like so many, is painful. Let us breathe together. We have been giving birth for a long time.

"Freshness Comes from There"  

There is a way of passing away from the personal, 

a dying that makes one plural, no longer single...

When life is this dear, it means the source
is pulling us. Freshness comes from there.

We are given the gift of continuously dying
and being resurrected, ocean within ocean.
 
~ Rumi 

image: San Leandro, August 2025

Held

 I received the following post a few days ago, and I fell in love with the image of Mother Earth carrying " flowers and fruits, birds and butterflies, and many different animals" in her arms. I began to imagine her with a head of gorgeous hair that was filled with all this beautiful life, so full it overflowed all around her.  

Jesus, too, touched the earth, and knew her rhythms so well that he based some of his teachings on them. This is worth remembering. As I read this post I also thought of the attached photograph. I was surprised I could find it since it is from 2015. The gardens in San Leandro began changing during and after the drought, and of course, with good reason. Sometimes, however, I miss the overflowing abundance that began to disappear during that time. Our young landscaper who comes once a month to lend hand and expertise to our small front and back gardens told me this morning that she again senses some change in all the gardens she tends to. She feels the plant's responses are more subdued. She added, "I think the earth feels humanity's stress and concern with all that is going on."  I believe that as well. We are of the earth, and the earth is of us. There is no separation.  

"The earth has been there for a long time. She is mother to all of us. She knows everything. The Buddha asked the earth to be his witness by touching her with his hand when he had some doubt and fear before his awakening. The earth appeared to him as a beautiful mother. In her arms she carried flowers and fruit, birds and butterflies, and many different animals, and offered them to the Buddha. The Buddha’s doubts and fears instantly disappeared.

Whenever you feel unhappy, come to the earth and ask for her help. Touch her deeply, the way the Buddha did. Suddenly, you too will see the earth with all her flowers and fruit, trees and birds, animals and all the living beings that she has produced. All these things she offers to you. You have more opportunities to be happy than you ever thought. The earth shows her love to you and her patience. The earth is very patient. She sees you suffer, she helps you, and she protects you. When we die, she takes us back into her arms."

~ Thich Nhat Hanh

 As quoted in First Sip     

         

image; San Leandro, 2015

Fields

 This morning I woke from a dream where I am standing and watching two tall and lean young men playing what I am tempted to call volleyball. They are playing in a field of knee-high yellow grass. The ball is red. There is not a hint of competition between them. As they gently lob the ball back and forth, their movements are soft, even elegant. There is no rush, no leaps or spikes, no lunging after a missed ball. There are no missed balls. There is no extraneous movement whatsoever, only a gentle back and forth arcing movement. It is calming to watch the rise and fall of the red ball. I do not remember how the two young men are dressed, but the combination of the red of the ball and the yellow of the grass is  beautiful. I hear no conversation or laughter, but the scene feels very real and alive.   

I woke thinking of my yoga class, maybe because my mat is yellow. Before class begins, there is conversation and laughter as each of us position and unroll our mats, and settle in. I find comfort on my mat, and I think most of the class does on theirs. Our various mats remind me of rafts that carry us individually, but also collectively. Silence settles in and class begins. Our journeys are not identical, but for a while we travel together. I believe healing is real.       

     

Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water. 
The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken. 
Although its light is wide and great, 
The moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide. 
The whole moon and the entire sky 
Are reflected in one dewdrop on the grass. 

~ Excerpt from "Original Face" by Dogen     

The Taste of Aging

 The tangerine, hard and leathery, sat in the basket 
with some obviously much fresher fruit.

 I picked it up. 

"Not edible," I judged, and started to toss it in the green waste.  

For some reason, I stopped and cut it in half.

Curiosity, I guess.  

The fruit, yes very small, was deeply colored like sunset.   

I cut the halves once more, and tentatively tasted. 

The sweetness overwhelmed me;

 How could something so small and withered  

quench such a deep thirst that I never knew I had?  

    

say/2025    

     

image:  Villa Maria, October 2025

Morning By Morning

 Yesterday I woke to a morning sky that brought a message of calm. The sun had not yet risen over the horizon, but pink-edged wisps of clouds were strewn across the morning's  blue sky, silently hinting of a gentle hand adding finishing touches just before the presentation of the day.  

This morning I spotted in the midst of the clouds a clearing that for just a few moments was heart shaped. I smiled, and gave thanks for these love notes from the sky.   

I  took no pictures of these brief moments. However, I leave you an offering of yellow and purple spotted on my morning walk, and a short verse from Nan C. Merrill's version of Psalm 105. My copy of her book is almost 20 years old, and no longer holds together. I find it difficult to replace a beloved old book that has seen much use. It feels like trying to replace your grandmother.  I am grateful for Friends of Silence who reminded me yesterday of this beautiful psalm.  Regardless of the translations or renditions, the psalms call us to trust. Yes, that is a call to faith. We need these reminders.

As spring and summer follow
autumn and winter,
so our lives have their seasons.
Help us to live in the eternal moment,
awaiting your perfect timing
in all things.

 from  Psalm 105, Psalms for Praying, Nan C. Merrill   

      

      

 image: Yellow and purple for the first day of July, San Leandro, CA       

Standing on the Promises

 I have not told too many people about the dream that led me to decide to not retire from active ministry in January. I feel nudged to tell it now. 

In the dream there is a baby girl. She is not my child; I am tending to her for a friend. I am enjoying her presence. We laugh and talk together. She is a baby, so she is engaged with exploring all sorts of sounds. Her whole being is alive with communication.  I am speaking to her, not of grand thoughts, but those words and sounds that help me to encourage her to know her own love and her own shining brilliance. In the dream I am even changing her diaper, and since in this waking life I am an only child who never had children, I have never changed a diaper in my life. I continue to laugh and speak with her. 

When finished with the changing, I pick her up once more and we walk outside. We continue to laugh and "talk" with one another. We come to a road, but we do not cross. Then on the horizon to my left, I see thick dark clouds billowing. These are the darkest clouds I have ever seen. I simply stand with this smiling child in my arms. Neither one of us is afraid. Then from these boiling clouds I see a legion of heavily armored warriors thundering towards us, each astride a war horse that is also heavily armored. Darkness and thick dust threaten to envelope us but a light surrounds us. We do not run. The dust does not fall on us, but it is all around. The beautiful child does not cry, nor do I. In fact, we are still smiling, content in the moment of simply being with one another. I hold her lightly, but I know I will not drop her. I am holding her from my very core.  

I woke from the dream with a sense of certainty that now was not the time to retire from my community. I am grateful for that decision. I have learned to dig deep. I also try to talk to just about every child I meet. I think many of them are being born for a purpose that I may never know, but I want to be an encouraging presence now, even if it is only for  a few moments as we ponder strawberries in the produce aisle. 

I think of this dream this morning because I have just read a page from Steven Charleston's Ladder To the Light. Charleston is an elder of the Choctaw Nation. In addition to this role he has served as the Episcopal bishop of Alaska, as well as president of the Episcopal Divinity School. He is a steady unifying voice of courage on Facebook. I am deeply grateful for his presence and his writings. The following is from Chapter 3, "The Rung of Hope", page 57. 

 

Don't let the dark clouds fool you. They may pretend to own the heavens, stretching from horizon to horizon, ominous and commanding; a permanent shadow over our lives. But I know their secret: there is a world of sunlight behind them. One day, when the wind of change pushes them apart, that light will return to bathe the earth, to restore the vision of every person, to set right what has been broken. Stand firm in what you know and believe. Look up and do not be afraid, for when you feel the first breeze of hope, the clouds will soon be chased from the sky.   

 Yes, we are in serious times, but they will not have the last word. Blessed be.  And yes, on Sunday we will be singing "Standing on the Promises". It is a wonderful old hymn. Join us from wherever you are. The door is open and we sing to the wind. 

         

        

   

image:  East Bay Regional Park, Late Spring 2025