When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light.
For a time I rest in the grace of the world,
and am free.
Quickly, in the rose
garden at noon
or nearly tea time,
my basket full
of pink flowers,
I will drop
to the ground
and the fall will take
a lifetime
and when it is
complete, my still
head on the Earth,
that essence that will be
what I am will be saying
for the universe to hear,
“Thank You”
Empower me
to be a bold participant,
rather than a timid saint in waiting,
in the difficult ordinariness of now;
to exercise the authority of honesty;
rather than defer to power,
or deceive to get it;
to influence someone for justice,
rather than impress anyone for gain;
and, by grace, to find treasures
of joy, of friendship, of peace
hidden in the fields of the daily
you give me to plow.
Life is intentional, not accidental. I bless this central fact. Consciousness instigates shifts in outer reality. Recognizing that I have the power to change my world by changing my thinking, I set for myself a gentle vigilance towards negative thoughts. When I fear abandonment, I remind myself that the universe itself is my loving companion. When I fear stagnation, I surrender into the deeper flow of life rather than willfully forcing artificial solutions. Constantly partnered by an interactive universe, I do my part by reminding myself that I am part of a larger plan, partnered by infinite intelligence. In its perfect pink blossoming, the bloom of the apple tree does not concern itself whether a bee will appear. The blossom does its job just by blossoming. The bee is drawn to do the rest. Rather than imagine that my yearnings are self-centred or counter to the flow of life, I practice simply blossoming in the faith that I attract what I need simply by following and blessing my true nature.
I know nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with anyone I love, or sleep in bed at night with anyone I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer afternoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring.
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles.
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.
To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with miracles,
Every foot of the interior swarms with miracles.
Eva Markvoort inspired an international following through her online diary about her lifelong battle with cystic fibrosis — finally succumbing to death on March 27th.
Her website, called “65 Red Roses,” inspired an award-winning documentary of the same name.
On March 25, Markvoort wrote her last post. “I am not managing, not managing at all. I’m drowning in the medications. I can’t breathe. Every hour. Once an hour. I can’t breathe. Something has to change.”
In her dying moments, Eva summoned what little strength she had to record this little song for all the friends and loved ones she was leaving behind. love is something
Whose blood runs the rivers of the world? Whose breath sings the sorrow of the universe? In the eye of the enemy, can you see your own soul? When a baby cries in the the outcasts’ camp, do you long to hold her? Can you comfort and soothe and rock her like the rhythm of the waters of the world?
all children
are our
children
may we embrace all human bodies
may we not collapse in our suffering
may we yearn to comfort and share the sacred
may we celebrate all ways of worship
may we throw back our heads in wide human laughter
let the colours and the fear mingle and disperse
all rivers are blood rivers. all blood is all blood.
Peace does not come through the agreement of egos, for it is impossible for egos to agree. Peace comes when love and mutual respect are present. When love is present, your enemy becomes like a friend who is not afraid to disagree with you. You do not cast him out of your heart just because he sees things differently than you. You listen carefully to what he has to say.
When you listen to your enemy the same way that you would listen to your friend, it is not your ego doing the listening. The Spirit inside you is listening to the Spirit inside of him.
Comments (2)
Jul 31 2010
