Thursday, September 22, 2011: (Mary Oliver poem)

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

Posted on Thursday, September 22, 2011 at 08:43AM by Registered CommenterThe Skeptical Mystic | Comments1 Comment

Saturday, August 20, 2011: (Elisabeth Kubler-Ross quote: silence within)



Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself,
and know that everything in life has purpose.
There are no mistakes, no coincidences,
all events are blessings given to us to learn from.
- Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

Posted on Saturday, August 20, 2011 at 01:08PM by Registered CommenterThe Skeptical Mystic | Comments1 Comment

Saturday, July 23, 2011: (Ralph Waldo Emerson quote: light is all)


                         From within or from behind,

               a light shines through us upon things,

           and makes us aware that we are nothing,

                             but the light is all. 

                                                                           ~Ralph Waldo Emerson 

Posted on Saturday, July 23, 2011 at 07:11AM by Registered CommenterThe Skeptical Mystic | Comments2 Comments

Saturday, July 16, 2011: Cycles in Nature

       It's mid-July. The grasses have bloomed and are already turning brown. One of my favorite  flowers---yellow goatsbeard---is going to seed; I search and cannot find their golden faces turned to the sun. Still, I can find the plants---beautiful even as they fall apart, their heads expanded to the size of a baseball. This is a moment of glory, before seeds are teased out by the wind to drift away.

        As my favorite completes its seasonal cycle, other flowers pop up to delight me. This trip to the cabin I was surprised to find an entire stand of Monardia along our road. There is no way I could have missed them in previous years, but how they could spring up this year like a well-established community remains a mystery.

        It is the first time I am present to witness the early stages, having always found Monardia with the centers shriveled and outside petals drooping.  I've been looking at senior citizens instead of toddlers and young adults.

       I'm going through my own cycles, my own ups and downs. When it is our own bodies, our own lives showing signs of completing a cycle, how can we turn away from the realities of nature?  I want to keep rejoicing in the world around me, especially as I see new life begin, see life ripening into maturity, to continue aging like my yellow goatsbeard, expanding with passing time until I am nothing more than a last glorious moment of fragile beauty. That would be a good life.  A life well lived.

Posted on Saturday, July 16, 2011 at 08:03PM by Registered CommenterThe Skeptical Mystic | Comments1 Comment

Posted on Wednesday, July 13, 2011 at 10:40AM by Registered CommenterThe Skeptical Mystic | CommentsPost a Comment