On my walk, I met a neighbor who told me this story. He had an ulcer, and so his stomach had been hurting him. Some of his friends convinced him to go on a men’s retreat with his church.
He reluctantly went, even more reluctantly because they were serving pizza, which would not agree with his stomach. Near the end of the retreat, he was surprised because the leader said, “Let’s pray for Donald.” So everyone laid their hands on Donald and prayed for him.
Afterwards, there was no longer a burning in his stomach. He was completely cured during those few minutes that day.
The woods were filled with many sounds that day: birds singing, leaves rustling, squirrels moving around.
I was painting a picture beside a stream in the late morning. The stream flowed around many large boulders. This view of rocks and water is what attracted me to this place.
Suddenly, everything was quiet. I mean absolutely quiet. Even the water became quiet.
Everything became unexpectedly still. A great hush came over this place. You could hear a pin drop. And so it continued for about 2 minutes. It reminded me of how it is right before a storm.
Why does fire seem so alive?
That flame on a candle seems so peaceful, so meditative -- like it, itself, is putting out a presence.
A candlelit dinner. How charming.
One of the houses I pass on my walk has a gaslight lamp, that always has a flame burning.
I really like that.
I remember sparklers that we would light on the fourth of July. They’d leave a trail of light in the night air.
Perhaps these things remind us of our own sparkling light.
Did you ever go into some place that had an echo?
It’s so hard not be a kid again. Just to play with it: clap, or say “hello”, or whistle, or stomp your feet.
I am so pleasantly surprised to find places that call you back to being curious, in the moment, childlike, wonder. The New York Botanical Gardens has a fabulous tunnel connecting two buildings that’s just perfect for making echoes. Perhaps it just happened that way. I’m grateful.
You just want to play with the situation. All else stops.
I hold open a space for good things to come to me today,
Things that make me smile and remember being a young child,
Where everything was enchanted and unknown,
Like a forest unexplored,
Yet with paths here and there, and beyond.
I invite good surprise into this day today.
I declare I am awake to the hidden world that’s woven into the world we see,
Where my intuition is strong, alert, and deep,
Where I sense the meaning in the smallest of things – a feather on the ground,
And every sign you leave for me.
Pedro was a 97 year old man from Cuba who was always at the Senior Center where my wife goes.
She really liked him and would often talk with him.
He was funny, upbeat, and filled with life, dancing even into his late 90’s.
He died. That day our grandfather clock stopped. The grandfather clock had been running continuously for over a year. A few days later, when I opened it to see what had happened, I saw the chime mechanism was incredibly stuck. I needed a force of about 5 pounds to unstick it. This had never happened before.
Pathways appear unannounced.
Whole spectrums of realms come into focus.
A higher ground is common.
The pleasantries of everyday increase.
New views appear everywhere.
The ground seems alive.
All pressures relent.
The birds seem synchronized.
A new kind of joy appears.
It is easy to be satisfied.
Whole dominions unite.
Inspiration opens minds to new discovery.
A picture of peace paints itself.
Willingness to change is rampant.
Beacons of light hold sway to the New Earth.
Did you ever want to go beyond what technology offers?
Way beyond what governments offer?
Way beyond what art or entertainment offer?
To live beyond the horizon of now.
I really like the idea of the outer limits.
A place in the unknown that has discovery everywhere.
Yes, it’s like being a child again – seeing what is in the world – this place and time I find myself in.
Plato believed that everything already exists – every idea, every work of art, every everything – and that we only need to discover it, find it, uncover it.
Do you dream in color?
The question came up one day, and gee, I am not sure.
I do remember dreams that were incredibly realistic. I saw individual blades of grass, and it was very green.
In some dreams there is a crowd, and all the faces are individual, different – yet incredibly, all strangers.
Some dreams that I’ve had a long time ago, I suddenly remember while I am awake, like a déjà vu. I think most of my dreams are in black and white, and occasionally in color.