Author: spiritflower

Writer, author, lightworker

All I Need to Know

I have always loved the phrase that many Native Americans use to refer to God and all of life: “The Great Mystery.” There is such wisdom and spiritual surrender in those words, a quiet acknowledgment that the universe and our place in it cannot be fully understood by the human mind. This wondrous mystery is what I experience when I walk alone in Nature or stare up at the stars at night.

Wonder, and joy at the beauty. Yet, for me there has also always been an element of sadness in contemplating eternity and my place in it. As a child I felt great fear when thinking of my life within infinity and the “world going on forever.” It was only in my adult spiritual quest that I came to a deepening and expansion of my awareness and a loosening of the fear. In “accepting what is” I found solace for my sorrow. When I stopped trying to find an explanation for life, the closed doors of my perception opened to the experience of Spirit, my soul’s essence and what is at the heart of all existence.

Even at times of emotional and physical challenge (the death of my parents; treatment for breast cancer), the presence of Spirit has sustained me. There will always be a mixture of thoughts and feelings when I look at the world that surrounds me: love of life as well as grief at its transitory, impermanent nature. When sadness arises, I have learned over the years that the wisest response is surrender: accepting those sad feelings and realizing they are only one part of who I am. It is my human identity that feels fear or grief; my soul witnesses all of life peacefully, without question or judgment. Within that peace, I let everything go and live in the Mystery. I don’t need to know all the answers; I just remain open to experiencing the beauty and wonder available to me in every moment.

I recently had an experience that highlighted this wisdom. I am an avid birdwatcher, and every year I visit Mt. Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts, for the spring bird migration. Hundreds of migrating birds come through the cemetery because of its beautiful habitat, and local birders are there to greet them. On one particular morning, after days of rain, I walked inside the front gate and paused to get out my binoculars. A man standing nearby enthusiastically commented on the beauty of the day and how he was certain the end of the rain would bring all the birds in. I agreed with him, and as I started to walk away, he added, “I don’t know much about science or exact bird identification, but I know how beautiful and special each one is.” “And that’s all you need to know,” I replied.

 At that, he burst, quite loudly, into song: “That may be all I need to know….” He laughed delightedly as he finished and asked me if I knew the song. I smiled and said, “Yes, I do.” So he sang it all over again, practically vibrating with joy. We then wished each other a wonderful day, and each went our way. As I turned to look back at him, he was still smiling and singing to himself. What sweet synchronicity in encountering this rather eccentric earth angel who reminded me of the wisdom of life’s beauty. I am surrounded by that beauty with every step. And, truly, that is all I need to know, ever.

Things

 In the Western world, we become accustomed to accumulating things in our lives. Possessions, or “stuff,” as the comedian George Carlin called it. We fill our drawers and our living spaces with things: clothes, shoes, gadgets, memorabilia. And then we go to the store or online to buy more. Many people end up with so much stuff, they rent storage units for what won’t fit in their homes. We saw these storage companies all over Florida when we lived there. Accumulations of a lifetime, perhaps, that people couldn’t part with when they retired.

This is a privilege not available to so many people, who may not be able to afford a house, let alone all the things to put in it. Yet advertising everywhere pushes that mindset: aspiring to owning and accumulating. Those who can’t achieve it are left feeling at a loss: outsiders in a culture that rewards those who have money and possessions. All we need at the most basic level is food and shelter, and the homeless live with that challenge daily while those who have both pass them by in the street.

Still, beneath the fullness of owning things, there is an emptiness. When you come to the end of your life, and you only have physical objects and a bank account to look back on, something feels not quite right. What about human relationships? What about love and the kindness of sharing with others (like those who struggle to survive)?

As I get older, I am finding my interest in buying things, which was always relatively minimal, has faded even more. I have little desire to buy anything and often think of it as potential clutter that will just have to be dusted or cleaned! The clothes I have are fine. I don’t need to own the latest devices or tech innovations. I get books and films from the library. Spending time walking outdoors in Nature is more important to me than what’s in my apartment. My friends and family mean more to me than my Mac or cell phone.

Over a lifetime, many individuals come to see that things have little meaning without the people they are close to—and the feeling of connection and love that is part of that. Sharing what you have in your heart as well as what you have in your wallet is an open door to a deeper experience of life. We came here not for the “things” but for the people. We came here to love—and to let go of everything else.

God Rides the Subway

People in the Western world have been taught that God, or Spirit, is something accessed primarily in a temple, church, or other sacred space. Even though we have heard the phrase “God lives within” most of our lives, we still carry an underlying belief that God is in the heavens or some other dimension. Many are questioning that view today and, from their own personal experiences, find Spirit not only inside but everywhere else. Not having been raised in any particular religion, I found it relatively easy to embrace this latter view when I embarked on spiritual exploration as an adult. Now, when I pause and take a deep breath, I feel that Presence in everyone and everything I see—and such gratitude for the connection.

For instance, yesterday I took the bus and subway into Boston for an eye doctor appointment. I live outside the city so the noise, crowds, and busyness can take some getting used to (even though I worked there for many years before retiring). I had to mentally stop and breathe and then shift my inner gaze in order to center myself in the open awareness that is so much a part of me now. In doing so, as always, God was everywhere I looked.

The homeless people clustered by the library were God, as were the nearby construction workers and the college students rushing by deep in conversation. The mockingbird enthusiastically serenading in the tree I passed was God, along with the pansies on the ground below. God was the slightly inebriated man at the subway stop loudly singing: “You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman.” As was the wild-haired man in faded but colorful running shorts and tank top dancing down the center aisle of the subway car.

And God was the crossing guard riding home on the bus, talking to the driver about her wife and how much she loved her work. Both of them shared stories about job loss and unpaid bills during COVID, as well as gratitude for their lives now. I stood quietly listening near them on the crowded bus and also felt gratitude, glad that such a friendly, inclusive conversation could take place in public in the state where I live. God-ness seemed to fill the entire bus and all the diverse people on it.

Such are the moments that pass quickly through our days, and we may miss them if we don’t pay full attention. It is easy to do—to tune out what seems like noise and shut down to the living spirit all around. I often did it when I commuted to work in Boston daily. Yet now, in recent years, as I grow older and I realize more fully the precious unrepeatability of each person and each moment, I find it easier to pause and remember.

Even if you don’t believe in what has been named “God” or “Spirit,” try opening your eyes and heart wider to the vast variety of the world around you—whatever you see from that space will fill your life with wonder and profound appreciation. The spirit of life is everywhere, even the city subway, and it’s all part of the greater oneness of the universe.

Empty Hands

I don’t use apps much or carry my cell phone everywhere I go. To me, they can be distracting, even burdensome. I want to move through my day-to-day life with my hands, heart, and mind open. For instance, when I go bird-watching, I bring my binoculars and anticipation. That’s it. While others around me are holding their phones up, using an app to identify a bird call, I am just listening—and looking. I don’t want a cell phone to come between me and my experience of the wonder of birds. I leave it at home. If I can’t always identify the bird I am seeing, that’s okay. The wonder is there.

Not everyone would agree with that. Apps can help birders identify what they see, just as books and CDs did when I first started birding years ago (and they are still useful). I understand. It’s exciting to be able to recognize and name a bird that appears before you. Yet, relying too much on human inventions to filter life’s experiences may create separation instead of connection. We lose the thrill of discovery, the immediacy and excitement of being fully present and alive. And of course, it’s not just about birds. It’s about everything. As I ride the bus or walk down the street, I see people looking at what is streaming on their cell phones rather than the reality streaming all around them.

When I was on a whale watch a few years ago, a humpback whale breached nearby, and everyone on the boat was holding their cell phones out in front of them, taking photos. They were viewing the miracle of this huge whale in such close proximity indirectly, through a human-made device. And this happens all the time. Taking photos of reality or watching a video instead of experiencing it directly. Granted, I like to take pictures too, but not all the time. I don’t want to completely replace direct perception with images and miss the real thing.

If I fill my consciousness with mental filters and my life with cell phones and digital cameras, I can get lost in the midst of them. The soul of who I am in this lifetime misses out. I didn’t come to this Earth for substitutes and simulations. I came here to be fully present in each moment, no preconceptions or imitation reality. An impossible task, you say? Perhaps. And yet I try to move in this direction every day, emptying out the unnecessary so I can fill myself with the experience of each moment, uncluttered and free.

There is pressure all around me (and you) to engage in virtual reality instead of the real thing. I have to consciously remind myself to “be here now” in every living second. I believe it is possible, not just for me but for all of us. Put down your cell phone, walk out the door, hands empty, and look around—real life is everywhere, just waiting for you.

Stillness and Spirit

Within stillness is Spirit: beingness without definition or form. Before it manifests into the world as we know it, the entire universe is pure silence, a formless Presence that shines with light. When we are born, we are that shining light, taking human form. It remains within us throughout our lives, but we forget that it lives there as the soul. If we embark on a spiritual quest later in life, we may become aware of that soul presence and know it as God/dess. This is the human journey.

Growing up as an only child in the Illinois countryside, I experienced silence as part of my daily life. I could often be found sitting in trees reading or playing quietly by a creek. The sounds of Nature surrounded me, but there was a deep stillness within them. As an adult, living in various cities, I sought that silence everywhere, beneath urban noise and busyness. I could always find it when I was alone, so I valued solitary time, particularly in Nature. My exploration of spirituality led me to recognize God in meditative moments of complete silence. External silence reflected inner stillness, and it was all soul awareness.

This awareness and silent connection to Spirit has become an essential part of my life. Each morning before dawn, I sit in silence and breathe it into my consciousness. With each breath during the day, I reawaken that awareness. This is my practice midst all the distractions of daily life. It holds me steady when so many parts of living on planet Earth now can throw me off balance. If I can find my way back to the inner stillness of my soul, I recenter.

After my journey through breast cancer two years ago, I began to become more aware of the cycles of form and formlessness arising within silence. The challenges of that time expanded and deepened my spiritual connection in ways I couldn’t have imagined beforehand. For example, a few months ago, as I looked out the window at the winter snow, I suddenly recognized the seasons as a reflection of life taking form within the cosmos, God becoming manifest.

Winter can be seen as formless beingness that holds all potential. Spring is the birth of life in the forms of Nature on Earth. Summer displays the full bloom of living expansiveness. Autumn colors show us the colorful light of life just before it releases itself into the formless slumber of winter once again. A wondrous cycle of living and dying and rebirth that repeats itself each year. Night and day, darkness and light, are other examples of form arising from the formless unmanifest realm of pure being every day. And sound too emerging from the silence as birdsong at dawn.

If you look around and quietly observe with your inner eyes, you can see these cycles of form and formlessness taking place everywhere. Slow down and breathe in the silence beneath everything, and you will be amazed at the miracles you experience. Spirit lives in stillness, which is the heart of who you/we are.