Tag: connection

Lost and Found

This morning I am looking out my window at green and gold woods, blue skies, and white clouds. Blue jays fly from oak tree to oak tree, gathering acorns for the winter; a red-tailed hawk circles overhead. The sound of crickets fills the air, day and night. I live now on the opposite side of Boston from where I lived two months ago. A move from northwest to southeast of the city, one we had pondered for a while, not sure exactly where but knowing it was time, because of rising rents.

So now the trees and sky I viewed in the summer are completely different, leaves changing color in the autumn, sun setting sooner. Our lives change in just these ways. One day we call one place home; the next it is a memory, and we live elsewhere. A memory, though, that tugs at my heart in this moment, separated from an area that was familiar for so many years (40+). Within that frame, I sometimes feel “lost.”

We don’t detach so easily from a place felt at our core as home. We carry the ache within us, even as we step decidedly on a new path. I greatly loved the town I lived in, my favorite “home” from all the years of living coast to coast in various cities and towns. I was one with Nature there in a way I hadn’t been since my childhood in the Illinois countryside. I gardened daily (hands in the earth, flowers all around) and walked in beautiful sanctuaries like Mt. Auburn Cemetery, where the seasons, animals, and birds dance through the year with a vividness and light beyond description.

So what do you do if you feel lost? Do you try to be found, or try to find—yourself? Words and language can sometimes trick us into believing there is something missing in our lives. Perhaps it’s not about losing and finding but just about being. Fully present, fully alive. If I think I am lost, I look for what is missing, when actually everything is always present all the time! Home is in my heart if I recognize it there.

So here I am, gazing out at a forested landscape. The sky and clouds are stunning. My heart may not feel completely one with what my eyes see—yet. It takes time to find and feel connection, with people and with places. So I wait patiently, with a mix of feelings, knowing that all it takes is a single moment of shining brilliance to fall in love with what you are seeing and experiencing.

These are the moments we live for. And they always come at the most unexpected times. You can’t orchestrate them or wish them into being. You can only repeatedly remind yourself to remain open and that no matter what you are doing or not doing, or where you are, your soul is at home and experiences the miracle of living spirit everywhere. Even now, the blue jays are calling, their silhouettes bright among the trees….

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.

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.

Miracle Earth

Stop for a minute and consider where you are. You, along with billions of other living beings, live on a planet that rotates around a giant ball of fire at exactly the distance that allows for life to occur on it. Other planets circling the same fiery ball are not positioned so that life as we know it can be sustained. On Earth, the greens of the land and the blues of the oceans arise from the perfect blending of temperature and light. The lengths of the days and nights and the seasonal changes unfold seamlessly. That in itself is a miracle. Each day we take morning, afternoon, and night for granted. We take the warmth of the sun for granted. We take the air that we breathe for granted. Yet all of it is miraculous.

And fragile. We are repeatedly counseled to care for this Earth with tenderness, as if she were our Mother. As she is. Without her (and Father Sun), we would not exist. This small blue and green marble in the midst of millions of galaxies and universes is unique. A tiny cell in the cosmos. An expression of universal consciousness, as are each of us who live here. Is this not a miracle to keep us in awe for the rest of our days here on Earth?

Sometimes I imagine myself floating among the stars, multiverses stretching in every direction beyond my ability to even fully conceive of them. I picture myself part of an infinite tapestry of light and beingness. Eternity unleashed. Such an imagined vision used to frighten me—and at times still does. Yet, more and more, I feel the miraculous beauty of it, and I am filled with peace. Peace beyond understanding or definition. I experienced such boundless peace in the recovery room after breast cancer surgery two years ago; I felt myself held by a Presence that both calmed and comforted me.  Ever since, it seems not that far away. If I allow that awareness to arise from soul memory, then everything shines with that grace, that divine peace, that miracle. There is nothing else.

If you open your heart wide enough (or it is cracked open by circumstance), you will be gifted with your own version of the miraculous, and it will never leave you. Each one of us on this planet is destined to receive this wonder: an entire universe present in every seemingly small detail of our expansive, infinitely unfolding lives.

And you don’t have to go through surgery to experience it! Take a walk through the spring woods, look up at the starry night sky, watch the brilliant colors of a sunset, or share a sacred moment of connection with a loved one. It’s all there, right before you. Spirit finds you at just the right moment in your life and opens the door wide. You were born on planet Earth to be part of the miracle.