Tag: peace

Perfect Imperfections

Photograph © 2014 Peggy Kornegger
Photograph © 2014 Peggy Kornegger

The idea of perfection is something we all carry around in our heads, applying it to ourselves, our loved ones, strangers, and to every experience in our day-to-day lives. We want to live up to a standard we have set for ourselves—or someone else has set for us. We want others to live up to that same standard, and even more important, we want life to live up to this standard as well. Whatever the standard of perfection is, it involves judgment—and almost inevitably failure, disappointment, frustration, anger. People or events let us down, we disappoint ourselves, and life becomes an experience of disillusionment rather than joy. We have not yet learned to embrace “what is” as the true perfection of life.

Every day in my backyard flower garden, I learn this lesson over and over again. Reluctantly, and sometimes with great frustration, I am forced to give up my mind’s idea of a perfect garden with every flower and leaf intact: no violet leaves ragged with rabbit bites, no hyacinths bitten off by woodchucks, no potted coleus uprooted by squirrels, no rose buds eaten by worms. Each morning is a practice in letting go into loving what is, in seeing the perfection in everything. I prune dead flowers and chewed leaves, remove worms and aphids, but I also stand back and gaze at the beauty of what continues to bloom and flourish. Nature includes all living things (yes, rabbits too), and my role as a gardener is to find a way to live in balance with that wholeness. The curves and jagged edges; the perfect symmetry of inclusiveness. And after an hour or two in the garden, I am always more at peace, more accepting of all of life because I am surrounded by such incredible beauty. Beauty that is constantly changing, just as life is. Nothing remains the same, and that is the miracle of being alive.

Photograph © 2012 Peggy Kornegger
Photograph © 2012 Peggy Kornegger

If God or Source energy is in all things and everything I see is shining with that inner divinity, then “what’s not to love?” as the saying goes. Same with animals, same with people. When I judge myself or others against some mental standard of what I think I or they should live up to, I am not appreciating the absolutely perfect creation that we each are. If I stand in judgment of people, life’s events, or my own “failure” to be as enlightened as I think I should be, then I am missing the miraculously orchestrated unfolding of all things in the universe. Nothing is out of place, and everything is evolving and expanding into more. Flowers, animals, insects, and human beings are all playing their parts. So this is a gentle reminder to celebrate all of life’s perfect imperfections as you go through your day—in the garden, in your home, and out in the world. Heaven is all around you, and everyone you meet is an earth angel—absolutely perfect.

Simply Being

Photograph © 2011 Peggy Kornegger
Photograph © 2011 Peggy Kornegger

As I meditate for longer and longer periods of time (1­–2 hours) at daybreak each morning, I am finding complexity and simplicity are merging into one flowing experience. Seems contradictory, I know, but only because of the constraints of language. Put another way, layer upon layer of awareness is opening up within me, yet all the layers are part of one whole, one seamless state of being. I’m discovering it is possible to feel inner peace at the same time that I’m feeling sadness or distraction. I am aware of silence at the heart of all sound, of light at the center of darkness. Beyond the illusion of separation, there is wholeness. Within complexity itself is infinite simplicity. Perhaps the best way to describe all of this is oneness, feeling one with everything, at times just resting without thought in simply being, in simply breathing.

Various spiritual traditions speak of such moments. The Sanskrit word samadhi refers to union or merging with God or the Divine, and the Hebrew word devekut describes intense melding or deep communion with God in prayer or meditation. Humans have tried with words to approximate an experience of Divine union or universal oneness that really defies description. Yet we try.

Because I am a writer, I have always felt a deep compelling urge to describe my own spiritual journeys. Yet, the deeper I dive, the harder it is to find the exact words to replicate what I am feeling. Indeed, during one of my deepest inner experiences of infinity (in a session with Panache Desai), I completely lost the desire to write or describe at all. For several hours, I remained in a state of infinite peace. My journal lay untouched nearby. Lately, as I spend longer periods of time in meditation, this same experience is recurring. Words are unnecessary within pure being, the soul silently witnessing. Language arises from thought, and when thoughts float by without attachment or disappear, there is no need to speak or write. Only, later, as I come to the surface from these depths, do I reach for my pen.

This is not to say that the goal of life is to give up speaking or writing. I guess that what I am getting at here is that the experience of peaceful oneness without words changes you. I perceive the world a little differently. The need for constant intervention and effort diminishes. Events seem to flow of their own accord without my monitoring them. There is a recognition of a higher intelligence at work, an intricate tapestry of which I am but one fiber. And my purpose, as that fiber, is to simply be myself, not orchestrate the entire universe. There is a humility in this, a letting go. It doesn’t mean lack of doing; it means doing that arises from being—a softer, less frenetic approach to life. When I write, the words flow from my soul more than my mind.

Am I in this space all the time? No, of course not. I am human. My mind gets busy, and I start to make lists, feel rushed, etc. But those experiences are becoming more transitory, less all-consuming. My soul self knows better, and that connection grows ever stronger. All of us have that connection, and we are gradually learning its importance. There truly is an inner core of peace. When we open to that peace, one breath at a time, it simplifies everything.

It’s All Just Divine!

© 2011 Anne S. Katzeff / Artist
© 2011 Anne S. Katzeff / Artist
Divine is an interesting word, with more than one meaning, depending on context. The adjective divine means godly, angelic, or heavenly, in the spiritual sense. Divinity, or the Divine, is another name for God in some traditions. Then, somehow, the “heavenly” reference came to also mean splendid or sensational, especially with regard to food. “This chocolate cake is divine!” There is even a kind of fudge called divinity. The experience of God and the experience of food can both be transcendent, as we all know!

In my spiritual exploration over the past 20 years, I have often used Divine as an alternate name for Spirit, Source, or God/dess. I like the word because it has a shining, translucent aspect to it, like something floating between this dimension and another. Which is, I suppose, what God is, really—a luminous, non-localized presence. Within my own meditation and yoga practice, I have experienced that Divine presence at different times as shivers all over my body, tears in my eyes, inner vibration, pulsing in my palms, or deep expansive peace. More and more, I know that I am not alone and heavenly guidance is available to me 24/7 if I just breathe deeply and tap into that space of inner peace. This connection is not always instantaneous (to say the least), but if I just remember that it’s there, then I am halfway home.

One morning recently, I found myself unable to quiet my busy mind and the endless stream of distracting thoughts that filled my consciousness. Self-judgment followed. Then, I heard again the inner guidance I had heard before when I was trying to understand why I suddenly felt so much sadness in the midst of feeling peaceful: “It’s all Divine.” Right. I forgot. That’s the wisdom that keeps gently tapping me on the shoulder and whispering in my ear. God is in the thoughts and in the space between the thoughts, in the emotions and in the peace. There is no place where God is not. When I let go of judging and embrace my active mind and my sadness, I am at peace. Peace is always present within the soul’s silent awareness. The soul is quietly observing the Divine (itself) having the experience of being human, and there is no separation anywhere from that vantage point. It’s all human and Divine.

Each time my mind won’t settle down or I’m distracted by neighborhood noise during meditation now, I am remembering more and more easily: My spinning thoughts, the roaring garbage truck, and the water drops sparkling on the tree branches in the morning sun are all part of the same oneness. As I take deep breath after deep breath, I slowly relax into the inner peace that is awareness without attachment or judgment: It’s all just Divine….

Dawn—The Sacred Hour

Photograph © 2002 Peggy Kornegger
Photograph © 2002 Peggy Kornegger
Since the beginning of December, I have been drawn to meditate in complete silence for a full hour as the sky is lightening just before dawn. I usually meditate in the early morning each day, but recently, the timing has become very precise. Some inner guidance awakens me while it’s still dark. Sleepily, I walk to the chilly living room and wrap myself in a blanket before sitting in my favorite chair to meditate. The guidance seems very clear that nothing less than an hour will do (sometimes more), and thus I am present for the complete experience of sunrise: darkness to first light to full radiant sun shining. It takes that amount of time for my physical body to settle into the depth of meditation required of me. This is not the one-breath-and-you’re-there process that sometimes is my experience. I am going much, much deeper now, and commitment and patience are necessary.

As I sit through the restlessness of my mind and body, I bring myself repeatedly back to the breath and gradually sink down into the inner stillness and peace of the soul, which always awaits me. It takes a full hour to get there, but “there” is deeper and more expansive than ever before. The breath, slow and steady, carries me to a place where infinite space without boundaries opens up all around me. In fact, there is no “me” really. Instead, there is consciousness, being without form, which has no beginning or end. Separation does not exist. I am aware of my physical body as a transitory container for that infinite beingness. The body is temporary, but consciousness is eternal. I experience this rather than think it.

I open my eyes at this point because I can feel the sun’s rays on my face. As the sun becomes fully visible over the tops of the trees, light fills the sky and illuminates everything. Each tree branch, each drop of water, sparkles and radiates light. Multiple suns are reflected in the window glass; dream-catchers and hanging crystals shimmer and dance. Ordinary objects are magically transformed in the light. I am transformed. Or perhaps the more accurate word is revealed. The soul of all things is revealed, and my eyes, filled with light, see the true nature of everything, which is radiant, sparkling divine light. I understand that we all are that. The details vary and morph into different forms, but our essence, the core essence of all things, is divine light.

As I continue to sit in the silence, an all-encompassing love fills my heart with gratitude and my eyes with tears. Dawn—the sacred hour when divinity and infinity reveal themselves as one in the light, and the soul silently witnesses it all. This is the amazing power and grace of the dawn hour, an unexpected gift of warmth, light, and renewal in the midst of this cold New England winter.

The Great Wide Open

Photograph © 1998 Peggy Kornegger
Photograph © 1998 Peggy Kornegger

When our dear cat Lily reached the end of her very long life (22 years), her health declined during the last few months. In consultation with animal communicator Teresa Wagner, and thus with Lily, my partner and I made the decision to ask compassionate local vet Dr. Jake to come to our home and help Lily make her transition in order to relieve her of any further suffering. He was to arrive around 5 p.m., so we spent the last day of Lily’s life sitting with her in presence, candles lit, soft music playing. The three of us formed a small circle, Lily in her fleece bed and we sitting in chairs beside her. She would reach her paw out to us periodically, and we would kneel and stroke her head, looking into her beautiful eyes and listening to her purr. At that point, Lily was pure soulful peace and love. Teresa herself had commented that she wished everyone in the world could know Lily and experience that extraordinary peace.

As we sat with her, that peace permeated our souls. There was really no spoken language to describe what we were feeling, except in the words of Mary Chapin Carpenter’s song about the “great wide open.” The veil between life and death had slipped aside, and Lily was indeed in that space. She gave us that final gift of resting in divine presence with her as part of the love the three of us had shared here on Earth. The sky faded toward dusk, and the quality of the light in the room became almost golden. With Dr. Jake’s assistance, Lily passed peacefully in our arms.

Now, four years later, I have come to understand the full power of what Lily shared with us then. A few weeks ago, as I sat in meditation with Panache Desai’s recording of “Being Peace,” suddenly I was once again immersed in that afternoon of peace with her within the Great Wide Open. As the tears streamed down my face, I realized that Lily had given me my first positive experience of infinity, two years before I met Panache. With his help, I have been facing a lifetime fear of infinity/eternity, and gradually, as I stop resisting it, the fear is loosening its grip, and I am able to experience something entirely different—the light and peaceful expansiveness that is the heart of infinity. Exactly what I had felt with Lily as she transitioned, radiating peace from her entire being.

The animal companions in our lives are often so much wiser than we are, if only we would open our awareness to their divine intelligence. In their quiet loving way, they teach us so much about what is really important in life: love, peace, harmony, heart connection, play. We laughingly referred to Lily as the “cat Dalai Lama” because she always absolutely insisted on a peaceful home atmosphere—no arguments, no friction or raised voices. It turns out we weren’t far from the truth. Lily truly was a small bodhisattva; she came into our lives (on Mother’s Day, no less) to share what she was at her very core—unconditional love and peace. And to show us that we too are that. Thank you, sweet Lily. We love you, always.

[Lily: March 14, 1988–January 7, 2010]