The Outward Flow

Palm FrondOutward from the loving heart the smooth rhythm flows, in waves whose gentleness masks their power.  Outward they flow, through every cell, soothing them, enlivening them, restoring in them their essential gladness.

Outward they flow, soaring beyond surfaces, reverberating through space, their song penetrating everything it touches, bidding all to dance to its harmonies.  This one feels its compassion; this one is stirred with appreciation for its joy.  And all are calmed, lifted, opened, refreshed.

Such is love’s dynamism, such is its healing, such is its power.   Bathe in its beauty, sing to its song, connect to its rhythm and dance.   Let it fill you to overflowing, and then pass it on, pass it on.

Paddling Down the Dream Stream

Rowboat Interior with PaddlesThe sky and waters and all that lie above and below them leave their marks, etch their colors on your mind.   Everything you perceive is but an interpretation of the dance; the reality is too large for seeing.

It’s the paddling itself that enriches and grows you, the experience of moving through the dream, the way your interpretation shapes its flow.  It becomes whatever you name it.

Call it rough and the waters of the dream will roil and churn; call it calm and it will be so.  That’s its magic.  It reflects you to yourself and shows you the consequences of your naming it.

It paints your mind in layers, comprehending your meaning.  It knows whether you are intending adventure or fear when you order rough waters.  It knows whether the calm will evoke boredom from you or peace.

Paddle on; the journey is for your bliss and understanding.

A Passion for Excellence: A Happiness Tale

Scarlet Daylily

You could tell within days that this lily was possessed with a passion.  It shot through the soil boldly and grew stronger and taller with every passing day, its leaves unfolding, its stalk stretching higher.  This one was focused on excellence.

“That’s the way you get results,” its instructors told it back at the Interdimensional Flower Academy.  “You give your attention completely to the work that is before you, and strive to do it with all your love and all your might.  Make your goal excellence.”

And that was exactly what the lily was determined to do.  It discovered that when it gave itself wholly to the work it hand, it  was engaging and absorbing.  And it made up its mind it would let no distraction lure it from the satisfying feeling that the work produced.

The work was so fascinating, watching the life force flow into every cell the lily created, that before long the lily sensed the harmony of working in tandem with it.  It sensed that it was a vehicle for the expression of the beauty the Great Yes sent forth on the force.  “What an honor!” it whispered to itself; “What an exquisite joy!”

One day, in late June, its blossoms finally opened to the sun, thick and firm and radiant with color.  The humans who came to see it marveled at it and sang its praise.  It gladdened their hearts and raised their spirits.  And the lily, seeing that it had fulfilled its purpose, rejoiced.

Flights of Fancy

Chickens and Hens

Hooda had just finished gathering a boxful of broken and unusable items to put in the trash and was heading out to the curb with them for the weekly pick-up.   “You’re next,” she said to the corner garden as she set the box down beside it.

It was a beautiful late spring Saturday and she was tackling the last of her tasks in preparation for next week’s yard sale.

She loved the little rock garden in the street side corner of her yard.  But it was getting overgrown and needed a good thinning.

After she weeded it, she dug out a dozen of the chickens and hens, cute succulent creepers that looked to her like green lotus blossoms painted with a broad, thick brush.  They were such hardy plants.  They would grow almost anywhere and they spread like weeds.

She brought out a large pot to put them in, but when it was filled she still had one good sized “hen” and a few little “chickens” left over.

Just as she was wondering what she should do with them, Jim’s ripped boot caught her eye from atop the pile of junk at the curb.  Instantly, an image popped into her mind, and soon she had created an unlikely home for the last few plants.

She was setting the boot on a bench in the side yard where she would hold her sale when Ruth, her neighbor appeared.  Looking at the new creation, Ruth laughed.  “Hooda Thunkit!” she said, “You sure do live up to your name!”

The following week, Hooda stuck $5.00 in her pocket as she handed the plant to its delighted new owner.  And everyone lived happily ever after.

Grace in the Rocky Places

Rocks with Fern and Ivy

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Few places are totally barren or wholly devoid of hope.  Life pushes itself through the smallest cracks, takes root in the most unlikely places.

Eventually, the longest winter gives way to spring.  The darkness gives way to light.

Be at peace.

You, who are not made of rock, are filled with more possibilities than you know and have eternity in which to fulfill them.

Keep faith alive in your heart; hold fast to your aspirations.  Regardless of appearances or circumstances, life will make a way.

Love pushes itself through the narrowest openings.  In the rockiest places, it spreads its boundless grace.

Light Flows Endlessly

From the heart of the Great Yes, filled with its unspeakable love, light flows endlessly.  It forms the worlds and all things in them.

The atoms dance in its waves.  The cosmos sails on its splendor.

Invisible, it shows itself through all that it illumines: A summer flower, a smile, eyes that brim with its compassion and joy.  Their radiance is its signature and fulfillment.

And all that is true, and good, and beautiful reflect its perfection and grace.

Summer’s Snowballs

Wild Florabunda RosesMassive vines of wild white roses cascade through the deep green woods that line the roadsides and fields.  I imagine they’re snowballs that slid through the dimensions from some wintry world to cool us on these sultry June days.

My old neighbor, Bob, hates them.  Well, not the flowers.  It’s their big, sharp thorns that get him.

This year he’s been too busy to take up his war with them.  But normally he drives along the edge of his field on his big old Case tractor spraying every one he can spot with poison.

He tells a story about a World War II pilot who had to abandon his plane when it was shot down.  The pilot, he says, landed in a huge hedge covered with them.  When the enemy found him there, tangled, torn and bleeding, they let him go, figuring he’d earned his freedom.

I suppose I’ll think about Bob and about that pilot whenever I see them.  It’s funny how things get linked together like that in your mind.

But I got even with him.  Every time he tells me his story, I tell him mine: They’re snowballs that fall from heaven, I say, when the cherubs have a snowball fight.

I caught him walking past a clump of them the other day, snorting and mumbling, “Humph. Snowballs,” under his breath.  It made me smile.

The Hummingbird’s Daydream: A Happiness Tale

Sunrise BlossomThe morning’s flowers were delicious, of course.   They were tiny and intense and the colors of jewels.  The hummingbird flitted among them, tasting their deep blues.  They were probably highly nutritious, he thought.  But he wanted something more.

He was far too courteous to complain, and he certainly didn’t mean to be ungrateful.  But privately he had to admit that he had a hankering for something more, for something that tasted like sunrise.

The more he tried to define it for himself, the more his craving grew.  It would be light, he thought, letting his imagination play.  And sweet pastel hues would radiate up from its rose and gold center.  It would be broad and deep, simple and smooth, and the morning’s rain would cling to its petals.  And its pollen would be so plentiful and rich that he could linger in the blossom’s center until he had taken his fill.

He laughed at himself when he realized he had been so enraptured by his daydream that he hadn’t tasted a thing for the last ten or so minutes.  He gave thanks for the delightful dream and turned his attention back to the present, glad for all that was there.

Then, just as he was about to leave for the meadow a few acres to the east, he spotted it: the flower of his dreams, exactly as he had imagined her, only even more beautiful somehow.

It was true, he thought.  What they told him about imagining the object of your desire with fervor and clarity was true.

He darted over to the pastel blossom, fairly quivering with anticipation as he flew.  Even from a few feet away, he could detect her sweet, fresh fragrance.  It was light and pure and he almost felt intoxicated breathing it in.

At last he reached her center.  It was a golden and glowing as the sun.  And when he took in her nectar, it tasted exactly like sunrise.

White Dreams: A Happiness Tale

white flower petalsIn the highest space, the white petals open.  Seemingly, thousands of them unfold.  You are lost in the beauty of their infinity, drunk on their sweet perfume.  “This?  This is mine?” you ask, not even knowing to whom you am directing the words.

The petals flutter at your question, a gentle undulation.  They pull you in, surrounding you with their smooth.  “Yes, my child,” they whisper; “Yes, if you so choose.” Their words echo through the layers, reverberating against the tall, cool walls.

Gently, the understanding unfolds for you.  This is the Labyrinth of All Possibilities, a cosmic candy store of experiences one can choose, and your pockets are lined with magical wishes made of inexhaustible gold.

So you choose.  And when you wake, the first of your dreams begins to unfold.  And your delight goes on forever.

The Creek Sings In Summer: A Happiness Tale

Singing CreekEmerald and sapphire sang in the summer to the merry tune of waters tumbling over stones, to the rustle of leaves in the trees, to the leaping of tadpoles and fishes, and the orange flicker of oriel wings overhead.  Nothing could contain their joy.

“Oh, summer,” they sang, “we proclaim you the victor.

“Though hard and unyielding, the ice and snow could not stand against you.  Oh, summer, you melt the coldest hearts and return to us the splendor of your colors.

“Your grasses buzz with insects and welcome the round feet of children.  Your breezes caress their bare arms.  You bid them play and spread your light long across the hours.  You nurture the young of all the species and call them to grow.”

And so the creek’s litany went on, singing the summer’s starry heavens and whipped cream clouds, its misty mornings and sultry nights, and all the joys and passions it evoked in the creatures of the earth in all their forms, and all the rest and leisure it provided them.

And summer laughed and poured out her love unstintingly.