Allow me to shed concern for the sake of communion—in the heartland of the soul’s silence. May this reverence slip seamlessly like pearls of dew onto the day.
With deepening devotion, missteps grow meaningless. The path overflows: a domed luminosity that contains and leads on.
Communion renders the blessing of hallowed silence. All is well and possible. God has never abandoned; only I have wandered away. Life is redolent of His grace and love.
Life contains scenes, real and imagined, but its tenor sprouts from deeper ground.
All happenings pass away, lost in the vibrancy of some new reality. The importance of today’s luster is ephemeral, a dying ember in the coming of dawn.
Our days are soon gone. Now is the time to cross the divide and explore new lands, bearing witness to experience. In the flowering of spirit, life springs forth—from the treasure trove of truth, the realm of the sacred.
When attachment gives way to following, intimacy with the moment ensues—a sacred place, where meaning and purpose come through faith.
Following sparks a wellspring in response to God’s calling: This is the unfolding to which I yield; tomorrow is unspoken for. And while the course includes infinite outer expressions, it is an inner, intuitive following, unattached and free-flowing, that is the revered treasure. We remain ever the servant, deeply listening, stepping towards the unknown.
Journeying in the glow of the moment’s abundance connects us to essence. In the spirit of following, we shed definition and become seekers of truth, laying the ground for eternal life.
Meaning and purpose find fulfillment in surrender to God’s Will. In releasing attachment, we open our hearts and redeem a crucial aspect of ourselves—an abiding presence lighting the footpath, infusing life with grace.
Jesus said, “Do not work for food that spoils but for food that endures to eternal life.” John 6-27. Life’s glory is not to be achieved but received through faith.
Presence of a Son, January 17
Today, my son, Chris, would have turned thirty-seven.
In the morning, I bought flowers and put them in a vase that Chris had given. Later, I stepped out for a walk, a glorious January day—windswept and brilliant.
On the walk I talked with Chris, feeling sublimely his presence. I told him that I was on the cusp of change, ready for a new life that would last until the end.
The breeze whispered, it’s time to let go of plans, ambition, and predictability to embrace life’s boundlessness. Time to step boldly into the unknown and be present for when guidance comes—to lay aside grievances and predilections, responding to what is given.
I thought about Chris in life: his courage, the gentleness and bigness of his love, the setting aside of “should” and shouldn’t” to pursue his dream.
I considered what I’ve always wanted. When may anticipation or expectation disappear, leaving behind life’s essence?
Surrounded by a January beauty I couldn’t contain, I heard: It’s yours for the taking, with only this moment as ground.
Happy birthday, Chris. Though you live beyond reach, your presence abounds.
Chris died in a rock climbing accident in Yosemite National Park in 2003. The following is an excerpt from my book, Freedom to Fall.
“I am going to live the free life,” Chris told friends on his last trip. He was an outdoorsman. He recognized his passion and pursued it. He knew he had what it takes. He lived simply, without fanfare. He revered nature. He was keenly observant.
Chris also meant that he was going to live life without a scheme. His life was going to be open-ended. He would go wherever life took him and partake fully in the offerings.
When Chris came to me on the second day after his death, he showed me that there are no divisions—not between life and death, being and doing, old and young. He showed me his truth. He showed me he was One.
I am going to live the free life. He meant he was going to live life without walls, in the fullness of light. He was at home in himself and at peace with the world.
Eleven years ago, my son, Chris, died on a mountainside, pursuing his passion. On this anniversary day, I reflect on the blessing of his presence—God’s precious miracle.
God may take a life but never the love, which is the gist of relationship. What brings joy in another is invisible, eternal.
The light of Chris has known my grief and helped me heal. To become whole again avows our bond, while granting God’s calling.
Chris encourages me to live in essence, staying true to my vision. His voice has the tenor of life; he is a child of my heart.
I feel Chris close on his day of rebirth—in an aura of sacredness, in a spirit of celebration.
Acceptance Brings Surrender
Upon awakening, in communion with God, I acknowledge that my trials are not yet over. Peace and equilibrium are not yet perfected in this earthly life.
The field of contending forces is life’s natural bent, as I reach for the other side. Do not be discouraged, I hear, for this is the way. Heaven on earth exists, patient for your surrender.
The predawn quiet taps the importance of being where I am, accepting my place in the scheme of things. Alas, the journey begins with acceptance.
There are moments when “what is,” is the simple truth in which I live. Life settles; all is as it should be. Divine moments of blessed peace! Moments when I move with life, cherishing the privilege.
Amid the salutations of first light, I pray: Dear God, help me to accept life as it comes. Help me to remain calm, steady, and balanced in the face of disturbance. In a time of trial, help me surrender to thy Will.
Acceptance does not mean giving up or giving in. When stirred by life’s commotion, I embrace myself as I find myself, while calling upon God’s help. Through ministering thus, I create an opening to receive God’s light.
Acceptance brings surrender. In acceptance, we remain true to ourselves, giving God entrance to light the way towards Heaven.
After my son died, I wrote a book, Freedom to Fall, recording my journey towards surrender and healing. To order a copy, click on the appropriate link above.
The Grace of Time
This is a rewrite of an earlier piece, more as a poem:
Moving with momentum through the still frames of circumstance, life acquires grace. Through time’s orchestration of ever-changing tones, I step to the threshold in a spirit of participation.
With God as Witness, I ask how best to serve: performing, listening, accepting, traversing, or simply giving love?
Life is magical when lived in stride—to feel God’s guidance, to live to see the light.
With time as teacher, I learn patience and surrender. Through time’s ever-presence, movement becomes seamless.
To move with time is to honor God’s gift. When circumstance prevails, there is a sense of something forgotten—until I remember: Keep the momentum. Go forward with grace.
Musings for a New Year
Upon picking up my pen in the New Year, the words that came were: first thoughts are best thoughts.
On the first day of the year, I recall the verse from John 8:12: When Jesus spoke again he said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”
These words are with me in the realization of what life really is. In beginning a New Year, there are resolutions and consideration for what I envision in a personal sense. But more importantly, I choose to follow a path of light. The true life is one in which God’s word shines through us—whatever the task, wherever we are.
The path of light is one of daily communion, an innermost place of giving and receiving. It is one of staying true to oneself, regardless of what goes on. It means “being in this world but not of this world.” It means time alone with God, though people and situations enrich us.
When we stand in light, following the way, we are guided each and every moment. Momentary existence may be for better or for worse, but there is a constancy that cannot be denied. When we find that inner vibrancy, there is joy.
The New Year means to me:
1. That I embrace the child within with love and devotion.
2. That I turn my life over to be used as only God can.
3. That life is not about searching but about following.
4. That the wish for myself extend to others: Goodwill and Peace, no matter the trials and tribulations.
The New Year brings hope and renewal. May a beacon of light guide your way.
This piece brings forth the memory of my teacher, Dawn, who taught me the gift of meditation. She once described meditation as “the space between thoughts.”
Each day at dawn and at dusk I settle into meditation, for the quieting of the mind, when concerns and details fade away, for rejuvenation and the gaining of perspective. It is a time of solitude, when I feel closest to God.
At dawn, God’s creative power finds expression in the awakening of life. In stillness, I receive that orchestra and the love behind it, awakening to the harmony at my center. At dusk, with the stirring of night critters, as birds sweep home, I slip again into that place of calm, beyond the world’s drama.
There is an inner place of balance that gives rise to our lives, where creativity is born. Without returning to that place often, we may lose ourselves to circumstance and forget who we are.
In creating balance, I abandon the affairs of the day to be with the eternal. Through the ritual of retreat, I begin to tread lightly, see the humor in irony, and to honor the human experience—a privilege, an opportunity, ultimately, a reclaiming of origins.
Through comingling with the sacred, I can allow the world to be. More attuned to wholeness, I release the impermanent, filling my cup with life’s blessing.
With meditation at dawn and dusk, all that has happened settles into dust—a time of remembering what is important and to give thanks.
Costa Rican Connection
In the winter of 2005, a friend was vacationing on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica. He implored me to come, saying that I would be enchanted.
It was a life-changing week. Under the sway of sea breeze and tropical light, deep feelings surfaced and a marvelous healing. My son had died less than two years before. I want to live here, I thought, and vowed to come back.
That spring I returned to look for land. Another friend suggested the Central Valley, where it is cooler, mountainous and lush. He knew of a cabdriver who would take me around.
Each morning Mamo, the cabdriver, picked me up and away we would go, driving the back roads of the Central Valley, looking for property, knocking on doors. I bought farmland in the agricultural belt above the sweet highland town of Atenas.
The soil, planted in peanuts, breathed a rich reddish hue and sloped gently down toward tree-dotted fields disappearing into velvety green mountains—wide open country. Standing on the land, my heart opened up. I returned that summer to begin building a house.
In those early years of loss, while the field was being cultivated into a garden, I could feel Chris’s presence in an almost tangible way, as if he had led me there. The heavenly light of the tropics and a profound sense of peace pervaded my home. I sought a local sculptor to carve an angel in Chris’s likeness.
Seven years have passed since first stepping foot on land that promised a home. Today I was feeling a little sad, seeing how the garden, though glorious, has grown up, the treetops partly concealing the mountain vista, the peanut plants long gone. And there is development—street lights along the rustic road…. I thought, How in the world can you complain? But I sensed there was something else going on, as in, All of life is in flux, constantly changing.
The early years of loss was a magnificent time, in a way. There were years in healing; there is no description for a mother’s broken heart. But so dear and precious, so divinely inspired, as if God was right there with me. In the depth of my grief, I found Costa Rica. And suddenly, looking around at the garden, I was faced with remembrance, realizing life had moved on. An era had ended, the new one not yet defined. The feeling of peace still pervades, yet something has changed. Was I grieving the loss of those magical, albeit painful years, when an invisible thread connected me to Heaven?
I wonder where the new life leads. I have a precious daughter, the light of my world. There are cherished friends. Beyond that, it seems more to do with a mystical path. I dream of a golden life for the golden years.
This morning, before the sun peaked above the mountains, in the cool, fragrant air, I was having an animated discussion with my gardener, when I began listening to the pure music of his voice and native tongue. For a moment, I stood, utterly spellbound. Therein lies the path, I thought later.
Often I hear my son speaking to me, in the way he spoke in life, simple observations accompanied by that little chuckle. Mom, it’s easier than you think. It’s just little things that make up a good life. You don’t have to figure things out or even have a plan. You just have to be present for the unfolding.
Freedom to Fall is a book about the life of my son as a rock climber intertwined with my life as a bereaved mom. To read more about it or to order a copy, click on the appropriate link above.
If I could be in Heaven, looking down, I would see more clearly the importance of making every effort—for the sake of Spirit. In giving expression to Spirit, life gains grace. In truth it is who we are, our very essence and soul!
There is no finer task than keeping Spirit alive in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. While nurturing forth Spirit while there’s still breath, I prepare for flight to Heaven. When I get there, I’ll smile deeply, seeing just how important that really was, for the newly burnished quality of my soul.
Spirit isn’t concerned with circumstance so much as wanting to participate, to come forward from underneath the rubble of distraction. It is often the something lacking, when we wonder what’s amiss. Its ethereal quality can make it easy to forget, yet there it is—that which finds the silver lining and humor in disaster, goes the extra yard—and sparks forgiveness.
Spirit is a loyal friend, no matter life’s conditions, content to ride the wave of experience. In awakening it from slumber, we enliven the will to live. In keeping front and center the only thing that matters, we transcend space and time.
Conditions may wash over me. After all, tidal waves are real! But I can accept life with grace, knowing this precious anima is always here to serve. Let me rise time and again, in the face of difficulty or hard times, with enthusiasm, encouragement and steadfastness—with joy and love.
When I’m in Heaven, looking down, I’ll smile deeply, knowing that I took God at his word when He gave me life.
Excerpt from Freedom To Fall
There is something beautiful asleep inside of me. I’m given a lifetime to wake it up. To awaken the kernel of beauty, I must free the reins of resistance and surrender to the Way of things—as each moment comes to light and passes on. Otherwise, I will never get over Chris dying. I will miss the joy of wonder, never know the dawn.
There is something here for all of us, something to overcome. Chris didn’t plan to die young, but he sensed he would. He would never see tigers in the wild. There were mountains he would never climb and races he would never win. He wouldn’t grow old with people he loved. He could have clung to sorrow. Instead he chose to live.
Tomorrow lightning may strike. It matters not that the tree lives a thousand years and the moth a single day. What matters is waking up.
To order a copy of Freedom to Fall, click on the appropriate link above.