Prayer Prompt

Prayer Prompt 31

God, I sing your praises loudly.
Help me sing as well
with clarity and confidence.

The gift is what I say means more than how it sounds. The beauty is I want to say and fear not being out of tune.


Love and blessings,

Prayer Prompt 26

Of all my discoveries about God's love and what it means to me, does for me, makes me feel, one stands supreme.

It removes fear. Or, more accurately, it fills the emptiness that is fear. And that means everything from mild uncertainty to complete dread.

God's love = the #1 stress reliever.

You encourage me, God.
Push me through fogs of doubt;
Lift me over hurdles of fear.

Love and blessings,

Prayer Prompt 23

I am pretty sure that God's purpose is Love. Not just that we love one another as we love God. Not just that we replace fear with love. Not just that we enjoy love as the first, last, and always energy we feel.

All those loves, yes. But also the love that is forgiveness. The love that I can forgive without naming a wrong, without experiencing an injury or an insult.

I can reverse forgive to give for. I can see God's purpose is that we give love for our perfect One-ness.

When I feel that soul-centered forgiveness, I feel God most clearly in me.

I reflect you, God.
No matter how great the contrast,
let me strive to fulfill your purpose.

Next time you look in the mirror, know you're reflecting God.

Love and blessings,

Prayer Prompt 22

Assurance and feeling safe are blessings. They let me put the day-to-day concerns of the world aside.

The greater fears and worries in the news become less important. They are not the substance of my life.

I enjoy ever-increasing certainty that God's power and presence are the substance of my life.

God, you assure me.
The safety you bring to my heart
calms me and compels me.

I can't say the assurance came quickly. I can say the more I pray, the more I know assurance.

Love and blessings,

Humor in truth...

I laughed aloud and long this morning when I read

Knowledge is always stable, and it is quite evident that you are not.

A Course in Miracles (3.v.3)

Out of context it's pretty funny. In and out of context, it's pretty true.

In context that statement, spoken by Jesus the Christ, complements this other one He made so beautifully:

The ego is a wrong-minded attempt to perceive yourself as you wish to be rather than as you are. Yet you can know yourself only as you are because that is all you can be sure of.
Everything else is open to question.

A Course in Miracles (3.iv.2)

Whatever the meaning and weight (or defense) given to "ego," I take beautiful comfort from that statment, "...you can know yourself only as you are because that is all you can be sure of."

Ahh.

Love and blessings,

Proof that Living Is a Work of Art

Wednesday, August 20
Tuesday of last week, I began a six session experience that continues to thrill me.

The Art of Living course offers the most effective integration of physical, mental, emotional and spiritual discoveries I've ever experienced. (And I've taken more than my share of such workshops).

Referring to the Art of Living course as a workshop is a mistake and a misnomer. It is an experience, and even someone as left-brained as I am realizes quickly that he'll do fine without manual, handout, notebook or pen. And remembering the wealth of discoveries is no problem at all. They fit perfectly into one's gray matter...and one's heart.

The concepts are basic and astounding at the same time. Put into everyday words they are nothing new. However, the blend of body, mind, and spirit in exploring these points makes them startling and refreshing and profound, all at once.

The six sessions--4 3-hour evenings,  5 hours Saturday and again Sunday--glide by. There is an almost magical amount of interaction and reflection, of listening and reviewing.

I know, I am offering precious few details. To do so would detract from the true value of The Art of Living, a 27 year old creation of Sri Sri Ravi Shankar. In 1981 he formed the Art of Living Foundation, an international nonprofit educational and humanitarian organization that works in consultative status with the Economic and Social Council of the United Nations.

The Art of Living course is one manifestation of the Foundation's efforts, working on a very individual basis. And that individual focus is all the more meaningful when you consider that some 30 million people in 152 countries have experienced it.

More than One Twofer

Warning: after ample self-criticism, I'm going to boast about my discovery.

I was in a hurry to get to the parking lot
so I could begin my afternoon run
so I could get my dog-walking done
so I could cool off in the pool
so I could take a shower
so I could make a big salad
so I could sit and watch the sunset.

But I was behind a Big-Wheeled Pickup Truck that was moseying only 18 mph in a 35 zone. From about two feet behind his tailgate, I could not see any reason the young man was driving so slow. He was young but not a new driver. He was not on his cell phone. He did not even seem to be talking to his passenger buddy. He was just creeping along a not-busy street.

As he approached his turn, he slowed down even more, almost to a standstill. I was almost to the parking lot. It was just the other side of his intended turn.

I gave in to my impatience. I hit my horn. No gentle beep, I gave him three strident honks. He looked in his rear view mirror and the cock of his head told me he was not happy at my honks.

He turned right. I pulled into the parking lot on the left. I checked my rear view mirror and saw his brake lights as he started his U turn. I stayed in my car. An exchange of words was in the making.

His big truck pulls up beside my car. We push-button our windows down.

He asked why I honked.
I told him.
He told me what I to do.
I told him I preferred to run right now, thank you.
He pulled away. He yelled over his shoulder, "Slow down, old bastard."

That was a twofer insult: old and bastard!

I got out of my car, stretched a bit, and began to run. I concentrated on relaxing. I tried to forgive him his temper, his words, his need to confront.

But my mind worked against forgiving. My thoughts stayed on his need to turn around, to insult me, to show he wasn't afraid of me. My feet struck the pavement harder than usual.

Over all that I heard my heart remind me of the dozen times I've read or been told or seen that forgiveness has to start with me. Before I can effectively forgive anyone else, I must first forgive myself. 

That shortened my stride and slowed my pace. I began to say aloud the prayer, "I forgive myself my past mistakes and present shortcomings..."

I quickly added, "And right now, God, I forgive myself my own impatience. I let go of my feeling superior and being sarcastic as I spoke to the other driver. I release these to You, God, with my thanks."

At once, it was easy to forgive that other driver. The simple acts I'd held against him were suddenly just that: simple. So simple I felt them drift away from me.

My second twofer: two forgivenesses that made the whole much stronger.

I noticed I was running smoothly again. My pace was faster, my stride was longer than it had been before.

Twofer number three!

Sanding My Ego

Years ago I visited San Diego for the first time. Loved it. Loved every part of it.

Flying home to New York, I noticed the sound-alike relationship between San Diego and sandy ego.

As I've been working (hard) for the past few years on taming my ego, the homophone took a slight shift to Sand the Ego.

Sand the ego to reduce its size, weight, importance, significance, problems caused, and all that (and more). Sanding my ego at least down to smaller size...cause I see getting it down to Absolute Zero as a life-long task that's maybe longer than this lifetime.

Anyway. I'm pleased by my efforts. Want to share a few with you so that you can offer me more ways to sand my ego. And, hey, I'm OK with any grade ego sandpaper you'll offer me: fine to coarse.

The Rock
I kicked the rock. The rock didn't move. I fell. I skinned my hand. (Want to know more?)

My hand has healed and I run past that rock a couple of times a week. First few passes, I gave the rock a gentle kick: gentle enough not to trip me, firm enough I felt in time the asphalt would let go of the rock.

I was grateful when I realized my ego's what wanted the rock moved. I could rationalize kicking the rock, but it was just my ego still doing battle with a small stone, still seeking revenge.

Maybe I'll never say "Hi!" to the rock, but neither will I kick it anymore.

Wee Me
The first Sunday I made the announcements in church, I really puffed up. Were I a peacock, my tail would have knocked people down. Navy blue suit. Favorite striped shirt. Smart executive tie. Gettin' to be on the platform! Yeah!

Then I walked to the podium. I smiled at the singers behind me. I turned and looked at the 200 people filling the sanctuary.

POP! I literally heard my ego burst. I heard the words, "They're just announcements. Not burning tablets!" I was doing a simple service for everyone there. But, was feeling proud of my realization a (f)act of ego?

Breathe Blessings
Walking Alex (dog). Watching clouds. Waiting to hear first bird of the morning.

Each of these I punctuate with conscious breaths. The stillness of the morning gives me time and space to attend my breathing: inhale...exhale...inhale...exhale.

And coupling what I do/see/hear with the grace-full-y simple act of breathing reminds me of all the blessings I (we) enjoy. Such gifts as those--and the infinitely more gifts we receive--put my egotivation to shame.

And make it a little easier for me to sand away some more of that ego.

Please share with me your sandpaper.

Trinity of Fear

I love when my early morning run produces insights.

I was just running along, neither fast nor slow. Sort of in a groove, giving thanks that I am able to run, that I am motivated to run, that I so enjoy every run. Listening to, focusing on my breath, and letting everything else just happen.

I did not see the fat, brown squirrel until I frightened it.

Squirrels almost always think the safest route out of harm's way is directly across the path of approaching harm. I thought I heard it squeal as it darted across the sidewalk, almost stepping on my Nike'd toes.

The squirrel, not too chicken to cross the road, startled the driver of the pale blue Cadillac. He braked. His tires squealed on the pavement.

My turn to jump, worried he might dodge the squirrel and swerve sidewalk-ward. I may have uttered a squeal.

The Cadillac stayed its course. The driver and I waved, smiling, to one another.

The squirrel raced to the far side of the road.

Several additions to my thanksgivings. All's well that ends.

Photo Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/19923675@N07/2005573451/

As the Worm Turns

Last week, running a long one, I saw a mockingbird pulling an earthworm from a freshly-watered lawn.

I could easily see the bird's effort; I could only imagine how hard the worm resisted.

Far enough away not to scare the mocker yet close enough to watch with elementary school fascination, I slowed to a stop. The bird didn't notice; I suspect the worm was thinking only of survival.

 Feet dug into the grass, neck stiff, back arched, the bird exerted energy extraordinary. The worm did, too, or the bird would not have been pulling so hard. Like a fisherman with a fish hooked, the bird relaxed and let the worm regain small space, then pulled him closer to captivity. The bird gained millimeters of worm-length, of worm-life.

Three such parries and the mocker pulled the earthworm's full 3-inch length from the ground. I almost heard the bird's sigh of success; I felt the worm's stoic, "I gave it my best!"


The mockingbird took flight, the worm in its beak. Then I saw the blue jay. It had been sitting on the nearby fencetop, watching and waiting for just this moment. With bigger frame and broader wings, the jay quickly overtook the mockingbird.


The mockingbird zigged and zagged, darted and dove above two lawns. The blue jay stayed tight behind. Then the jay attacked, zoomed straight at the mocker's back and let out a raucous caw. The mockingbird turned and screeched back in loud defense.

The worm fell free. For a moment.

Instantly, the blue jay swooped, snared the worm before it touched the ground. I sensed the mockingbird's anguish, as it dove behind the blue jay. Yet it seemed more show than sincerity. The mockingbird knew the jay had won. With an "all in a day's work" attitude, the mocker returned to the first yard, began pecking around the still-damp grass.

Photo Credits
Mockingbird -- http://www.flickr.com/photos/11039549@N06/1024489028/

Blue Jay -- http://www.flickr.com/photos/11750646@N02/1835927558/