“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.”

—Albert Einstein (1879-1955)

satisfaction doesn't come from having more; it comes from needing less...
--diana christine

photography by permission
cindy lee jones

being an obligation

several days ago i wrote my post taxes april 2006, sharing what i considered to be one of this year's most meaningful experiences and richest lessons. however, in the writing of the post i began to discover a new message.

i wrote "it seems to me that paying for something is a gift...the requirement to pay for something is a gift to us," and after the writing, the words lingered with me, almost haunting me. the idea of an obligation to pay for a thing being a gift to me felt right, and my experiences with it felt true. our requirement to pay, our obligation, calls for our participation, and participation pulls us into an experience, giving us what we need.

obligation calls not only for our contribution, but for our responsibility, for our commitment. what a lovely thing it is for me to be a visitor to a garden and give my adoration or occasional gift but what greater loveliness for me to be the rain upon which the garden is depending.

i have had various relationships with obligation. i have had responsibility to children who depended on me, who could not survive without my constant care. i have had obligation to a partner who was unemployed and depended on my income for sustenance or who relied on me for courage and support. in those times i responded to obligation with ready acceptance, with open willingness, with loving trust. not only did i accept my obligations, but i did not consider them to be burdens.

however, as i wrote taxes april 2006 i suddenly saw that i have refused (which is to say i have resisted) the other side of obligation. i have pursued a life of being sure not to "be" an obligation. (really, though, one cannot refuse one side of something without also being resistant to its opposing side.)

in recent years i have pursued being independent, self supporting, not wanting ever to be an obligation to another. i have worked to ensure that anything done for me or given to me by another be for love and never from obligation. sometimes i have been willing to suffer loss rather than ask for help in my avoidance of ever being an obligation.

as i wrote my post, though, i suddenly saw (or rather...felt) another view of obligation, and that of its being a gift. if being obligated to a thing, being required to pay, is a gift, then my refusal to be an obligation is much the same as depriving another of a gift. it seems to me i must from time to time be humble enough to allow myself to be another's obligation, to be another's gift. i am called to explore the gift of interdependence.

and suddenly, the words "being an obligation" are no longer ugly to me but are beautiful and lovely. being an obligation is a deeply meaningful experience.

photo by permission

cindy lee jones

our
most
appropriate
response
to
anything
is
gratitude,
our
greatest
participation,
thankfulness

awakening

consciousness is not all or nothing.

we are not either fully conscious or not at all conscious.

if we were fully conscious, it seems to me we would not be here. this is our proving ground. this is where we work toward consciousness. and all of us are more, and less, conscious and unconscious. sometimes more, and then sometimes less. our work is in moving to more.

as much as we work toward consciousness, we are to honor our own unconsciousness and that of another, honor those places within us that need to be awakened and deepened.

may i ever be gentle with those places in you that struggle in shadows, love those parts of me that still seek light. and may i ever work toward consciousness.

photography by permission

graham jeffery

Christ Consciousness

i grew up in the church, a minister's daughter, and when i was a little girl, from time to time someone would come forth with a puzzle that held the picture of Christ, you know, one of those puzzles where i couldn't see his face until and unless i looked at it at just the right angle. sometimes it was His face and sometimes it was the word CHRIST held in the puzzle but i couldn't see the word until i looked at it just so. i would struggle and work to see what everyone else could see, and then once the image took shape, i could not not see his face. i would then wonder how could it have been that for so long i had been unable to see Him in the picture.

sometimes we struggle with a thing for quite some time and then understand it in a single moment.

earlier this year i was in conversation with a friend and in that conversation came to an understanding of the meaning of Christ.

Christ is the symbol of our Consciousness.

suddenly and in a moment the meaning of so many things in my life shifted into focus.

i consistently embrace the idea that if A equals B and B equals C, then A equals C. if this be true, and if Christ is the symbol of our Consciousness, then every reference to Christ is a reference to our Consciousness. during the next several days following my new understanding, i pondered the meaning of Consciousness in every context that came to me.

in the beginning was Consciousness, and Consciousness was with God, and Consciousness was God; the same was in the beginning with God.

Consciousness is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

being Conscious is my Salvation, my Redemption, my Strong Tower. Consciousness is our hope, our joy.

understanding of the scriptures poured upon me like refreshing rain that cleanses, that opens, that awakens.

sometimes my greater understanding comes to me through music. just after my deepened understanding of Consciousness, i purchased a celtic woman CD that included the song "deer's cry." lisa sings the song and as she moves into the refrain she begins to sing Christ with me…Christ before me…Christ behind me…Christ in me…Christ beneath me…Christ above me…Christ on my right…Christ on my left…Christ when I lie down…Christ when I sit down…Christ when I rise…Christ to shield me…Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me…Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me…

the words and the music wash over me and i feel surrounded by Consciousness, immersed in Consciousness, supported by Consciousness, loved by Consciousness, filled with Consciousness.

though i have listened to the music again and again, i continue to be touched and moved by it, broken open, and brought to tears. and in the crying i am cleansed…

on being a friend

my heart weeps for the family of james kim, who died in an oregon wilderness while seeking help for his family stranded in a snowstorm. i am sorry for the grief you now bear. my heart weeps for you.

i, too, lost a friend once who became stranded in a snowstorm.

i met cheryl in high school in our small town in southeastern ohio, cheryl being one year younger than i in a school that served an entire county. i was from a conservative minister’s family, and while i did not have the opportunity to participate in the school’s many extracurricular activities, i was an academic and a class officer and had many friends. cheryl, on the other hand, was from an extremely poor family, had few if any friends, and suffered sorrowfully at the hands of fellow students who tormented her. cheryl and her family were taunted for their scruffy dresses, their out-of-fashion shoes, their unkempt hair, the heavy scent of burnt wood and coal that clung to their clothing. for cheryl’s family, childhood was grievous.

i met cheryl in the library, where i spent considerable time during the final months of my senior year in school. she sought my assistance with her homework, which i was glad to give, and we became acquainted. i easily could have been too busy for cheryl, for i had a demanding academic schedule and a full life, but cheryl needed someone to talk to, so i listened. she became my friend. we talked about history and geometry, about hairdos and boys and music, and about dreams for the rest of our lives. we shared the library for quite several months but finally the end of school arrived—i gave cheryl one of my senior class photographs and a hug, i graduated and married, and i left the country. i never saw cheryl again.

during the winter following my graduation and departure from our town, cheryl was driving through the heart of a forest in the middle of a blizzard when her car skidded in the ice and snow and slid into a ditch. she found herself stranded in a seemingly endless snowstorm, and in her efforts to keep warm, she kept the car’s engine running. as snow piled upon and around the car, the exhaust pipe became obstructed and cheryl became overcome by exhaust fumes. it was a couple of weeks before cheryl’s family found her car and her lifeless body.

i was living in germany during this time and was unaware of cheryl’s untimely death. however, in the preparations for her funeral, her family remembered the friend she had so often spoken of, the scholar she so admired, and the person she felt was the only one who had ever shown her kindness. cheryl’s mother slipped my photograph into her hands, and cheryl was buried with my picture in her casket.

many years have passed since then but every time i hear of someone’s struggle with being stranded in a blizzard, i remember cheryl and what she taught me of the importance of kindness, of tenderness, of friendship.

sometimes i look at my life and bewail what feels like too little accomplishment and even far too little growing and deepening. but on a day like today when i remember cheryl , i realize whatever promises my life may give birth to, nothing i do will ever be greater than this, that i was someone’s friend.

and i am grateful to cheryl for teaching me my most precious gift.

photography by permission

marc goldring

taxes april 2006

early in the year i had a new gym membership, and each day as i attended my workout, i parked my car in a nearby garage, a garage that charged a fee for parking between the hours of 7 a.m. and 6:00 p.m.

as it happened to be, i would arrive at the garage at 5:35 (coming directly from the office), and i would be charged 50 cents for my parking because of this 25-minute overlap. each day as i parked my car and paid my toll, i grumbled under my breath for the necessity of paying 50 cents every time i worked out. i was so close to parking-fee closing time and i was, after all, already paying a gym membership, and 50 cents per day equals an additional $15 per month (though i was not working out every single day).

no one heard my grumbling, as it was under my breath, so it seemed to me to be innocuous enough. however, one day as i paid my fee and felt my own lamenting sigh deep within me, it occured to me i was involved in a practice of resistance. i suddenly realized resistance is not only about expressions of anger but is also about refusal to accept what something is and how it is, no matter how quiet our opposition. and i was practicing resistance.

i set about to make a correction. each day as i paid my two quarters, i thought to myself (just as quietly as i had grumbled) how much i appreciate having the ability to pay 50 cents. many of my brothers and sisters in the world are unable to pay this half dollar and in fact, it was not so long ago that my own income could not have supported an ability to render 50 cents. each day as i paid my parking fee, i gave thanks for the gifts in my own hand, gave thanks for my ability to pay for the convenience of a comfortable garage, gave thanks for my luxury in a gym membership. giving thanks became my practice every time i paid any fees, tolls, or bills.

january and february turned into march and then april, and it was time once again for me to account to the IRS for my income and my taxes. in the previous year i had been unable to pay all of my taxes by april 15 so i had negotiated a monthly payment plan for my unpaid portion. another april had arrived and i anticipated the need for a similar arrangement for another year, expecting the many thousands of dollars already paid to the IRS would not cover the full amount needed to cover the tax year.

just before the april deadline arrived, however, i was invited to make a presentation to an audience in the northeast for a couple of days, an engagement that would pay me a couple thousand dollars. just enough, of course, to pay the remainder due on a certain tax bill. as i completed my tax forms and wrote my check, i was delighted to be able to pay my bill without incurring IRS debt. i was so pleased to make my payment in full that it never occurred to me to complain or grumble about the cost of my tax bill; i simply gave thanks. reflecting upon it later, i realized that practicing gratitude in paying something as small as 50 cents for parking had resulted in natural gratitude in paying a couple thousand dollars. how lovely my new practice.

it seems to me that paying for something is a gift. the requirement to pay for something is a gift to us. our requirement to pay is a call for our participation. our paying for what we have and what we do becomes our interaction. i am being asked to participate, and participation in life and participation in the earth is such a beautiful thing.

my story doesn't end here, though.

several weeks after paying my taxes, i received an envelope from the IRS, an envelope that contained a correction to my tax calculations and a notice that i would soon receive a check from the IRS. several days later i received their check, a check for nearly exactly the amount i thought i had owed them and had paid them in april. once again, i found myself in a position of gratitude.

and i can only sit and wonder.

returning

i have missed being here.

my life has continued to unfold, and beautifully so, but as weeks turned into months i began to wonder how to return. my life is full and rich, and how does one step back into a moving stream?

it seems to me the best way to return is right where i am, with my stepping into what in my life is already in progress. however, i seek your permission to recapture a couple of messages from this year, messages that have been numinous in my awakening.

thank you for your presence in my writing and my life, for your faithfulness, for your friendship.

diana christine

words

words
written
spoken
or even only whispered in the wind
live forever
becoming one with our mountains
our rocks
our paths

once formed
words can never be destroyed

this be the cause
for our greatest care
in their creation....