Where we begin to heal

“Oh the land of the cloudless day,” Willie sings. The music is cranked up, of course, to the level that makes your heart swell. And I smile big, thinking how I prefer my life and my stories that way; with cloudless endings. Maybe you can relate?
You know, stories with a beginning, a middle and an end tied up neatly with twine, and sealed with a kiss. The ones we tell with great satisfaction, lessons drawn out like fresh honey from the hive.
But the truth is that most stories are larger, and we are invited to make our homes right amid the mystery. And when things don’t fit, it can trigger exasperation (“I didn’t sign up for this”). A reminder of the precarious and fragile nature of life that is played out around us every day. With people we know. With people we dearly love. And sometimes it is played out in our own hearts. This week I was with someone, their life raw, wounded and anguished. And I didn’t have words.
And in our spirit, a blinking light, reminding us that our emotional fuel level is low.

On my walks on Vashon Island, I loved telling stories to the sheep. Some of the stories with no clear endings. And one time I asked them, “You guys have this thing—living the present—down, with no anxiety. What’s up with that?”
The answer came in their unruffled demeanor, “It helps to distinguish between big world and small world.”
This continues to do my heart good. Yes. Too often, with “big world” (especially looking for that cloudless day), the news feels unnerving, in your face and stoked with anger. No wonder we feel as if our control is demoted. No wonder we ask, how can I make a difference in this broken world, if the story is still befuddling and unfolding?
That’s just it; we make a difference in the “small world”.
The small world is the place where we stand. Today. Yes, with questions, inconvenience, pain, messy stories and all.
But the small world is where we care, where we give a damn. Where we hug (even virtually) and give and try and love and fall down and get up and repent and cry and embrace and challenge and reconcile and heal. And make sure we tell those not doing so good, “We’ve got you.”
In the small world we touch, and begin to heal.

Have you read Old Turtle and the Broken Truth, by Douglas Wood? The children’s book tells an imaginary story of how the world came to be so fragmented when it is meant to be whole, and how we might put it back together again.
In a far-away land that “is somehow not so far away,” one night a truth falls from the stars. And as it falls, it breaks into two pieces—one piece blazes off through the sky and the other falls straight to the ground.
One day a “truth” falls from the sky and breaks. One day a man stumbles upon the gravity-drawn truth, and finds carved on it the words, “You are loved.”
It makes him feel good, so he keeps it and shares it with the people in his tribe. The thing sparkles and makes the people who have it feel warm and happy. It becomes their most prized possession, and they call it “The Truth.” Those who have the truth grow afraid of those who don’t have it, who are different than they are. And those who don’t have it covet it. Soon people are fighting wars over the small truth, trying to capture it for themselves.
A little girl who is troubled by the growing violence, greed, and destruction in her once peaceful world goes on a journey—through the Mountains of Imagining, the River of Wondering Why, and the Forest of Finding Out—to speak with Old Turtle, the wise counselor. Old Turtle tells her that the Truth is broken and missing a piece, a piece that shot off in the night sky so long ago. Together they search for it, and when they find it the little girl puts the jagged piece in her pocket and returns to her people. She tries to explain, but no one will listen or understand. Finally, a raven flies the broken truth to the top of a tower where the other piece had been ensconced for safety, and the rejoined pieces shine their full message: “You are loved / and so are they.” And the people begin to comprehend. And the earth begins to heal.
However, the story doesn’t end here. There’s no neat bow. But there is an invitation to “find freedom, aliveness, and power,” in Eve Ensler’s words, “not from what contains, locates, or protects us, but from what dissolves, reveals, and expands us.”

Here’s the deal: Now, we can choose to live out the story—our story—with new self-compassionate eyes. Old Turtle offers a paradigm shift, to reclaim the self and hydrate our soul. Pull up a chair. Pour yourself a cup of coffee.
“There is a paradoxical urgency at this time in history to slowing down,” poet Kim Rosen writes, “focusing on what matters, looking into each other’s eyes and speaking the truth.”
So, this week, let us take with us these two affirmations.
One. We live grounded in sufficiency and grace.
Before we arrive or solve, we can simply be.  Instead of seeking to abruptly pass through a threshold, we can pause. And in so doing, we learn, and know what we now carry. John Philip Newell’s reminder, “Do we know that within each one of us is the unspeakably beautiful beat of the Sacred? Do we know that we can honor that Sacredness in one another and in everything that has being? And do we know that this combination—growing in awareness that we are bearers of Presence, along with a faithful commitment to honor that Presence in one another and in the earth—holds the key to transformation in our world?”

Two. We spill this light using “small world” skills. Small world, the world we touch. Skills like compassion, empathy and recognition of the other. The very skills that change lives, one heart and one mind at a time.
No one said it would be easy. Lord have mercy… Where’s the uncloudy day?
And yet, “Spirituality means waking up.” (Anthony de Mello reminded us.) Waking up is about bringing myself, this self, to this moment. It is about presence and awareness (mindfulness) even during uncertainty and impermanence.
Borrowing from Yogi Berra, “the future ain’t what is used to be.” And when we’re hardwired to arrive, it’s not easy to embrace the gift of enough, today. But the invitation is there, just the same.

I know I’m grateful for my garden. There’s no “arrival” here. It’s story wonderfully alive and unfolding. The invitation to notice colors, textures, the expansiveness of minutes, and the transient moods and thoughts that do my heart good.

Quote for your week…
The measure of a country’s greatness is its ability to retain compassion in a time of crisis. Thurgood Marshall  

BULLETIN BOARD

Today’s Photo Credit: “Hi Terry, sending you pictures from recent trip you can share. This one is Taughannock Falls in Trumansburg, NY (Finger Lakes Region),” Donna Watts… Thank you Donna… And thank you to all, I love your photos… please keep sending them… send to terryhershey.com 

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Letters that do my heart good…
–Terry. Just recently, I have been thanking God every day for giving me the right to live and enjoy my short time here on Earth, and thanking him for the things I see every morning, watching the sun come up, watching a flock of Geese fly over, watching the beautiful sunsets we have here in Roseville, Ca. and trying to look at the positives that are all around me, so thank you for all that you do for all that you see and make friends with. Dale
–Terry, your words to yourself today resonated loudly to me and I feel sure many of your readers. Life has so many pressures, many outside of us and many within, some we have worked on for years and those that we work on daily in our world as it is. We your readers and your audio listeners are “Walking you home” and realize the grace we receive in praying for one another and knowing you are taking each step with us. Believe in yourself, as we thank God for the gift of you are in our lives. Elaine
–Terry, I found myself saying yes, yes, yes as you described the Cedar Waxwings. They are a rare sight in central Ohio. If I’m lucky I’m at see one in the late spring eating the berries off our Service Berry Tree. The sight of them takes my breath away. Thanks for reminding me and for all that you do for your flock. My wife and I are in Sacramento CA to visit my daughter and her husband. Joe has stage 4 cancer and is in hospice and is only in his mid forties. Life can be so difficult and unfair at times. If you would I’d appreciate it if you would keep us all in your prayers. Keep on shining that light. God bless, Tom

POEMS AND PRAYERS

Dear God,
We pray for another way of being: another way of knowing.
Across the difficult terrain of our existence we have attempted to build
a highway and in so doing have lost our footpath.
God lead us to our footpath: lead us there where in simplicity we may move
at the speed of natural creatures and feel the earths’ love beneath our feet.
Lead us there where step-by-step we may feel the movement of creation in our hearts.
And lead us there where side-by-side we may feel the embrace of the common soul.
Nothing can be loved at speed.
God lead us to the slow path; to the joyous insights of the pilgrim;
another way of knowing: another way of being.  Amen.
Michael Leung

When the world feels hopeless and heartless,
take a moment to look around.
There are beautiful humans everywhere,
often hiding in plain sight in cabs,
on buses, in cafes, on trains, in libraries,
on park benches, in laundromats, on subways.
They may not be rich or well-educated.
They may be broken and hurting themselves.
They may not have much to offer
in terms of worldly goods.
But they are the comforters, encouragers, sharers,
teachers, servers, healers, mentors, connecters,
helpers, and counselors who keep
the random hurting humans,
the weary and the lost,
the invisible sufferers who walk among us every day,
going just long enough
to find their hope and strength again.
It doesn’t take a degree or wealth
or a grand gesture to make a
difference in this world.
It just takes a human who cares.
L.R. Knost