Our Enchanted April...

The sun is shining brightly today! Rise and shine and sing out with joy! "Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh,what a wonderful feeling!" It was the perfect day to go to market. I rode the whistle-stop, focused on my shopping list. But, I couldn't help but admire the bright blue of the sky. Even the trees were smiling. Love was definitely in the air. I greeted every man and woman and child I met at the market. "You deserve a compliment today!" I said to the woman in front of me in the cheese aisle. She turned around and said,"I do?" "Yes, you deserve a compliment today because you are a beautiful person," I said. "And so are you. And the circle of love goes round. The world may be full of chaos, but this is how we can make the world a better place by celebrating and supporting one another," she said.

I thought about her words. She was spiritually correct, I decided. So, I greeted the next stranger I met, and the next, and the next. To my delight, each person responded with a smile, and humor, and wonderment. It was a tub of love in our very own Enchanted April.

As I shopped for brown bread, I thought of the Farmers' Market, scheduled to open in the summer. There is a man who the community refers to as world's best grand pa. He sits in his chair and the people come to him. They bring him slabs of chocolate cake, and cool soft drinks. Yes, they buy his trees, fruits and flowers. But, mostly they come to sit by him, and to listen to his stories. They too confide in him, sharing tears, and laughter. I often watch these tender scenes between grand pa and his adopted adult children, and am inspired by his example.

When we plant seeds of love, we never know exactly when or where the seeds will take root. But, eventually, they grow and blossom in the most amazing and awe-inspiring ways.

I want to plant seeds of love. Just as, I am sure, you do too, dear reader.

I finished buying beans, and fruit and decided to wait for my ride outside in the sun. The whistle-stop was running slightly behind schedule. And, this too was a blessing. How often during our busy day, do we have the opportunity for conscious waiting, calisthenics of our patience-muscle? I sat on a curb and meditated by a sapling. I admired this young tree's strength and courage. Imagine having the audacity to grow! The world is full of chaos. Bad things do happen, and are happening all around us. But, there can also be love. We can be change agents, by simply daring to dip our little toes into that refreshing tub of love.

Wonder-Land...

Rain! And the weather changes yet again. From hot to very cold. But, I love this weather, after all, it was the rain that first brought me to the foothills. Before my arrival here, I wandered through desert lands, praying all the while for rain. My time in the desert taught me that water is life. So, when I arrived here ten years ago, it was as if I had stepped into a Tolkien sanctuary. My body drank in the rain. I felt cleansed.

Today, as I walked in from the market, cold and wet, one of my adopted grandmothers opened the door of her home and called out to me. "Come here! I have something to tell you." From the sense of urgency in Mareda's voice, I knew that she had something important to share. I walked into the satin covered living room. Amidst the potted plants, and framed photographs of childhood scenes from Burma, Mareda spoke of her dream from last night. "I woke up at three a.m. and drew this picture." Mareda held out the drawing in her hand. It was detailed, and beautifully illustrated. She told me God had spoken to her in the dream, and had instructed her to draw the image. Mareda explained the meaning behind the symbols she had drawn. Lily, Cross, shepherd's staff, ferns, and grapes on the vine flowed from one to the other on the paper I held before me.

I looked at my little adopted neighbor. Is it so hard to imagine, as people grow older, they grow closer to God and the Light? This wizened grandmother that sat next to me had been deeply affected by her dream vision. I listened attentively, respectfully.

The wind and the water beat fiercely against my window, as I write this letter. Dear reader, you who are so full of love, would you not have listened too had you been called to witness the words of the Old? Knowing the love that flows so freely from your heart, could my heart love any less? Beloved reader, I followed your example as one lost would follow floating diamonds in the night.

We witness one another, and we celebrate this vast wonder land.

Sunday...

And the weather changes. From cool to hot. The four seasons allow those in the foothills to have a sense of Time passing. There is a stillness in the pre-summer, still springtime heat, and a quiet calm. Times passes, sometimes moving forward, sometimes lapsing back to the past. A day becomes a yesteryear, a moment becomes a lifetime. Sepia-toned memories become etched in air. Walking becomes an exercise in mindful prayer. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Across the road lie the remains of the original hospital, built in the 1950's. Now, the long rectangular footprint is overgrown in oleander and holly, and an occasional bouquet of jasmine. The oleander and holly grow wild, of course. But, I often wonder about the jasmine. "How did it come to get here? Who planted it?" But the ruins enjoy their secrets. Their silence only inspiring more questions. "How many lives were saved in that forgotten hospital, before it closed? How many died? Are their souls at peace?" I wonder as I wander, up the curved road.

The quiet is such a joy. I savor it. The Quiet is my friend. It comforts me. It heals me. In its loving embrace, I feel safe. The quiet led me slowly to the mercantile downtown. I purchased paper, with which to write, and lemon-lavender tea-light candles. The merchants greeted me with warm, heartfelt embraces. "Follow your Art!" They cried out as I walked back into the Sepia-Gold. "Follow your Art", echoing through all our souls. Can you hear their voices calling out after us, dear reader?

One of the drivers for the Whistle-stop helped a passenger with parcels. Neighbors leaned against posts in fellowship with one another. They smiled and laughed. I imagined them exchanging recipes. Dogs led their owners. Cats played on lawns, amongst the daisies. I looked for cows jumping over rainbows and a Cheshire-moon.

Now, I sit in the parlor, enveloped by the scent of lemon-lavender candles flickering in the late afternoon shade. And I write this Sunday epistle, dedicated to you, with love.

Each Step, A Prayer...

Recently, I had discovered a new hiking trail. Last Friday, I had planned to explore it. But, I didn't follow through. I felt so disappointed with myself, as if I had lost out on a present. But, today, I was determined to explore that hiking trail because I felt there was something in the trail that I was meant to discover. A hidden Truth meant for me.

I rode the Whistle-Stop Express for the one hour bus ride to the library. I crossed the old highway to get to the entrance of the trail. It was a perfectly beautiful day to begin my walk. It is early enough in the spring that a cool breeze was blowing just enough to refresh but not hinder. The winding path led me through an open forest of over-grown trees, lichen and moss, fields of orange poppies, deep ravines, brooks and ponds. Bird-song was in the air, along with the occasional crows of a rooster, and the gobble-gobble of wild turkey. Deer stared at me as I walked past, as if to say, "Have you come through the looking-glass if only for a visit? Have you fallen down the rabbit-hole just to say hello?" I smiled at the deer. They looked at me with knowing glances. I walked for two hours. I turned my brain off. Each step was a prayer. "God please help the earthquake victims in China. Please help those struggling to rebuild homes in Haiti. Please help all travelers stranded across Europe due to volcano ash. Please help all those in need, all who suffer, all who yearn to heal." These were the only thoughts I allowed myself, as I stepped deeper and deeper into the thick pine scent. Oh dear reader! How I thought of you walking with me in spirit, if not in body.

I rested by abandoned railroad tracks. I sat down and drank water. Have you ever gone on a journey that only just begins at the very moment you thought it had come to an end? Maybe, that's the lesson for today? Maybe, that was my hidden Truth? The journey doesn't end. We continue. We go on. We evolve, and are transformed.

A curious squirrel approached the bench I was sitting on. Obviously, it was his bench, not mine. As I had no food to share with him. I thanked him for the use of the bench, and continued on. Amen.

The Evening Post...

"Let's call him Burrito?" I had written to Christine, my faraway friend regarding her new baby donkey. Today was a day for writing heartfelt letters to friends near, and not so near (but just as loved). I read Christine's note which she sent in reply. "Burrito would be a perfectly lovely name," she answered. Her letter made me feel so connected to a sense of loving family, the human family. We're all part of an ever-expanding circle of Light.

My friend's letter, though brief, was powerful. It was filled with images of farms, gardens of pumpkins and sunflowers, and big red barns. She wrote of her Amish neighbors and the country-side. Her note was a warm embrace. It made me feel less alone. But, of course, no one is ever less alone than one who is alone with God. Perhaps, when we get a bit too lonely, God sends us just the right hug. And then, we feel euphoric. It seems, it takes so little on the part of God to inspire in us such a depth of emotion.

Filled with the love from my friend's note, I rushed outside to post my letters before our mail-carrier came to pick up the last of the day's out-going mail. I greeted the few neighbors that I saw. "Hello!" I exclaimed, smiling as I waved. They smiled politely. Mareda, one of the prayerful elder women, stopped to make conversation. "Have you been on vacation?" She asked. "No, not at all." I responded. "I haven't seen you. It's been almost a week!" She said.

Rachel, another of my prayerful elder women neighbors also met me on the road by the mail box. "I have a gift for you." She said. "A gift for me?" I asked. Rachel is a person who lives on meager means, yet she is one of the richest people I know. She gives so generously of herself. "Do you like Edgar Allen Poe?" She asked. "I love Edgar Allen Poe!" I answered. Rachel handed me a palm-sized hardcover book with gilded edges. "You're giving this to me?!" I asked, looking at the treasure in my hand. "Yes." She answered simply, softly, affectionately. I am a self-confessed biblio-maniac, and I only just adore small-sized books! So much so, in fact, I have a special shelf in my bookcase dedicated to old small books.

Who am I that I should be so loved by God that He would send me these hugs, on the days when I need them most? But, maybe that is the Glory of God, that each of us is so loved, in such a deeply personal and intimate way?

I waved to the mail-carrier as he drove to the next hill. I am looking forward to tomorrow's post. What will it bring!

April Showers...

It has been raining for three days. There was a note in this morning's post from Nancy, one of the Wise Women who owns the used bookstore. Two books that I had ordered arrived, and were waiting for me. It was just as well, as I felt the need to walk. Cloaked in rain-gear, I stepped out into the wooded green.

Raindrops soon turned into hail. I stretched out my arms and felt the ice. Have you ever listened to the hail storming around you? It's so prayerful and calming. The hail forces you to breathe, and surrender. I thought about the two books I had ordered. One book is an English translation of Wagner's Ring Cycle. The second book is a diary of a young Israeli man who gave his life defending his country. Two heroes---one, mythic, the other, flesh and blood. What does it take to be a hero? In the times of testing, that all of us face in our human lives, would we have the courage to do right in the face of an injustice? Could I be brave like that?

Long, long ago, when I was just a young boy, there was a moment when I was not brave. I was in a summer camp. Uri, was a counselor on an exchange program from Israel. He was kind, soft-spoken, quirky. He and I were alike. I thought of him as my friend. The older boys at the camp were cruel and calculating. Dee, the ring leader, decided he and the other guys in his gang would corner Uri and assault him. I knew of their sadistic plan. I could have warned Uri. But, I was afraid. "If I warn Uri, the guys will beat me up." I justified my cowardice to myself. True to their word, they cornered Uri, and jumped on his back. They took turns punching and kicking him. I watched in horror. But, I did nothing! I allowed this evil to occur. I did nothing. Minutes passed that felt like hours. An alarm was raised. Guards were called. The savages were pulled of Uri. He was bruised, and bloodied. But, he stood tall, as all of us were marched out of the room. I felt so ashamed. I was guilty because I had remained silent just to protect myself. I was no better than that mob of bullies. As I walked past Uri, the Spirit moved me to kiss him on his freckled cheek. In that moment, I had publicly branded myself. Adolescent boys can be criminal in their violence towards one another. In that kiss, I had forever branded myself in their eyes as "sissy", "freak", "traitor". But, I obeyed the prompting of the Spirit, albeit, too late. Uri, looked at me with love in his eyes. He looked at me with love?! I stood there in disbelief. He still thought of me as his friend even though it was utterly clear that I had betrayed him? I searched his eyes. I saw only sincerity. He did not back away from me, nor did he strike me. He only ever looked at me with compassion.

Uri left a few days after the incident. We never heard from him again, except for one post card. He sent it to us from the Art Institute of Chicago where he had gone to study color theory. It read simply, "Hi, guys! Love, Uri." There was no return address. No last name. There was no way of contacting him. The post card was pinned on the bulletin board. I wanted so much to take it down and keep it. But, I was still too afraid. Cowardice can turn us all into ugly monsters.

I often dream that one day I travel to Israel and find Uri, or he finds me. We embrace the way that fathers and sons embrace after a period of long absence. He introduces me to his wife, and children. Then, I turn to him, and say what I have always wanted to say, "I am sorry. Forgive me."

In those moments where we are face to face with social injustice, can we be brave enough to do the right thing? I pray that I have become a better human being who would do the right thing the next time called to the test.

I picked up my books. The Wise Women were clothed in faerie-dress. They huffed and puffed and blew air from their mouths pretending they were Wind, and Storm. They gave me their love, and sent me off with my books packed, and a blessing. The creek roared, water rushing over rocks. I found my way back home.

Tea....

The clouds are thick today. All is grey. I love days like this. It's like living in an 1800's English Novel. It feels so good to be alive. These grey rainy days remind me of when I first arrived here. I was soaked, in search of warmth and respite. The tea shop on Main Street caught my eye. On the outside, it was painted to look like a gingerbread house. Inside, all the walls were painted in the darkest of hues. Tiny spotlights in the ceiling beamed their light on to the myriad-colored chintz teapots. It created a dream-like effect! I had stepped into Wonderland. The proprietress asked if I wanted tea for one. I said, "Yes, please." I may have even bowed. She rang a bell. Tinkle, tinkle.

A gate slowly opened, and I was escorted into an in indoor replica of a village garden. The ceiling at the back of the shop was all midnight blue, with shiny golden stars. Scones, cakes, tomato and cucumber sandwiches, Devonshire cream were brought out, along with truffles and champagne. And, of course, pots and pots of hot tea. Oh! It was ever so delightful.

For three years, I was a frequent guest at the tea shop. It was a beautiful living dream. Alas, as all of us know too well, dreams end. We are awakened, and we must rise. We remain consoled because we retain the memory of the dream. And, we retain the lesson. Like any good fable, dreams have morals and truths to teach us.

As for tea itself, well, tea is comforting. The aroma, and the sensation bring one home to God, so to speak. "In this cup of tea, I, who was once lost, now am found."

What saith thou, gentle reader? Would you like a cup of tea?