Church in the Greenhouse

The magnificent lily that glowed  and grinned like a tiger has dropped her blooms and hidden herself for the year. I have the plant, still healthy, and the memory of her beauty and presence --- and a bit of sadness. It is a similar sadness to the way I miss certain friendships that have faded. One I am thinking of particularly now has lingered on my mind of late. I long to be in touch, but when one loves, one waits and carries on. The other may have found new attachments, or distractions, or his or her own overwhelming circumstances, and the bloom is off the rose (or lily), so to speak. We feel forgotten. There's some chance we are, isn't that humbling? There's a better chance we are remembered like the tiger lily who once shone so brightly in the life of our absent friend. We are like a softer painting of that lily now in memory., perhaps... (painting by  Judith Travis ) It's also possible that we flatter ourselves, and the ego says, "I want to be remem

David has been warning me about snakes in my greenhouse and out in the backyard garden beds. Wear shoes, he says, and brings out mothballs. It's timely, then, that I'm studying Kundalini yoga today. Kundalini means "coiled," and the serpent/snake is revered. (image borrowed from  Meditative Mind This banished creature ( St. Patrick's work in Ireland? ) is a subject of fascination for me, and one of my favorite poems is "The Snake" by D.H. Lawrence, in which the speaker engages with a snake at his fountain, experiencing admiration and revulsion in equal parts. Part of what makes the poem delightful is Lawrence's expert use of the "s" sound throughout. You'll want to read the whole thing, but here is the beginning: A snake came to my water-trough On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat, To drink there. In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree I came down the steps with my pitcher A

Good morning, congregants and other lovers. I'm having an Easter sunrise service on the back deck with the dogs, God bless them. The sad old phrase, "Gone to the dogs" has a new delightful meaning to me. It usually means things turned out badly, or it referred to people such as criminals and "bad eggs" who were sent away to live among the "lower" creatures as the prodigal son of the Bible did. Here, however, these two beastie boys are my fine, royal guests at the Easter tea table and divine yoga mat designed by Marichit Garcia . Look here ---  we're hurting all over the world today, but still we find love shining over us. My scripture reading this morning is from a book called For the Love of God: Handbook for the Spirit. This is from the chapter entitled "The Long Journey Home,”by Riane Eisler. The incredible jeweled lotus flower that the Buddha is holding was created by my dear friend Cat Brendel of Head Graffiti Studio:  http://u

I woke up troubled today -- uneasy in the mind, restless, searching for a way to feel better -- when I remembered a new book I'd chosen from Audible, waiting in my account for me to start listening. It's called Sound Bath . Within the first few seconds on introductory sounds, I began to feel more hopeful. The practice is called psycho-acoustics. What is a Sound Bath?  Officially, it's an immersive experience involving being quiet and listening to meditative sounds that include Himalayan singing bowls and other pleasing tonal instruments. But here, I'm extending it to the sounds of nature, at home, involving only the practice of paying attention to the birds, wind, chimes, leaf-rustles, or whatever pleasant visitors to my home. I'm a morning bird-listener, and even now, at 4:44 a.m., I am waiting with anticipation for the first songs of the day. Something in me eases, loosens, brightens when I hear them. I don't have a sound temple like this one: or