Ruah Bull - Spiritual Director

                                          A heaven of each moment   Each day that passes, the sage discards another useless weight. Finally all the accumulated burden of a life spent seeking something is gone. In its place is a lightness of being and a clarity of seeing that makes a heaven of each moment. ~

 It is as if what is unbreakable - The very pulse of life- waits for everything else to be torn away, and then in that bareness that only silence and suffering and  great love can expose, it dares  to speak through us and to us. It seems to say, if you want to last, hold on to nothing. If you want to love, let in everything. If you want to feel the presence of everything, stop counting the things that break along the way.

 to lean into that opening door, my dear companion, may I release you  back into precious earth with care, gratitude, respect You have been partner, teacher, trickster, angel on this journey into unimaginable Being Go in peace, love,  into the deep roots and underground waters. I bless you, praise you, thank you

 You can grieve the leaves stripped from the maple, all that empty space between the bare branches, or you can bless the abundance of light shining through, buffing the pine boards of the floor until they turn the color of clover honey. You can mourn the coneflowers now shriveled and brown, say the whole world's going to ruin, or you can stand at the window watching the lively yellow blossom of a goldfinch feasting on each crown of seeds, sending more than a few back home, down into the open ground, which knows how to receive them.

 Everyone assumes That the perfumes of August Are the work of springtime's buds Ageing into blooms. But the fading rose, In her dying, knows, It is the joy of ceasing That distills perfume.

 The complicated details of the attiring and  disattiring is completed! A liquid moon moves gently among  the long branches. Thus having prepared their buds against a sure winter the winter trees stand sleeping in it.

 Love, love, love says Percy And run as fast as you can along the shining beach, on the rubble, or the dust. Then, go to sleep. Give up your body heat, your beating heart. Then, trust.

 Gentle Me,  Holy One, into an unclenched moment, a deep breath,  a letting go of heavy experiences, of shriveling anxieties, of dead certainties, that, softened by the silence, surrounded by the light, and open to the mystery, I may be found by Wholeness, upheld by the unfathomable, entranced by the simple,  and filled with the joy that is you.

 To live in this world you must be able to  to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it  against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.

 May anger ground me in the real Real- Earth speaks- I am here May Anger purify my troubled heart- Fire speaks- I wake May Anger clear my confusing mind Air speaks - I perceive May Anger couple with Being Water speaks- I gather May Anger proceed from wisdom Soul speaks- I act May Anger blossom with trust Spirit speaks- I release

 the leaves believe such letting go is love such love is faith such faith is grace such grace is God I agree with the leaves

 Sometimes, when it is all, finally, too much, I climb into my car, roll the windows up, and somewhere between backing out of the driveway and rounding the first corner, I let out a yell that would topple Manhattan. How do you pray?

 This is how I would die: Into the Love I have for you as pieces of cloud dissolve in sunlight.

 Let my edges that cut be stroked by sand and salt let my slick surface coarsen til it's crushed to bits let my colors soften as they scrape the bottom let the waves love me in their rough way let me be changed by that love let me not forget I held another yet fully inhabit my particularity let me be smooth enough to be rubbed by small fingers and slipped inside a pocket or bowl let me prove that beauty is born when something breaks.

  Day ends, and before sleep when the sky dies down, consider your altered state: has this day changed you? Are the corners sharper or rounded off? Did you live with death? Make decisions that quieted? Find one clear word that fit? At the sun's midpoint did you notice a pitch of absence, bewilderment that invites the possible? What did you learn from things you dropped and picked up and dropped again? Did you set a straw parallel to the river, let the flow carry you downstream?

Want the change. Be inspirired by the flame where everything shines as it disappears. The artist, when sketching, loves nothing so much as the curve of the body as it turns away. What locks itself in sameness has congealed. Is it safer to be grey and numb? What turns hard becomes rigid and is easily shattered. Pour yourself out like a fountain. Flow in the knowledge that what you are seeking finishes often at the start, and, with ending, begins. Every happiness if the child of a separation it did not think it could survive. And Daphne, becoming a laurel, dares you to become the wind.