Ruah Bull - Spiritual Director

 Throughout my whole life, during every minute of it the world has been gradually lighting up and blazing before my eyes until it has come to surround me, entirely lit up from within.

 By the earth we fall down, by the earth we rise up.

 This, then, is salvation: When we marvel at the beauty of created things and praise their beautiful Creator.

In the morning sun I royally rise. In the distant stars I playfully twinkle. In the ocean waves I gracefully dance. In the strong wind I freely move. In the red fire I wildly burn. In the tiny lark I joyfully sing. In the delicate flower I gently bloom. In the solid mountain I firmly stand. In the running water I fiercely flow. In the vast sky I endlessly expand. In the fleeting moment I repeatedly die. In the new inhale I reliably return. In each and every thing I really am.      

 The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent  world in itself.

 Sometimes the mountain is hidden from me in veils of cloud, sometimes I am hidden from the mountain in veils of inattention, apathy, fatigue, when I forget or refuse to go down to the shore or a few yards up the road, on a clear day, to reconfirm that witnessing presence.

 Think of the universe as one living creature, made of one substance, one soul: how all is absorbed into this one consciousness; how a single impulse governs all its actions; how all things collaborate in all that happens, the very web and mesh of it all.

 You are above me, O God. You are within.  You are in all things yet contained by no thing. Teach me to see you in all that has life that I may see you  in the Light of light. Teach me to search for you in my own depths that I may find you  in every living soul.

It can feel foolish to marvel at the stars when the world is burning or to find the world beautiful  when you've known it to betray you. But wonder is a liberation practice a reminder that we contain more than tragedy. Beauty is our origin and our anchor.

 I know this happiness is provisional: the looming presences- great suffering, great fear- withdraw only into peripheral vision: but ineluctable this shimmering of wind in the blue leaves: this flood of stillness widening the lake of sky: this need to dance, this need to kneel: this mystery

 On my first retreat I brought a suitcase full   of books on silence And sat entranced by pages and pages on mindfulness, mysticism. ,  I didn't hear the fountain glisten or smell unfolding purple or notice cool bands of moving shadow. If  every creature is a Word of God This one was loud luminous, insistent. I don't know what she said but her feet were so small, her wings diaphanous with speed. The garden around me  within me  awakens.

 Earth teach me stillness as the grasses are stilled with light. Earth teach me suffering as old stones suffer with memory. Earth teach me humility as blossoms are humble with beginning. Earth teach me caring as the mother who succors her young. Earth teach me courage as the tree which stands alone. Earth teach me limitation as the ant which crawls on the ground. Earth teach me freedom as the eagle which soars in the sky. Earth teach me regeneration as the seed which rises in the spring. Earth teach me to forget myself as melted snow forgets its life. Earth teach me to remember kindness as dry fields weep with rain.

 Sometimes the way to milk and honey is through the body. Sometimes the way in is a song. But there are three ways in the world: dangerous, wounding and beauty. To enter stone, be water. To rise through the hard earth, be plant, desiring sunlight, believing in water. To enter fire, be dry. To enter life, be food.

 This then is life. Here is what has come to the surface after so many throes and convulsions. How Curious! How real! Underfoot the divine soil, overhead the sun.

 Did you know that birds do not land because they are tired? They know and have always known that their liberation depends on their ability to recall the ground.

 At the stop sign in the city on a dingy block, there grew a giant clump  of purple morning glories- falling with abandon over a run-down fence.  In the midst of trash, a gray sky, peeling paint, this splash of color appeared. Appeared to be laughing, despite it all. Heart-shaped leaves and wide-open purple throats singing some kind of song to this dilapidated corner. Some hero planted them.  Morning glories are not wildflowers. Someone who wanted to cultivate beauty.  Someone who believed in this little patch of ground. Someone who had  a sort of faith. The falling down fence baptized, blessed, forgiven, resurrected.

 Just ask the animals and they will teach you. Ask the birds in the sky and they will tell you. Speak to the earth and it will instruct you. Let the fish in the sea speak to you.

 Above, above all birds in air Below, below all earth's flowers     Inland, inland all forest trees Seaward, seaward all ocean fish Sing out and say again the refrain: Behold this lovely world

 Our hands imbibe like roots, and I place them on what is beautiful in this world. And I fold them in prayer and they draw from the heavens light.

 Speechless before these budding green spring leaves in blazing sunlight.