Remembering Infinity: What’s Your Recipe?

Grandma would always say, “There’s just something about soup that’s good for the soul!”

I love soups—all kinds of soups. They can be chicken, beef, clam, bean, rice, or vegetable.  It doesn’t matter to me if they’re bisques, creams, gumbos, stews, or chowders. They’re all great! And isn’t there just something wonderful about the atmosphere of a home when there’s a big pot of soup simmering away on the stove?

I have many fond memories of being at my grandmother’s house when she would suddenly be struck by what she would call the “soup bug”. It would usually be a dreary, drizzly day—and she’d suddenly announce that we’d be taking a “hike” to the store to pick up a few things. She’d put on her long, black coat, touch on some lipstick, pat her silver-blonde hair into place and we’d be off. Back then a trip for some groceries was no easy task, for Grandma didn’t drive—and the nearest supermarket was at least a half hour’s walk each way.

Once we arrived, she’d pick out a few things from the shelves, count out the necessary bills and change from her rose-pink coin purse at the register, and we’d make our way back home. When we returned, I’d help her unpack her voluminous satchel—a large see-through plastic affair with giant flowers printed on the side. If she was making bean soup, she’d have white navy beans, onions, and bacon. If it was chicken and dumplings, there’d be chicken, biscuit mix, and peas. And there were always potatoes, cheese, and milk for her mouth-watering, creamy potato soup. Mmm, mmmmmm! It still makes me hungry just thinking about it.

As she’d start getting ready to cook, Grandma would always laugh and say, “There’s just something about soup that’s good for the soul!” I suppose I should mention that this was many years before the series of popular books was written under a similar title. At the time, I was too young to do much except get in her way, so I’d usually just sit at the kitchen table, swinging my legs beneath the chair and munching on saltine crackers while she worked. Grandma would put on her apron and hum, or sometimes even sing quietly to herself as she bustled about the kitchen.

It wasn’t long before the ingredients would start to simmer—and their appetizing aromas would begin to waft through the room. On her breaks between stirrings, tastings, and seasonings, Grandma and I would play games of “Old Maid” with our favorite card set. For those few who might remember them, they were small, pocket-sized cards with pairs of humorous characters printed on them (pictured in the photo above). The “Old Maid” was a rather wild and wacky looking spinster—and any time either one of us would pull her card from the others’ hand, we’d burst into helpless fits of laughter. It would be especially funny when one or the other of us would strategically place the card where the other might pick it—and the plan actually worked!

Finally, when the soup was done, I’d sit at the table with an old tea towel in place as a makeshift bib, breathing in the wonderful aromas and waiting impatiently.  Grandma would bring me a warm bowl full and I’d savor every spoonful–always using a big spoon and some crumbled crackers to make sure I soaked up every last drop. I now realize that Grandma was right. Homemade soup doesn’t just warm your body, it warms your entire being, through and through—because it’s been made with love.

So what does this story—or soup, have to do with spirituality? As I’ve thought about organized religion and how its various forms relate to spirituality, I’ve come to see them as being a bit like the brands of prepared soup one might buy at the store. They’re packaged nicely, they offer some general nutritional value, and I can appreciate their flavor—but they’re not quite the same as a soup that’s been made from scratch in somebody’s home kitchen.

True spirituality, being that deeply personal connection one makes with his or her own Creator, is a lot more like Grandma’s homemade soup. It’s inherently simple, fresh, and savory—so it doesn’t need artificial additives, flavor enhancers, or preservatives. Oh—and there’s one more very important thing. Like all of Grandma’s soups, true spirituality is best—because it’s always made with love!

Respectfully,

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Remembering Infinity: Dear God…

Thank you, God–for everything!

Dear God–Our Infinite Creator,

This is just a quick note to say “thank you”—so much for, quite literally, everything!

You’ve given us such a wonderful world in which to live.  Our home, this magnificent planet we call “Earth”, is so full of life, variety, and beauty—from warm spring days to cool, star-filled nights; snow-capped mountains to soft, sandy beaches; and gentle rains to peaceful breezes.  Everything fills us with such joy and appreciation!

Thank you for the Sun, the Moon, and the stars. As we bask in and gaze in awe at their glorious, shifting pageants of light, we know that the days and nights, the tides, the seasons—and, indeed, our very lives depend upon their faithful and certain movement through precise cosmic cycles.

Thank you for the water that cleans us, soothes us, and quenches our thirst. Your clouds, rain, streams, lakes, and oceans ebb and flow in an eternally perfect rhythm that renews, refreshes, and sustains us.

Thank you for the plants and trees that shelter, shade, and provide us—not just with food to eat, but the oxygen we need to exist.

Thank you for the animals and other living creatures who have sacrificed all to nourish our bodies, as well as the ones who dwell in our wild places and neighborhoods—and especially those whom we’ve come to know as friends through their love, service, and faithful companionship.

Thank you for our friends, families, and fellow human beings, for it is through our relationships with them that we may learn, grow, and share in the richness of life.

Thank you for our wonderful bodies, with their ability to see, hear, smell, taste, touch, and experience such a wide variety of emotions—for it is only through these special gifts that we may fully immerse ourselves in and appreciate, in its abundant glory, all the infinite wonders of our Universe.

Thank you for all the mysteries of life—in the seen and unseen, for it is only through these unknowns that we may explore, discover, express, and even create our own Truth.

Thank you for Joy.

Thank you for Mercy.

Thank you for Hope.

Thank you for Healing.

Thank you for Peace.

Most of all, thank you for Love.

While we appreciate the breadth of all experience, these are the miracles we hold most dear—those which we hold most closely to our hearts.

Thank you for Life itself.  It is only through Life that we have the ability to experience all the brilliant aspects of Self, “Higher Self”, and indeed, You—as the profoundly Grand Creator of All That Is.

Finally, and most importantly, thank you for You.  Without You and Your sharing of Your Experience, This Creation—this amazing, marvelous, stupendous, and infinitely grand, yet gracefully humble Gift, we simply would not exist at all.

In most faithful service to Your Light and Love, I AM Eternally Yours.

With profound Gratitude,

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Remembering Infinity: The Illusion

Each of us is a tiny, self-aware “spark” of the One Divine Consciousness and All That Is.
(Original image credit:
http://www.defenseimagery.mil)

I‘ve been giving quite a bit of thought lately to the nature of our reality—and the multitude of possibilities is certainly mind-boggling.  There are countless theories about literally everything under the sun—and despite volumes of material on every last detail, there is very little in the way of proof to support a clear understanding of our true origins, nature, and existence.  The concepts of multiple universes, multiple dimensions, quantum mechanics, extra-terrestrial life, time travel, and the illusory/holographic structure of the universe were all once considered to be in the realm of pure science fiction.  Today however, even mainstream science is beginning to find evidence that these ideas—and many more like them, are not only possible, they may indeed be fact.  I imagine it could take the next ten lifetimes for even the most dedicated of scholars to work their way through all this information—and I wonder if, even then, they could formulate an accurate picture of our nature and existence.

My present understanding is that we are spiritual beings having a physical experience. That is, we are not just the “flesh and blood” physical body that many of us seem to think we are. Despite all the confusion, distractions, and “white noise” of life, something deep inside keeps telling me that this is the key to reaching a true understanding of ourselves.  Our true essence, or consciousness, transcends physicality.  It is infinite.  It is eternal.  The largest part of our consciousness, what many consider to be our soul or “Higher Self”, actually co-exists at a much higher level of awareness than we are capable of perceiving–at least at this stage of our spiritual evolution.  In order to experience life in the physical, learn, and grow, this “Higher Self” created a much smaller “spark” of awareness and allowed it to feel separate from the Whole.  Each of us is such a spark.  Once our sparks became ensconced in a physical body, we simply forgot who and what we truly are.

Many refer to the barrier that keeps us from the fullness of this memory as the “Veil of Forgetfulness”.  Although we may feel physically separate and self-contained in this physical body, we are not—we remain a part of the Whole.  The energetic bonds that connect us are subtle and often difficult for our gross human senses to detect, but they allow us to feel an expanded sense of consciousness during meditation or prayer.  They also allow us to receive guidance or reassurance through both our lower “gut” instincts and our higher, more developed “conscience”.  When our physical bodies die, the limited aspect of consciousness that we perceive as “us” travels back through this barrier and returns to the higher realms of existence.  It is then integrated back into its Higher Self.  Once our consciousness returns to its Source, it gradually regains full knowledge of its true origin, nature, purpose, and identity.  As a result of this journey as “us” in the physical, the Higher Self expands—becoming that much richer and wiser for the experience.  Many so-called Near-Death Experiences (or NDEs) and Quantum Healing Hypnosis Therapy (QHHT) accounts describe this process in great detail and, indeed, many ancient religions embrace this philosophy as well.

After considering these concepts in some depth, it seems clear to me that the reality we are each experiencing now is, as many believe, an illusion.  It’s an illusion because it allows us to feel separate—when we are not.  It’s an illusion that hides from us our true identity, the completeness of our nature, and the fullness of our own experience and knowledge.  It’s an illusion that keeps us from remembering that, at some very high level, far beyond our current ability to comprehend, we—and everything else, are God.  This is the knowledge that’s been hidden from us from the very first moment we experienced this illusion—and it must be this way for, were it not so, how could God possibly experience anything new?  In thinking about the separation process, I realized that we, each and every one of us, are equally responsible—both individually and collectively, for the creation, expansion, and evolution of the entire Universe.  Every experience we have, every possibility we create, and every lesson we learn just adds to the ever-increasing data-stream that creates us and, indeed, All That Is.

Now if that doesn’t blow all the cobwebs out of your thinking cap, I just don’t know what will!

Respectfully,

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Remembering Infinity: Transcending Limits

I may not be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound just yet, but who knows what miracles tomorrow may bring?

Note:  I usually try to limit my posts to one or two per week, but something is urging me to put this one out a bit ahead of time…so here it is anyway!

One of the biggest changes I’ve experienced over the past few years has been a newfound ability to move past the limitations of worry and fear. In the not so distant past, global conflict, the poisoning and pillaging of our Earth and its natural resources, economic collapse, and natural disaster were among my greatest concerns. After several years of being heavily weighed down by my responsibility for my own survival—as well as that of my family, I finally reached a tipping point. I’d finally had enough of the drama, the distractions, and the “doom and gloom” scenarios with which I’d become so obsessed.

While I’ve always had an interest in the metaphysical side of things—and a profound curiosity about our true nature, after being forced to take a good, hard look at my perceived mortality, I realized the issue wasn’t one of survival. It was an issue of spiritual awakening and awareness instead. Amazingly, it took the negative focus, concern, and fear of struggle and death to urge me into a re-examination of my true purpose in life. Through this reconsideration, I discovered that I had a choice. I could continue living under the dense, heavy control of these lower thoughts and emotions—or I could transcend them by embracing a new, more positive way of looking at things.

My shift in focus reminded me that this life is only temporary. It’s just a small part of our overall experience. Since consciousness is eternal and doesn’t die when our physical body dies, there’s no need to worry about survival! Once I’d managed to set myself free from that limitation (and it’s quite a significant one, I’m sure you’ll agree), my focus naturally shifted toward the discovery of my true purpose for being here—at this particular place and time.

I soon began spending a great deal of time—as much as I possibly could, delving deeply into the topics of spirituality and metaphysics. I researched thousands of articles and videos on the internet, ordered and read dozens of books, and watched scores of DVDs and recorded documentaries. These all brought me to a much greater understanding of myself and our true nature as Human Beings.

I now spend dedicated time each day, quietly seeking my own personal connection to “Higher Self” (as I suggest in my post, “Finding Peace”). As a result, I’ve been amazed to see the affects in my personal life—and indeed, the “external world”. With my greater understanding of self and our collective reality, I’ve worked my way through and resolved a number of long-held and negative beliefs, ideas, and habits (for more information and suggestions, see my post “Spirit Anchors”). I’ve also found a number of creative ways through which I may do my part to bring about constructive change—in fact, one of the ways I hope to accomplish this is through the writing of this blog.

While I’m still working diligently at self-improvement and there’s a great deal of work left to do on all fronts, I AM energized and encouraged by my progress thus far. I’ve managed to transcend many of my own limitations and I now know that those remaining only do so on borrowed time. I’ve learned that the only limitations I face are the ones I’ve either placed upon myself or the ones I’ve allowed others to place on me. I also know that if I can overcome just one of these limitations, I have the ability to overcome all of them.

To be completely honest, I may not be quite ready to leap tall buildings in a single bound right at this exact moment—but as I often say, “Anything is Possible!”—and who knows what miracles tomorrow may bring?

Respectfully,

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Remembering Infinity: The End?

Death is a mere transition in consciousness.
(Original image credit: http://www.defenseimagery.mil)

In my early childhood years, death was a complete mystery to me. I never gave it a great deal of thought—as it merely seemed to be something that would occasionally happen to the hero in a movie. In my limited experience, he’d valiantly fall in a hail of gunfire or somehow take his last dying gasp after saving someone from a similar fate.  Sometimes, while playing “cops and robbers” or “army”, I’d re-enact scenes from my favorite TV shows or movies with my friends. I’d die a sudden and tragic death—most often from a barrage of imaginary bullets or a horrific grenade explosion. I’d fly dramatically through the air, land in a heap in the tall grass, and painfully struggle to take my “final” breath.

I couldn’t hold my breath for long however, so I’d usually resume breathing rather quickly. Sometimes, when I didn’t get up right away and start carrying on the battle as another character, I’d lay in the grass, silently trying to imagine what it would be like to really be dead. I’d close my eyes and lie as still as I could. Was it like going to sleep, where one just never woke up again? If one was buried, did they just lay there in the grave, feeling the heavy darkness and smelling the musty smell of the earth that covered them? That thought always gave me “the creeps”. On occasion, I’d imagine what it would be like to see everyone at my funeral. There would be mountains of flowers everywhere, of course, and a grieving crowd of thousands—with tearful mourners praising me in lavish eulogies that would last for days.

My childish musings about death and dying came to a sudden end however, when my maternal grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. After a valiant but short battle against it, she died of the disease. At the age of nine, I’d never lost anyone I knew before and, until then, death had never seemed real. I’ll never forget the evening my family and I attended her visitation service and the moment I first saw her casket. It was placed high on a draped platform and surrounded by flowers in the center of the funeral home’s hushed, dimly lit viewing room. I was frightened and, when it came time to say goodbye, I refused to approach the casket or the body in it. With no small amount of reassurance, my father took my hand, walked me over, and lifted me up to see. Through fearful, tear-filled eyes, I was both horrified and amazed to see how lifeless and two-dimensional my grandmother’s body appeared. It seemed as if she had been replaced with a figure made of wax. I just couldn’t understand how someone I loved could be alive one moment—and forever gone the next.

As I think about my limited childhood understanding and thoughts about death, I’m grateful for the amazing expansion of experience that has led to my present understanding. I now know that life is eternal—and what we perceive as death is merely a transition from one level of consciousness to another. It’s been a long process of spiritual discovery and many unanswered questions remain, but each and every day I become more and more confident in this knowledge. Now, when I think about my last breath, I try not to concern myself with the when, how, or where of it—although my intention is to hold that day off for a good, long time. Instead, I try to concern myself more with the quality of the time I have left. My new focus is on how much change I may make for the better and how much I may learn and enjoy the wonderful life I’ve been given. And that, to me, has made all the difference.

Respectfully,

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Remembering Infinity: Sharing is Caring

Sharing is easy—and when you share, it always feels good!

Sometimes, when I was young and my cousins and I would be squabbling over a treat of some kind, my grandmother would interject and say, “All right now…it always tastes better when you share!” Whether we’re talking chocolates, bread, or life itself, she was absolutely correct. Any time we give unselfishly (and isn’t that what the spirit of sharing is all about?) we show another person or being that we care enough about them that we’re willing to do with less of something good for ourselves.

Sharing is better, because it creates a bond between the giver and the receiver. The simple act of offering something to another soul creates an opportunity for peaceful exchange, companionship, and, perhaps, even a lifelong friendship. In sliding over on a bus seat to make room for a fellow traveler for example, the seed may be planted for pleasant conversation in which common interests or relations are discovered. Before long, both people part ways with a grateful smile and a friendly wave. Through the “Ripple Effect”, even those around them may benefit from this pleasant exchange—and through its example, many may be able to enjoy a more positive start to the day.

One of the great things about sharing is that it’s easy—and anyone can do it! We may easily share not just our food, but rides, newspapers, our homes, ourselves, our strengths, sunrises and sunsets, kind words, jokes—and even smiles. But the very best thing about sharing is that it just feels good to share something with another! By feeding the birds and wildlife in our yard, for example, my wife is not only able to enjoy their colors, antics, and song, she’s able to appreciate the feeling that she is helping make their lives better and easier.

So now, I try to teach my teenage son the value of sharing—although it may not quite be the way my grandmother did. When I see him returning to his room from a trip to the kitchen with a bag of chips or candy, I always take the opportunity to remind him as he passes by—“Hey! Whatcha got there? Don’t forget, it always tastes better when you share!”

Respectfully,

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Remembering Infinity: Counting Blessings

We have so much for which to be thankful!

I was reading something about blessings on another blog a few weeks ago and it reminded me of this wonderful old song that was written by Irving Berlin. It was called “Count Your Blessings” and was made popular many years ago by Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney in the film, “White Christmas”. In it, Crosby and Clooney sing about how they fall asleep by counting their blessings—instead of sheep. What a superb idea! I can’t think of a much better way to acknowledge, appreciate, and express our gratitude for the many, many gifts we receive each and every day.

With so many things vying for our attention nowadays, we often lose sight of the things for which we should be the most grateful—the wonder and beauty of the world around us, the miracle of our physical bodies and consciousness, our health, and the love of our family and friends—as well as the ability to experience everything that life has to offer. Indeed, the value of life itself is often forgotten—along with our inner knowing that we are somehow much, much more than the collection of atoms, cells, and tissues through which we explore and discover “All That Is”.

In the United States (and other countries as well) we set aside a special day—“Thanksgiving Day”, as a holiday to celebrate and appreciate all the wonderful things we receive and enjoy throughout the year. But is one day each year truly enough to acknowledge such abundance?

As I connect with Creator in the quiet moments of each day, I always remember to say “thank you” for the wealth of gifts I’ve received. I also find myself, with more and more frequency, living mindfully and in the moment—embracing and fully appreciating even the most simple of life’s pleasures. Whether it’s a warm, wake-up shower in the morning, the joyful song of birds in the backyard, or the unexpected color of some roadside flowers, I realize that these—and many other things like them, are often underappreciated. As I experience and enjoy these countless treasures with newfound gratitude, I know that my heartfelt whispers of thanks are somehow heard and appreciated.

With all the blessings we’re able to enjoy in this world, which are the ones—perhaps those most often overlooked, that you appreciate the most?

Respectfully,

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Remembering Infinity: Sticks and Stones

The words we choose affect us and others emotionally, spiritually, and physically.

Many of us are familiar with the childhood chant, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words (or sometimes names) may never hurt me!” In my much younger years, I heard and used this phrase myself many times but, as I’ve grown, I’ve discovered that it really isn’t true. Words actually can hurt—but they can also heal. It all depends upon how they are used and how they are received.

The occasional target of bullies growing up, I quickly learned to ignore any taunts, jeers, or negative attention that might come my way. I found that, many times, those who tried to anger me were only seeking attention—and my adverse reaction would only give them more reason to persist. In fact, it would practically guarantee that I’d receive much more of the same treatment. While I eventually learned how to minimize the affect of a verbal attack, I always felt its sting nonetheless.

In truth, words are powerful things. We don’t often think of them as such, but words actually are physical things. As such, they have a very real physical affect—for, once spoken, they ripple outward as sound waves, their vibration impacting all the physical matter within their reach. At the same time, words affect the consciousness of all who hear them.

Dr. Masaru Emoto wrote of the power of words in his book, “Messages From Water”. In the book, he documents a number of experiments where water was exposed to words (both spoken and written) and various types of music. Once frozen, he studied the water crystals under a microscope and was amazed to discover that the structure of the crystals was directly affected by the words to which they had been exposed. When water experienced positive, uplifting words such as “love” or “thanks”, it formed beautiful geometric patterns like snowflakes. When negative words like “hate” or “fool” were used, the crystals were malformed or developed chaotic, unattractive patterns. I found it quite interesting to note that Dr. Emoto observed similar affects when water was exposed to prayer and various forms of music.

If we consider that our own bodies are at least 70% water, these experiments make it quite apparent that words hold significantly more influence on us than just the emotions they elicit. They clearly affect us physically as well. In my life and work, I always try to do what I can to bring about positive change and hopefully, in some small way, help others in the process. While it’s definitely a challenge at times, the words I try to use most often are those that heal, inspire and uplift. Since our words truly seem to have such a magical impact on us and our environment, what type of words will you choose to use today?

Respectfully,

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Remembering Infinity: Dreams in Sand

Dreams in Sand

Fleeting, foggy,

lofty, grand.

Humble expressions—

dreams in sand.

 

Building, shaping,

waves rush in.

Smoothed by sea,

we build again.

 

First moats, then walls,

then towers high.

Ever higher,

Earth greets sky.

 

Stronger, taller—

Tide’s gone by.

The dreamer stands,

his castle dry.

 

Steadfast, strong, and

true to form,

dreams—like castles,

defy the storm.

 

So build your dreams,

as castles past—

on higher ground

they’re sure to last.

 

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Remembering Infinity: The Approaching Storm

“Storm in the Mountains”
by Albert Bierstadt (c. 1870).
(Original image from en.wikipedia.org)

Yesterday morning, I was having difficulty deciding which of several drafts to post on my blog—so I decided to take a break and scroll through the latest blog entries on my reader instead.

When I came across a poem entitled, “It’s Coming”, on Pat Cegan’s blog, “Source of Inspiration”, I was immediately reminded of an experience I once had as a teenager, when I and several others watched a storm sweep toward us across a high mountain valley. Pat’s poem elicited similar emotions and I felt unusually compelled to share my thoughts here.

I must admit that I’ve always been a fan of weather—all kinds of weather actually, but especially storms. Some of my most intense, visceral memories—the kind I can only describe as being “High Definition”, are of the many majestic storms I’ve witnessed over the years. Whenever I replay these in my mind, it’s as if I’m there all over again—even though the original experience may have been decades ago. I can still close my eyes, picture the scene in vivid detail, and feel nearly all the excitement I felt at those exact moments.

I’ll never forget one particular storm I experienced at a scout camp, high in the Sierra Nevada Mountains near Lake Tahoe, California. It was early fall, the camp had already closed for the season, and several families, including my own, were there to help prepare the campground facilities for the coming winter. Late one afternoon, after finishing our work for the day, a few of us decided to take a hike and enjoy some of the scenery from the jagged ridgeline that snaked through the trees, high above camp.

We set out in single-file along the trail, a dusty, worn track that wound its way along gray and black-flecked granite slopes. At this high altitude, the dense pine forest quickly thinned out as we climbed—and before long, there were only small pockets of trees to be found among the vast, tumbled mass of boulders. As the sun slipped lower in the west and the shadows grew steadily longer, we made our way along the rocky edge of a small alpine lake—one whose pristine waters mirrored an impossibly deep, almost sapphire blue sky. The lake’s surface was perfectly glass-like and undisturbed, save for the occasional leap of a small trout—which, on breaking the surface, would quickly disappear in a silvery flash. Everything seemed strangely still—yet there was an almost magical state of expectation in which everything, even the air, seemed bright, clear, and vibrantly alive. Even today, I can only describe it as a feeling that was profoundly surreal.

With some effort, we soon found ourselves near an outcropping high above the lake. As I scrambled up to stand atop the massive granite slab, the splendor of the view quite literally took my breath away. From our lofty perch, it appeared as if the rest of the world had simply dropped away beneath our feet. The sun, now sliding slowly toward the horizon behind us, left the valley below in deep, dark shadow. In stark contrast, the ragged mountain peaks on the far side—and seemingly another world away, were bathed in a soft, golden light that gleamed more brightly with each passing minute.

What made the view truly astonishing however, were the massive, rose-pink thunderheads that billowed up high above them. Their white, anvil-topped crests spread out ominously, miles above the peaks. We could actually see the clouds building as we watched—they seemed to boil up from the narrow gap between the earth and the leaden base layer of clouds above it. The sight left us feeling, at once, awestruck and energized—even euphoric. Even today, I can almost feel the hair rising on my neck and the excitement forming goose bumps on my skin.

We were so taken by the view that we stretched out comfortably on the rocks and watched, entranced, for the better part of an hour. I remember gasping in awe as intense streaks of lightning suddenly struck the far-off peaks. Each strike would be followed, some moments later, by the low rumble of thunder. At times, it seemed as if its resounding claps had somehow managed to shatter the crystal dome of Heaven—allowing twisted shafts of Divine Light to pierce through in brief, blinding flashes. We watched in wonder as shimmering veils of rain fell in the distance and pale rainbows faded in and out—almost as if they were playing hide-and-seek among the clouds. Although the storm was still miles away, the acoustics of the valley were such that the rumbles of thunder seemed to roll on endlessly. In fact, I sometimes wondered if I was still hearing an actual sound—or merely its echo fading off in my mind.

We were so enchanted and exhilarated by the show that we remained oblivious to the danger—until a frigid wall of wind and a deafening crash of thunder roared by in tandem. Their sudden passage left us shaking, much more from fright than the cold. It was only then that we regained our senses and realized that the storm was already upon us. Wide-eyed, we glanced at each other, jumped to our feet, and raced back to camp as quickly as we could. Skirting the trail and taking precarious shortcuts over rugged terrain, we made it back, breathlessly, just as the first big raindrops began plopping onto the dusty stones around us.

We burst through the door of the main cabin and startled the others, who had been relaxing by the fire. Our red-faced grins and excited chatter soon told the story, and even those who hadn’t been there could easily grasp the intensity of the experience—for Mother Nature seemed to be providing them with her own account of it, from just outside the cabin walls. It wasn’t long before we were all settled comfortably by the fire and listening to the waves of rain and hail rattling against the roof. As the storm raged on outside and each of us was left to his or her own silent thoughts, I stared contentedly into the flames, quite happy to be warm and dry. It truly was a day to remember.

As I watch events unfolding in the world today and compare my feelings to those I experienced during the storm, I can clearly see they’re similar. They’re feelings not unlike those which Pat described in her poem—and I’ve no doubt that many others are feeling them too. But the storm that’s on our horizon now is a different kind of storm. It’s a storm of change. While it may seem ominous and foreboding to some, it also has the potential to be just as beautiful, just as energizing, and just as remarkable as the one I once witnessed from the windswept side of a mountain. Whatever the future may bring, I know I’m ready to face it—because I have a deep and abiding trust in the Divine Intelligence that’s eternally at work in our Universe—and I somehow just know that all will be well in the end.

So if there really is a storm of change ahead—and I’ve no doubt that there is, then I’m all for it. Come Hell or high water, I say bring it on…we’re much more than a match for it!

Respectfully,

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