welcome, welcome to day 19 of a season of peace, the thirteenth day of the tibetan fifteen days of miracles, the third day of monlam, the great prayer festival commemorating the fifteen days of miracles path with heart and the day of the week when we celebrate the astonishing light of being… another beautiful day of gathering the quintessence, ambassadors of love and light with the sun shining through the clouds on the energy of  rapture/rupture…

it feels just right to call on the songbird of lovingkindness to grace us with her presence and emanation on this day of purification, of clean-sing, of celebrating the always burning inner light… many moons ago, i posted this quotation which shares the heart of a way of being as we saunter along the poetic peace pilgrimage by way of the caravan of re-joy-sing,,,  a friend and talented artista had the perfect setting for it and  it is the perfect image for when we travel to  sacred spaces where inner hurricanes blow through the soulscape…

we’ve all been through these moments of pain and suffering which are as much a part of the fabic of our lives as ease and ecstasy… i’ve been through enough of these critical junctures to have learned a thing or two about getting through gracefully by befriending, and inviting the bird’s song of  lovingkindness…

so, today, let us settle into this space and be curious about this gift wrapped seemingly so unattractively… as we sit with it and begin to unwrap it, we notice light is beginning to shine through… yes, as we release the pain and  deadness, hope springs alive for the re-weaving of the web of creation….

Hurricane

It didn’t behave
like anything you had
ever imagined. The wind
tore at the trees, the rain
fell for days slant and hard.
The back of the hand
to everything. I watched
the trees bow and their leaves fall
and crawl back into the earth.
As though, that was that.
This was one hurricane
I lived through, the other one
was of a different sort, and
lasted longer. Then
I felt my own leaves giving up and
falling. The back of the hand to
everything. But listen now to what happened
to the actual trees;
toward the end of that summer they
pushed new leaves from their stubbed limbs.
It was the wrong season, yes,
but they couldn’t stop. They
looked like telephone poles and didn’t
care. And after the leaves came
blossoms. For some things
there are no wrong seasons.
Which is what I dream of for me.

~ Mary Oliver ~

blessings…