COMING TO MYSELF

     In the Bible story of the prodigal son, one translation says the wasteful son “came to himself”, as though, in the midst of the confusion and dissipation of his life, he suddenly came face to face with his actual self – with who he truly was. I was thinking of that story this morning, and it reminded me of a conversation I had years ago with a friend who had suffered through a long and enormous sorrow. He said that, to his surprise, his sorrow had actually helped him understand who he was. He was a very successful teacher and devoted family man, and yet he said that only through this recent suffering had he gotten a glimpse of his true nature, and even a small glimpse of the nature of reality itself. He said it seemed like he’d been blind all his life, and now, in the calm after all this sorrow, he could suddenly see. I remember that something in his eyes seemed resplendent when he said that, and he smiled like a man re-made, which astonished me, because I knew the devastating nature of his sorrow. Like the prodigal son, his anguish had somehow shown him how to “come to himself”.

     Strange, that at 72, I’m still searching for my true self. I’m sure it will be something surprising, and perhaps beautiful, when I finally find it. When I do, I’ll think of the reborn Bible son and my suffering but thankful friend.

ON BEING FRESH

"Fresh Breeze", oil,
by Robin Cheers

I was sometimes a sassy boy, causing my mother to scold me for being “fresh”, and now, strangely, at the age of 72, I’m still fresh, and feeling lucky to be so. It seems odd that “fresh” sometimes means shameless and brazen, whereas I always took it to mean simply something new, something spotless and unused and pristine.  As a boy, I guess I sometimes felt that kind of freshness as I lived the capricious and lucky life of my childhood, and I feel it more and more in these whimsical days of my 70’s. I feel fresh thoughts arriving almost always. True, they sometimes seem like the “same old same old” thoughts, but I somehow feel their freshness as they switch on their lights inside me. Each thought is as unsullied as the sunshine I see before me as I’m writing this outside. Each feeling flows from a fresh source, no matter how old and familiar it may seem. Actually, even with my wrinkles and slumped shoulders and squeaky voice, I’m feeling fresher than ever (in an un-sassy way) and finding some fun in it. (I can see mom smiling at the news.) 

GOLD FREELY GIVEN

"Sunlit Leaves", acrylic,
by Jennifer Vranes

     Mowing the lawn this morning, I came upon some golden leaves spread beneath one of our birch trees. It was a surprise, of course, since it’s still not yet midsummer, and, when I was finished mowing, it started me searching for other unnoticed golden surprises. I sat in a lawn chair in the backyard and simply started looking around for gold and its likenesses. Within seconds, I saw the golden stripes on the peace flag that flies from the trellis over one of our gardens, and then the golden zinnias beneath it, and then the clouds of golden daisies beside the house. Soon I seemed encircled by gold -- by lilies and sunflowers and speckled sunlight on grass and even the pale golden sides of our neighbor’s house. And finally, as I was finishing my search, I saw the flash of the wings of four goldfinches fluttering around one of our feeders.

     It was a golden few minutes for me, a gift freely given to an old guy who gives thanks for a golden life.

LOOKING AT LILIES

     Yesterday, as I was looking carefully at some of the pearly, pristine blossoms of Delycia’s asiatic lilies (photo), I felt a blossoming feeling of reassurance inside. In this seemingly self-destructive world, where children are any war’s most numerous victims and where chaos and abhorrence sometimes seem far more prevalent than contentment and comradeship, it’s cheering to stand before the simple loveliness of a single lily blossom. Looking at lilies, really looking at them and seeing their implausible charm, one feels an unfolding of hope inside. Yes, there seems to be dislike and disorder everywhere, but look for lilies, too. Beauty of far greater power than evil is all around us, even in a small garden in a small seaside town.      

SHADOWS AND WORRIES

"Afternoon Shadows", acrylic,
by George Lockwood

      Driving on the interstate this morning, we passed through many shadows of trees across the road, and it started me wishing I could pass through my concerns and worries as smoothly and easily. Truth is, worrisome thoughts have no more solidity than shadows. They are like wispy winds of the mind, having less substance and shape than breezes blowing across lawns. The worries that wander into my life would wander right out again if I saw them for what they are – flimsy and frail cerebral shapes, no stronger than shadows across the interstate.  

SUNRISES INSIDE

"Summer Sunrise", oil,
by L. C. Neill

I’ve changed my mind a million times, and lately I’ve come to see those changes as sort of like sunrises inside me. Each change was not just a change of thought, but more like a switch in minds, as if I replaced one mind with another, as if changing my mind brought a whole new morning of thoughts to my life. And actually, doesn’t each new thought start a fresh flow of other thoughts in our minds? Thoughts can work wonders the way sunrises start new days. A thought is not a material thing we can hold in our hands, but more like light that illuminates, for a moment, not just our minds but our lives. It’s almost like our minds become brand new when a new thought rises like daybreak inside us.

WATCHING THE TRAIN

"From the Train", oil,
by Sharon Schock

            Like a never-ending train, thoughts are ceaselessly streaming through my mind,  and I would like to learn to simply watch the train instead of climbing aboard. What I hope to do, you might say, is stand by the tracks, or perhaps on a hill above the tracks, and simply observe the thoughts as they pass. Like watching a train back in Missouri when I was a boy, watching my train of thoughts could be a fascinating experience. When a defensive, self-protective thought comes by, I might say, “Wow, look at that bizarre thought!” or, when a happy thought passes, “How did that beautiful thought get made?”, or, when an ugly, scary-looking, boxcar kind of thought rumbles by, “That is one hideous thought!” The trick is to just observe the train, but not jump aboard. So often in my life I have recklessly leaped onto a thought, closed the door, and ridden with it as it careened here and there. Fearful thoughts have taken me on many a riotous ride over the years, as have thoughts of envy, anger, defensiveness, and countless others. I simply need to refuse to get on the train. It’s much more fun, and far less hazardous, to merely sit on a hillside and watch with fascination as the endless train of thoughts harmlessly and safely passes by.

ALWAYS GOING SOMEWHERE

"Saturday Race', oil,
by Thaw Malin III

     In my busy teenage years, I recall my mother often saying that I was “always going somewhere”, and, in a weird sort of way, I still am. Actually, I have no choice, since everything in this universe is constantly stirring or shifting or racing. There is no such thing as standing still, no matter what my eyes might seem to tell me. Even when I’m sitting in my laziest way, all my cells are transforming in a swift and unceasing manner. Also, the electrons in the hydrogen atoms that compose a sizeable part of my body are traveling fast enough, physicists say, to circle the earth in 18 seconds, and the planet I’m spending my life on is soaring around the sun at something like 67,000 miles per hour. Plus, even while I’m doing my morning meditation in the steadiest silence and serenity, the solar system I belong to is barreling around the Milky Way at close to 600,000 miles per hour.     

     So yes, mom, in this astonishing life you gave me, I’m still always going somewhere.