I am standing on the cusp of a low hill. I can see my goal across the way on top a very distant hill. The path below through the valley is obscured. I can see no clear way to proceed. How to get there from here?
I know I must press forward to the next hill. The signposts I have been following point this way. It would be easier to go back, but I cannot return to where I was. I know I would not be happy back there. It is no longer enough. I heard the call, and I must follow.
I suspect my goal on the next hill is not the end of my journey but another signpost pointing onward. I will not be disappointed if this is so. It will be another step along the way. I must not forget that the journey is important. The means justify the end. If I only knew the means. If I only knew the meaning.
A tiny thought in the back of my mind is suspicious that the goal I see across the valley on that distant hill is me. I am looking at myself at some future time on the very hill I am currently standing on. The journey along the unknown path through the valley below will return me to the place from which I came. I will have essentially gone no where, but the place will not be the same. The journey transforms, and I will see all that was old in a new light. Maybe this is the test of time?
But how to proceed? I do not know the way. The path through the valley is unclear. It is uncertain. On some days, the path is obscured by darkness and fog. Some days, the sun is bright and clear, but the way is hazy, diffused into the background, unmarked as if non-existent.
How to proceed? By taking the first step, and the step after that, and so on, trusting in God in each step. From the other hill, I suppose I will be able to look back and see the path I had traveled. And I suppose I will take a moment to look back over this path, but not for long. There will still be more of the journey ahead to travel.
It is my choice whether to go or stay, or even to go another way. I choose to go this way. Everyday, the choice must be made. I choose You.
Only in love can I find You, my God. In love, the gates of my soul spring open, allowing me to breath a new air of freedom and forget my own petty self.
In love, my whole being streams forth out of the rigid confines of narrowness and anxious self-assertion, which make me a prisoner of my own poverty and emptiness.
In love, all the powers of my soul flow out toward You, wanting never more to return, but to lose themselves completely in You, since by Your love You are the inmost center of my heart, closer to me than I am to myself.
A bird was flying south for the winter. Cold and hungry, the bird found refuge in a barn on a farm. His wings were nearly frozen stiff with icicles. The bird thought to himself, “I am dead for sure.”
A cow in the barn came by, sniffed around and unloaded a big, stinky cow pie on top of the bird. The bird was drowning in cow shit and thought to himself, “I am dead. I am dead.”
Although the cow pie stank, it was warm and helped thaw the bird, bringing much needed warmth. The bird struggled a bit and managed to poke out his beak to breath. The bird thought to himself, “Yes, yes, I am alive! I’ll be okay!”
The bird was so happy, it began to sing. A cat in the barn heard the singing and came over to investigate. The cat discovered the bird within the cow pie, dug the bird out, and ate him.
Moral of the story:
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Not everyone who craps on you is your enemy.
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Not everyone who gets you out of shit is your friend.
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If you are warm and happy and covered in shit, don’t sing about it.
One day, Jesus said to his disciples, “The Kingdom of Heaven is like y = 3x2 + 8x – 9.”
A man who had just joined the disciples looked very confused and asked Peter, “What on earth does he mean by that?”
Peter smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s just another one of his parabolas.”
I’ve been working on a new website. I can’t seem to let go of my habit of collecting quotes. My little egoic self feels the need to collect them, as if they are something for it to hold on, to make itself feel more real or tangible. My true self knows that they are just words, words that point to someplace beyond words, to where being and truth and existence just are. The trick becomes not to be attached to the words, but to follow where they point.
The new website: Signposts—words pointing…