Let me, O let me bathe my soul in colours; let me swallow the sunset and drink the rainbow.
The Sun said to the Clouds, "Remember when we used to be together all the time and make rainbows?"
The Clouds nodded. "I'm sorry for going clap bang boom! at you," said the Clouds.
"I'm sorry for going sizzle sizzle sizzle! at you," said the Sun.
"It's better being friends!" said the Sun, and the Clouds agreed. They hugged. The Sun shined brightly and the Clouds misted happy rain. Ever so slowly, rainbows reappeared near and far, turning the world colorful once again.
I too have known loneliness.
I too have known what it is to feel
misunderstood,
rejected, and suddenly
not at all beautiful.
Oh, mother earth,
your comfort is great, your arms never withhold.
It has saved my life to know this.
Your rivers flowing, your roses opening in the morning.
Oh, motions of tenderness!
I've had so many rainbows in my clouds
I had a lot of clouds
So I don't ever feel
I have no help
I've had rainbows in my clouds
And the thing to do it seems to me
Is to prepare yourself
So that you can be a rainbow
In somebody else's cloud
What do we call visible light? We call it color. But the electromagnetic spectrum runs to zero in one direction and infinity in the other, so really, children, mathematically, all of light is invisible.
Your days pass like rainbows, like a flash of lightning, like a star at dawn. Your life is short. How can you quarrel?
Food is rarely in short supply for Saskatoons but mobility is rare. Movement is a gift of the pollinators, but the energy needed to support the buzzing around is scarce. So the trees and the insects create a relationship of exchange that benefits both.
One little bee peeks out to see
A world of grey and snow.
She's looking for bright colors.
And she needs you to help them grow.
To give happiness to others is a great happiness, too.
All winter
the blue heron
slept among the horses.
I do not know
the custom of herons,
do not know
if the solitary habit
is their way,
or if he listened for
some missing one-
not knowing even
that was what he did-
in the blowing
sounds in the dark.
I know that
hope is the hardest
love we carry.
He slept
with his long neck
folded, like a letter
put away.
Clearly hopelessness has at least as much to do with what we bring to life as it does with what life brings to us... The challenge of hopelessness is the challenge to re-enter the human race, to take our part in it knowing that it is as much our responsibility to shape life as it is for life to shape us...Hopelessness calls us beyond quitting what we cannot quit, to learn how to do what we have been born to do. Even if this means doing one thing while waiting to do another.
Birds for leaves, and leaves for birds.
The tawny yellow mulberry leaves
are always goldfinches tumbling
across the lawn like extreme elation.
The last of the maroon crabapple
ovates are song sparrows that tremble
all at once. And today, just when I
could not stand myself any longer,
a group of field sparrows, that were
actually field sparrows, flew up into
the bare branches of the hackberry
and I almost collapsed: leaves
reattaching themselves to the tree
like a strong spell for reversal. What
else did I expect? What good
is accuracy amidst the perpetual
scattering that unspools the world.
I have an interest in the word "you" — the address that intimates use for each other, that yearning we might have, that sense of addressing self, other, Other, the void, the past, the unknown, the deeply known. That word allows me spaciousness without definition, and I like it, so I regularly repeat the word "you", in Irish, with the in and out of breath, until I've forgotten who is speaking and who is being addressed. ("The eye with which I see God / is the eye with which I see myself", my bewildering friend Meister Eckhart says.)
Is this a prayer? Sure. Is it a prayer? Why not? Is it a prayer? No. Is it? Yes. Too many years of theological study have immunized me from any interest in definitions that ask the impossible of the intellect. I'm interested in practices and signposts to the present. And breath is such a signpost, such a practice, and such an infinity.
...this is the passing of all shining things
no lingering no backward-
wondering be unto
us O
soul, but straight
glad feet fearruining
and glorygirded
faces
lead us
into the
serious
steep
darkness
What do we do with suffering? As far as I can see, we have two choices — we either transform our suffering into something else, or we hold on to it, and eventually pass it on.
In order to transform our pain, we must acknowledge that all people suffer. By understanding that suffering is the universal unifying force, we can see people more compassionately, and this goes some way toward helping us forgive the world and ourselves. By acting compassionately, we reduce the world's net suffering and defiantly rehabilitate the world. It is an alchemical act that transforms pain into beauty. This is good. This is beautiful.
To not transform our suffering and instead transmit our pain to others,...compounds the world's suffering. Most sin is simply one person's suffering passed on to another. This is not good. This is not beautiful.
The utility of suffering, then, is the opportunity it affords us to become better human beings. It is the engine of our redemption.
O Holy Spirit, you are the mighty way in which everything that is in the heavens, on the earth, and under the earth is penetrated with connectedness, is penetrated with possibility, so that all may be sustained by you.
Awake at night
while others sleep
I watch meteors fall
in glittering array,
inscrutable patterns.
Multiple fiery tails
each minute
brush the cold black
sky, sweep the cave
of my heart.
I cannot decipher the
hieroglyph of meteors,
except one passage
repeated, descending:
In zero g, space fragments
drift, invisible to human eyes.
But mesmerized by gravity,
meteors burst through
Earth's atmosphere and blaze
a firetrail across the sky:
It takes unbearable friction
and the annihilating fall
to ignite their glory light
What if we reframed "living with uncertainty" to "navigating mystery"? There's more energy in that phrase... But to navigate mystery is not the same thing as living with uncertainty ...Navigating mystery humbles us, reminds us with every step that we don't know everything, are not, in fact, the masters of all.
As humans we've long been forged on the anvil of mysteries: Why are we here? Why do we die? What is love? We are tuned like a cello to vibrate with such questions.
... one day we have to walk our questions, our yearnings, our longings. We have to set out into those mysteries, even with the uncertainty. Especially with the uncertainty. Make it magnificent. We take the adventure. Not naively but knowing this is what a grown-up does. We embark. Let your children see you do it. Set sail, take the wing, commit to the stomp. Evoke a playful boldness that makes even angels swoon. There's likely something tremendous waiting.
Humanity—in fact, the entire Earth community—currently exists in such dire circumstances that the most significant, viable, and potent solutions will seem like impossible dreams to most everyone (at first). But this is apparently the way it has always been in our universe. At the greatest moments of transformations—what Thomas Berry calls "moments of grace"—the "impossible" happens....
If you consider the data on such things as current wars, environmental destruction, political-economic corruption, social/racial divisions, and widespread psychological breakdowns, there seems to be little hope for humanity and, by extension, most other members of the biosphere. But if, alternatively, you look at the fact of miracles—moments of grace—throughout the known history of the universe, it will dawn on you that there is and always has been an intelligence or imagination at work much greater than our conscious minds. Given that we cannot rule out moments of grace acting through us in this century and the next, we have no alternative but to proceed as if we ourselves, collectively, can in fact make the difference...
When Bob brought the ministry of the Friends of Silence Letter to his home in a wild and sacred patch of forest in the foothills of the Blue Ridge, I "met" Nan. I learned of her faith and courage when in the midst of a city in turmoil and pain (1987 Detroit) she called a contemplative community to welcome the healing power of Silence and pray for peace. The little group was open to all faiths and cultures. It grew from 40 members to thousands around the world linked in heart-prayer and by the Letter, which Nan sent monthly to her "friends of Silence". That Letter carried beauty, compassion, wisdom and love to all who held its two folded pages in their grateful hands.
Fifteen years ago, we promised to hold the tender heart of Friends of Silence. We understood that Nan's hope for the life of her baby went beyond the Letter, and we endeavored to nurture Friends of Silence in the directions that seemed called, to allow the child to grow: a retreat ministry, a website with an archive and a searchable database of quotes, an electronic version of the Letter, and a Substack, each and every one a labor of love.
In this Advent season, when we remember the beautiful ancient story of a Holy birth, I ponder the baby that Nan entrusted to Bob. Just as humble and surprising, the Letter is a living being, filled with warmth and breath, crying out to the Divine Night, to the Mystery and the Silence, for all that we love. This is how I have come to understand that the Letter is alive like a fire is alive.
As the Northern Hemisphere is drawn into darkness, I find myself wanting to re-ignite that warming fire within the refuge of Silence, to do everything I can to place myself in the glow of it. As I wrote in the Letter almost a year ago, I sense that I am not alone in this yearning, and so in this December Letter we offer tinder and kindling to keep your soul fires alight, sparks from every one of us who has contributed to Nan's luminous baby during these fifteen years.
~ Lindsay
Look to the light, burn candles for peace, huddle with loved ones, yes, even strangers, and persevere, dear friends.
~ Mary Ann, from June 2022 (Vol. XXXV, No. 6)
In this part of the world, frost crusts at the edges of minute leaves and blades of grass. The chill air illuminates each breath, making us mindful once again how crucial warmth is to sustaining life. Whether sitting in a rocker by the crackling fire of a homey hearth or huddling over a trash can fire under the freeway to fend off the cold bite of homelessness, we gather round fires because we crave the heat and light they generate. In this moment of history when so much of the world has become harsh and bitter cold, people cry out for a rekindling of the fires of love and compassion. We need to build heart hearths–havens of warmth and light where we can look across the sparks and flames to see the same longings in each others' eyes.
~ Linda, from December 2015 (Vol. XXVIII, No. 11)
In the words of Michael Meade, sometimes I dream that we at Friends of Silence are "a small band of servants and fools who wend their way into moments and places with a carpetbag of stories, songs, poems, dances, melodies, snippets of wisdom, and spools of connective thread. With these, we seek to weave containers in which genius sparks can ignite the lantern of soul in every person there."
~ Bob, from February 2023 (Vol. XXXVI, No. 2)
Light dwells deep within each of us
ready to radiate forth
as our will freely surrenders
in alignment with our soul's purpose.
We are here on Earth to lift and deepen
our own awareness and that of creation:
co-partners in the Divine Plan
for the divinization of all creation.
Seek within and find the Source
of Love and Light.
Shine in unity with all whose joy
is to co-birth as a light
in the world.
Though sometimes we may feel we are lost, and though there are always many parts of this old world that are hurting and appear to be in deep darkness, we must remember that the Light is always present, all around and within us. It is up to us to turn, just slightly, and find that all-encompassing Light within ourselves. When we do, we find also that we can see it without... We are called to be Light-bearers, dear friends!
~ Anne, from January 2013 (Vol. XXVI, No. 1)
The booming voices are deafening and ever present, but it is the tiny twitters that speak to my soul. The varieties of grass growing in my garden. The patterns of planets, moons, and stars. Any tiny trait about my children. The small things matter. Seeing the small things requires some semblance of sacred silence.
~ Katie, from April 2025 (Vol. XXXVIII, No. 4)
...Darkness has a complex personality. If you'll allow a metaphor inspired by my own childhood: sometimes Darkness is a Ford Country Squire station wagon conveying a family westward on a December highway well past bedtime. Oncoming headlights—like the eyes of a never-ending caterpillar—pierce through the blackness. Pinprick stars gleam even brighter for the crisp winter night. But inside the wood-paneled vessel, all is warmth and breath: six voices belting out Christmas carols, six noses thawing while the heater kicks in, six spines tingling as cold's discomfort meets the holiday's electric anticipation.
In other words, sometimes Darkness holds us and moves us. And always, it lets us see whatever shines with greater clarity.
~ Joy, from December 2022 (Vol. XXXV, No. 11)