Throughout my life, by means of my life,
the world has little by little caught fire in my sight,
until a flame all around me,
it has become almost luminous from within.
Such has been my experience in contact with the Earth.
The diaphany of the divine at the heart of the universe on fire.
~ Teilhard de Chardin from THE HEART OF THE MATTER
Let us ponder over this basic truth till we are steeped in it, till it becomes as familiar to us as our awareness of shapes or our reading of words: God, at the most vitally active and most incarnate, is not remote from us, wholly apart from the sphere of the tangible; on the contrary, at every moment God awaits us in the activity, the work to be done, which every moment brings. God is, in a sense, at the point of my pen, my pick, my paint-brush, my needle – and my heart and my thought. It is by carrying to its natural completion the stroke, the line, the stitch I am working on that I shall lay hold on that ultimate end towards which my will at its deepest levels tends.
~ from HYMN OF THE UNIVERSE by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
Autumn blessings to each of you, dear friends of silence! It's hard to believe summer vacations are over and harvest time, with fall activities and duties is here. As we return to our workplaces, consider Gibran’s teaching: "Work is your love made visible." Adding consciousness and attention to the skills we bring to our workplace is demonstrating love visibly, and what a difference it can make! For as within, so without: If we work consciously and with love shining, we are adding Light to our surroundings and others will respond to it. That still point deep within can guide us from day to day, from moment to moment, and promote a more peaceful, cooperative atmosphere as we go about our duties. So may it be for each of us!
When Henry wove a rug, he wove from the depths of his spirit and from the fullness of his heart, and with the careful eye of a focused mind. Directly across from his upright loom, at eye level on the concave wall of the hut, Henry had lettered a small sign for his own inspiration: BY THEIR WORKS YE SHALL KNOW THEM. And more, it was a reminder that his remission from consumption, he believed, had come as a consequence of work with his hands. Work for him was the very stuff of salvation and healing. For that reason, whenever he should write or type or spell the word "work" for any reason, he would use an uppercase "W" as its beginning.
If artistic creations emerge from our lives and the ways in which we see the world, then it seems useful to engage the workplace as a source of creative subject matter and energy. The job is the place where most of us spend time and expend effort each day. It is the world we inhabit, and I believe we can make it better and more satisfying through the conscious use of the creative process. . . . Our creations and our lives are enhanced when we realize that everything in our environment is a source for imagination.
~ from “The Practice of Creativity in the Workplace” by Shaun McNiff, in THE SOUL OF CREATIVITY, ed. by Tona P. Myers
If we open up to our vitality and to the sense of urgency that flows within us, we will have the pleasure of experiencing ourselves living and working in cooperation with the deepest forces of life.
It is not vast quantities of mechanical work that appeals to the Divine, but it is the link with the divine consciousness established through that work that matters. This consideration of the spirit in which the work is done is of the utmost relevance to all of us who want to progress toward divine consciousness. When one is conscious during work, that quality of consciousness is naturally imparted to what one is working with or upon. Such work retains the vibration of that person and they link others immediately with that cause.
If only he could work faster. Yet if he did work faster, how could he produce paintings grounded in deep beds of contemplation, the only way living things could be stilled long enough to understand them? And wasn't everything he painted--a breadbasket, a pitcher, a jewelry box, a copper pan--wasn’t it all living?
~ from THE GIRL IN HYACINTH BLUE by Susan Vreeland
