Build me a shrine, and I could kneel To rural Gods, or prostrate fall; Did I not see, did I not feel. That one GREAT SPIRIT governs all. O Heaven, permit that I may lie Where o’er my corse green branches wave; And those who from life’s tumults fly With kindred feelings press my grave.Robert Bloomfield
“The function of prayer is not to influence God, but rather to change the nature of the one who prays.”
Her eyes are homes of silent prayer. Tennyson,
by David Huerta
Lord, save this moment.
There’s nothing outlandish or
miraculous about it, unless it holds
a hint of immortality, a breath
of salvation. It looks like
any number of other moments…
But it’s here now among us:
it casts its yellow light and swells
like the sun or like flaming lemons
– and tastes of the sea, of loved hands
and smells like a street in Paris
where we were happy. Save it
in your memory or deliver it
into the light that sets
on this page,
barely touching it.
“You speak of doing good to the world. Is the world such a small thing? And who are you, pray, to do good to the world? First realise God, see Him by means of spiritual discipline. If He imparts power you can do good to others; otherwise not.”
― Ramakrishna, Sayings of Sri Ramakrishna
For most normal folks, drinking means conviviality, companionship and colorful imagination. It means release from care, boredom and worry. It is joyous intimacy with friends and a feeling that life is good. But not so with us in those last days of heavy drinking.
ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS, The Big Book
And wanders off into the dark:
Some times it claws me with a bark
Some times it leaves me almost free
And then I cannot see a thing
And flesh is barely tied to soul:
Those nights the density of coal
Those nights when I am not a king
Then hours bunch up to watch me fall
And I am turned into a prayer:
Some nights I circle God’s dark lair
Some nights an endless night is all
From: Dark Retreat
I love the silent hour of night, for blissful dreams may then arise, revealing to my charmed sight what may not bless my waking eyes.”
― Anne Brontë, Best Poems of the Brontë Sisters
Some men of a secluded and studious life have sent forth from their closet or their cloister, rays of intellectual light that have agitated courts and revolutionized kingdoms; like the moon which, though far removed from the ocean, and shining upon it with a serene and sober light, is the chief cause of all those ebbings and flowings which incessantly disturb that restless world of waters.
Charles Caleb Colton, author and clergyman (1780-1832)
The power of prayer does not lie in its ability to change the world we live in as much as in its potential to change we who live in the world.
There exists, for everyone, a sentence – a series of words – that has the power to destroy you. Another sentence exists, another series of words, that could heal you. If you’re lucky you will get the second, but you can be certain of getting the first.”
― Philip K. Dick, VALIS
The Colonist (Sydney, NSW : 1835 – 1840), Wednesday 2 January 1839
“Keep your head up, forge forward fee-sabeel-illah, keep praying, learning, thinking, following your dreams, and loving the people in your life. It’s all worth it, it all matters and makes a difference. Every single thing you do is meaningful, even when you don’t see it. You are my brothers, my sisters, my heroes.” –
Queensland Times (Ipswich) (Qld. : 1909 – 1954), Monday 5 August 1946,
MY SISTER’S STAYING. THINGS ARE NOTMy sister’s staying. Things are not
where I’m used to finding them. This time
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. This time
I’m the one who has been cut. The poem
I wrote for her has come back to bite me.
So she is here to help. She’s already done
the garden, finishing off the jobs her sister started.
The peace lily my mother gave me when my father died
has been re-potted and is doing well beneath the camellia.
Today we walked to Market Town for a little bit of retail
therapy: DVDs and shoes. We also saw a movie called
Brokeback Mountain, which, according to the publicists,
is about gay cowboys. In fact it’s more about
how love isn’t always able to be
what you want.
We also watch her favourite TV shows, most of which
seem to be about the supernatural. And every now and then
she says something that lets me know how she coped
with her cancer. Keeping company, we are aware
of how living and dying reach out to each other, learning to be
at ease in my new leather lounge. It’s good: we’re still here
for the moment and that will have to be enough.
From: Touching the Hem
Publisher: Vagabond Press, Sydney, 2005
BRET HARTE: _The Lost Galleon,_ Last St.
Sunday Times (Perth, WA : 1902 – 1954), Sunday 27 June 1937,
“There was a magic about the sea. People were drawn to it. People wanted to love by it, swim in it, play in it, look at it. It was a living thing that as as unpredictable as a great stage actor: it could be calm and welcoming, opening its arms to embrace it’s audience one moment, but then could explode with its stormy tempers, flinging people around, wanting them out, attacking coastlines, breaking down islands. It had a playful side too, as it enjoyed the crowd, tossed the children about, knocked lilos over, tipped over windsurfers, occasionally gave sailors helping hands; all done with a secret little chuckle”
― Cecelia Ahern, The Gift
“Once upon a time, the Reindeer took a running leap and jumped over the Northern Lights.
But he jumped too low, and the long fur of his beautiful flowing tail got singed by the rainbow fires of the aurora.
To this day the reindeer has no tail to speak of. But he is too busy pulling the Important Sleigh to notice what is lost. And he certainly doesn’t complain.
What’s your excuse?”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration
The kumara (sweet potato) does not say how sweet he is
This proverbs accentuates the the value of humbleness.
There are ghosts of me here,
and a trace of the old circle
in the grass my father mowed
so we girls could ride our horses
in the park. We reach the metal
gate that leads up to the paddock
and beyond, the house where I
lived when young.
‘I often pause my walking
here to take a rest,’ you say.
‘This road, this house.’
I called out once, at this very gate
to a God I wasn’t sure was there.
And thirty years later here you are:
the odd longevity of prayer.
Song for a Singer
When you go underground with all your airs,
Your kindly lies and your ridiculous prayers,
You shall not ever fear to face again
The strong man’s rage, the woman wild with pain
Nor song nor sigh will beat upon your brain.
The world will mourn you neither less nor more
Than all the pawns who played the game before;
The lover-lad will kiss his love anew
The water-birds will have their dance to do,
And the rude Spring will gallop over you.
The men who make will match the men who mar,
The eye unsatisfied will seek a star;
Your visitor the worm will speak you fair,
The bride will tremble and the child will stare,
And the red Summer will ride everywhere.
foto of the bellinger river from chinatown in urunga nsw
Reflections by Noel Davis
Meeting in being
Out with the land once more
with the mountains sitting all around
their fiery colours now fast asleep
but the sky wide awake
her stars rapt in the moon
close to the top of the night.
A jet day and a world away from the noise of
do and go
and the lights of illusion
listening to the desert quiet
calling me home.
Still . . .
this land in shadow
deep in the Dreaming
not a word from the trees
not a sigh from the rocks
not a whisper from the dry grass
not a sound . . .
all about silent
meeting in being.
The Art of Disappearing
“I like the stars. It’s the illusion of permanence, I think. I mean, they’re always flaring up and caving in and going out. But from here, I can pretend…I can pretend that things last. I can pretend that lives last longer than moments. Gods come, and gods go. Mortals flicker and flash and fade. Worlds don’t last; and stars and galaxies are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into cold and dust. But I can pretend…”
― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 7: Brief Lives
“Keep your head up, forge forward fee-sabeel-illah, keep praying, learning, thinking, following your dreams, and loving the people in your life. It’s all worth it, it all matters and makes a difference. Every single thing you do is meaningful, even when you don’t see it. You are my brothers, my sisters, my heroes.”
– Wael Abdelgawad
The very same adversity can make one bitter and another better. A thoughtful and prayerful study on how to face adversity can change one’s world.