This comes from Father Richard Rohr’s blog and shares the practice of Lectio Divina.

NOTE: If you are triggered by the words “Christ” or “Christian” feel empowered to substitute any name for the Divine and any practice of Spirituality as you try this profound practice. For instance, you might change it to say, “Any mature mystical seeker sees the Divine in everything and everyone else.”

Practice: Lectio Divina

Lectio divina (Latin for sacred reading) is a contemplative way of reading, praying, and taking a long, loving look at Scripture or some other text. In lectio divina, God teaches us to listen for and seek God’s presence in silence. The text for this lectio practice is from my book The Universal Christ:

“A mature Christian sees Christ in everything and everyone else.” [1]

With the first reading, allow yourself to settle in to the exercise and familiarize yourself with the words. Read the text out loud, very slowly and clearly. Pause for a breath or two before moving on.

For the second reading, listen from a centered heart space and notice any word or phrase that stands out to you.

After a few moments of silence, read the text a third time, reflecting on how this word or phrase is connected to your current life experience. Take a minute to linger over this word or phrase, to focus on it until it engages your body, your heart, your awareness of the physical [and unseen] world around you.

You may want to speak a response aloud or write something in your journal.

For the final reading, respond with a prayer or expression of what you have experienced, inviting the infinite wisdom of God to support you in places of unknowing, confusion, desire, or hope.
Leading in with the quotation below, practice a contemplative sit. You may wish to set a timer or digital prayer bell for 5, 10, or 20 minutes, so that you know when to finish.

Seat yourself in a quiet area. Once you are settled, read the passage aloud again:

“A mature Christian sees Christ in everything and everyone else.”

Notice any tightness in your shoulders and neck and allow any tension in your muscles to relax.

Allow your back to rest in an aligned, neutral position.

Ground yourself and allow your breathing to settle. Then read the following aloud:

I am not trying to “achieve” anything. (Pause) There are no goals. (Pause) I am simply becoming aware of this moment. (Pause) Becoming aware of my presence in this moment. (Pause) As I notice any distractions, thoughts, judgments, decisions, ideas that cross my mind, I let them go for now (Pause), focusing instead on my moment-by-moment experience of being present to What Is. (Pause) God’s Presence. (Pause) The Larger Field. (Pause) En Cristo. (Pause)

Ring a prayer bell to indicate that the contemplative sit has begun.

[1] Richard Rohr, The Universal Christ: How a Forgotten Reality Can Change Everything We See, Hope For, and Believe (Convergent: 2019), 33.

Adapted from Richard Rohr, The Universal Christ: Companion Guide for Groups (CAC Publishing: 2019), 23–24, 25, 172.

One of the blogs I follow is Daily Meditations with Matthew Fox. They are often quite profound, timely and thought-provoking. I particularly resonated with this one from a few days ago because of my deep love for Sufi poet Hafiz.

This posting speaks of the creativity and erotic embodiment of Hafiz’ poetry and art. This is one excerpt of Hafiz poetry from the blog:

All the talents of God are within you.
How could this be otherwise
When your soul
derived from His genes!
I love that expression,
”All the talents of God are within you.”
Sometimes Hafiz cannot help but applaud
Certain words that rise from my depths
Like the scent of a lover’s body.

Please enjoy:

Sufi Mystic Hafiz on Art and Creativity

Our Seattle Peace Chorus in partnership with the Courage Ensemble were deeply honored to create this beautiful, timely and inspiring virtual gospel music. Please enjoy!

Enjoy this moving, harmonious Christian blessing in Amharic and English:

Our dear friend Quan Yin read this today during her online Sufi Class. She thought it was by Mary Oliver (and it has that flavor!) but in fact it is by Judith Hill.

Wage Peace

By Judyth Hill*

Wage peace with your breath.
Breathe in firemen and rubble,
breathe out whole buildings
and flocks of redwing blackbirds.

Breathe in terrorists and breathe out sleeping children
and freshly mown fields.
Breathe in confusion and breathe out maple trees.
Breathe in the fallen
and breathe out lifelong friendships intact.

Wage peace with your listening:
hearing sirens, pray loud.
Remember your tools:
flower seeds, clothes pins, clean rivers.

Make soup.
Play music, learn the word for thank you in three languages.
Learn to knit, and make a hat.
Think of chaos as dancing raspberries,
imagine grief as the outbreath of beauty
or the gesture of fish.
Swim for the other side.
Wage peace.

Never has the world seemed so fresh and precious.
have a cup of tea and rejoice.
Act as if armistice has already arrived.
Celebrate today.

* Sometimes mistakenly attributed to Mary Oliver

I found this incredibly beautiful poem this morning after my meditation in the Earth Prayers book.

Tent tethered among jackpine and blue-bells.
Lacewings rise from rock incubators.
Wild geese flying north.
And I can’t remember who I’m supposed to be.

I want to learn how to purr. Abandon
myself, have mistresses in maidenhair
fern, own no tomorrow nor yesterday:
a blank shimmering space forward and
back. I want to think with my belly.
I want to name all the stars animals
flowers birds rocks in order to forget
them, start over again. I want to
wear the seasons, harlequin, become
ancient and etched by weather. I
want to be snow pulse, ruminating
ungulate, pebble at the bottom of the
abyss, candle burning darkness rather
than flame. I want to peer at things
shameless, observe the unfastening,
that stripping of shape by dusk.
I want to sit in the meadow a rotten
stump pungent with slimemold, home
for pupæ and grubs, concentric rings
collapsing into the passacaglia of
time. I want to crawl inside someone
and hibernate one entire night with
no clocks to wake me, thighs fragrant
loam. I want to melt. I want to swim
naked with an otter. I want to turn
insideout, exchange nuclei with the
Sun. Toward the mythic kingdom of
summer I want to make blind motion,
using my ribs as a raft, following
the spiders as they set sail on their
tasselled shining silk. Sometimes
even a single feather’s enough
to fly.

Robert MacLean, in Earth Prayers, p.26-7

Kira Kull read this to us during a Zoom event and I was deeply moved and wanted to share it with all of you.

Rainforest

By Kira Gayatri Kull

Dedicated to Bayna-Lehkiem El-Amin

If this world were a forest,
I’d be one tiny white mushroom at (almost) the top of the canopy
Who’s been given enough sun and the right amount of rain
With just enough sight to know my height
And see the shade cast down from those above.
Here’s a little of what I learned and I promise it’s all with love.
At what point do we forget we’re all just creatures in this forest?
Surrounded by many others,
All deserving of life, but born into different worlds.
The soft moss, baby beetles, large ferns, and flying spiders
Each sip the same air and suffer when fire flares.
And when one species is at risk,
Our delicate ecosystem begins to crumble
Now too many beetles, suddenly receding moss,
Everyone suffers the domino effect of this loss.
If the health of the whole, and therefore each individual group,
Is dependent on the rest,
How is it ok that I have to curate my clothes for safety, let alone success?
And if I choose ‘wrong’ it becomes my fault for being harassed,
My fault for lesser pay,
My fault for choices that were never designed to go my way.
Now let me be clear: I’m privileged, too.
My skin works like opal magic and for years I didn’t know.
I thought cuz I was nice and smiled and shed a tear they’d say,
“Just get home safe” and “You have nothing to fear.”
Then I came here, to New York City:
Dense old-growth canopy, rich with diversity.

Suddenly in high quality I see
The way my browner friends come into negative contact with
authority.
It’s not fair I won’t get caught,
Not fair I can walk away
Not fair I’m the one presumed innocent
When, for the same,
My friend with kinky hair gets locked away.
So while the catcalls for wearing nice clothes, tight clothes,
(because I have to so I fit in at work with the corporate bros)
and the typecasting as ‘smart’ (for my glasses) or ‘butch’ (for my size)
won’t let me show my range unless I start to heavily exercise.
While those opposing standards pain me,
Near impossible to compromise without compromising me,
The women and people of color who know more, do more,
Even the ones who earn more, but are seen as less
Will remain more likely to be put under arrest.
Yes. This forest is under duress.
And we have to untangle our ancestors’ mess.
It can’t be ignored any longer,
Cuz if we don’t put this raging fire out,
There will be nothing left but ash for us to talk about.
Unless.
We start listening, learning, and acting through our love
Begin to support the youngest trees and lift each other up
Create irrigation systems of peace, so everyone can fill their cup.
Because out there in the forest pines grow right next to oaks
and it doesn’t matter at all what color fall provokes.

This was just posted in Rev. John Mabry’s online journal “Covid Tales” which I highly recommend. As I read this my heart burst open with recognition of a Divine message. I hope it touches you as well.

“Corona Corona” by Susan McCaslin

What kind of crown bears death?
What kind of queen hefts quarantine?
Parasitic in a liminal zone,
you are a spikey shell
unaware of the damage wreaked.
Our economies forged dark streams,
pathways for your kind of havoc.
We check our devices,
listen to the newscasts,
watch our Netflicks flicker,
hunker in the void
co-avoiding physical contact,
incarnate and encapsulated
dreaming new modes of being

Dreaming new modes of being
I wonder why I’m addressing you.
You’re just one of many sub-streams –
SARS, Spanish flu, Bubonic Plague.
We sit with storytellers, re-configure
Boccaccio’s Decameron, clutch Julian of Norwich’s
Revelations of Divine Love, ponder Dicken’s
“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times,”
self-isolate with Camus’ The Plague
knowing nothing’s new under the sun.
Stranded in para-doxology, we give thanks for
this contemplative pause
from compulsory progress, Gaia’s chance
to take a breath as the wild creatures return.

Taking a breath as the wild creatures return,
we peer through the global membrane,
ears cupped to a hermit thrush’s spiraling song
held in the arc of a great blue heron’s flight.
When poems interweave
with light and dark they sing, stranded
between lament and praise
thanksgiving and trembling,
our vast unknowing graced by love,
small acts of compassion,
heartwork of the justice imagination,
prayers for collective transfiguration.
Can we uncrown ourselves as lords of creation,
since heavy crowns bear death – not regeneration?

“Corona Corona” first appeared on the online blog of Lesley-Anne Evans: https://buddybreathing.wordpress.com/2020/04/26/napomo-poetry-party-

It appeared subsequently in Dialogue Magazine (Nanaimo, British Columbia) and Sage-ing magazine (Kelowna, BC)

With thanks to Tarana for posting this on FB. May it be so.

May I become at all times, both now and forever
A protector for those without protection
A guide for those who have lost their way
A ship for those with oceans to cross
A bridge for those with rivers to cross
A sanctuary for those in danger
A lamp for those without light
A place of refuge for those who lack shelter
And a servant to all in need.”

~Shantideva, 8th century Buddhist monk

I just wanted to share this lovely quote from Alexia Allen of Hawthorn farm. She puts out a blog that is always entertaining and profound in its earth-based wisdom and loving grace.

“You can tell our hemisphere is tilting away from the sun. It shows in the yellowing alder leaves, the slant of the light, the shifted constellations. You can tell by the smells, by the steam from the compost pile on a cool morning, by the pumpkins swelling on the vine. Spring blossoms seem so long ago. Late summer is filled with sweet wistfulness. It’s the season of blackberries on vanilla ice cream, the season of knowing that summer will end. No one ever knows the whole future. We all muddle towards it, because we’re all human. The best we can do is trust each moment and ourselves, and absorb the beauty around us whenever we need it. May you breathe deeply and peacefully as you bask in golden sunlight.”