Tonight we have a ‘friendship meeting’ about Work and Rest at the Baha’i Centre. For some strange reason I always associate rest — contemplative rest with looking up at the clouds. It is as if the clouds talk to us, and remind us of the wisdom of rest, peace and the beauty of meditation.
There is a beauty in rest The moment one stops Looks at the sky The wise clouds Floating overhead That look down On our struggles
There is a perfection in rest An opportunity To take stock To count one’s breaths Connect with the heart Give peace to the mind
There is a kindness in rest A healing touch The gentle reminder That says “All that chaos All those demands Places to go Things to do Unimportant ideas Matters to attend to…
Let them go Drift away Like the clouds The wise clouds Floating overhead That look down On our struggles.”
Yes please, wake up and feel joy… but if you feel you can’t find joy… there are tricks and messages to your deepest self… that can make it happen.
This is my recipe for waking up to joy. First of all check in. It’s morning, possibly… and you have just woken up. Time to ask yourself the question “Do I feel joyful?” You have two choices here… if the answer is ‘yes!’ just bask in joy. Lie there and accept the beauty of yourself, the feeling that you feel good about yourself, the ceiling, the sky, the clouds, the weather… above all things the world. Let joy pour down on you like the very best and most exquisite sunshine. Simply bath yourself in a cloud of joy that stays with you for the rest of the day.
But if you don’t feel joyful, try the dialogue game. OK… you don’t feel joyful, but part of you, tucked away like an old friend has known how to be joyful at other times. We don’t talk about this often, but human beings have access to just about every emotion in the book – anger, fear, sorrow, wisdom, depression, uncertainty, enthusiasm, conviction – we have the lot. So go into the library of your soul, or the hotel of your dreams or wherever you might find a corner of yourself, and seek out the part of you that has known joy in the past. Remember joy. It might have been when you were a kid, or having a good time with friends, it might have been when you were walking through a beautiful garden, or lying in the sunshine on the most exquisite beach; maybe you were sitting on a mountainside or swimming in clear beautiful water but somewhere you will find that piece of yourself when you felt joy… joy just for you, you and only you. Look for that spark – that spirit of joy. Relax and look for the voice and the feeling of joy. It’s all about you.
The voice of joy will love you. Give that imaginary voice of joy a chance to talk to you. Give it a chance to remind you that you do know how to feel joy, you have felt joy before, and you will find and hold and keep joy in your life again… in fact you are asking to have it now.
Lie back and allow yourself to let joy in. If you are in pain, ask the pain to move aside to let joy in. If you are depressed, just push aside any sad or bad feelings… maybe you will even see yourself pushing the those feelings aside… allowing the fresh air, the sunshine and the radiance to enter your life.
I may not even know you. But I do believe that waking up to joy, the feeling of goodwill about oneself and others around one (that includes compassion for oneself and others around one)… is one of the most powerful tonics ever. Joy in the heart is a loving gift for the mind and the spirit; it needs to be taken regularly. If you are able to remember joy… you can experience joy and also express joy… right now. Knowing joy you can make the world around you and for those around you such a beautiful place, a place to be shared.
I have always loved handwriting. I have endless notebooks that open with phrases like “I love this pen, but this other one is much less fun…” and “What’s wrong with this bloody pencil? It won’t do as it’s told!”
When I went to school I took great care to make my handwriting as aesthetically pleasing as possible. I thought I had succeeded until Miss Gilson told me that the lower loops on my ‘g’s, my ‘y’s and my ‘p’s were ridiculous and unnecessary. I was 12. I felt deeply hurt, and a zillion years later I still feel slightly miffed about this, which is hardly wise.
My handwriting was not like anyone’s in my family; both my father and my sister had strangely similar writing – orderly, controlled and elegant. I assumed that their handwriting was an expression of their true selves — they were both writers and intellectuals, and that controlled handwriting was an expression of their literacy. Tragically, when my sister was dying her handwriting changed beyond recognition. She died around my birthday, and I had to destroy all the dear little cards and notes she struggled to write at the time; they were nothing like her usual elegant script — they just served as a horrible reminder of the cruelty of her illness.
For most of my life I have made my living as a writer, starting out as a copywriter for silly products, books, technology products and later for lawyers. At various points in my life I worked as a journalist employed by several weekly papers and later as a freelance writer. When I became an interfaith minister, I started to write ceremonies – funerals, weddings, services and baby blessings. I also wrote meditations, but the great bulk of the writing done since ordination in 2007 has been prayers. I have a website of funeral readings and another called prayers for everyone.
For many years I never, ever thought of myself as a writer, and I suspect this was because I was always comparing myself to my father and my sister, and reckoned that only clever people were writers. How naïve I was… there are numerous twerps out there who reckon they are writers… and indeed they are… and they are absolutely dire.
One day I had a Damascene moment. After a serious illness I left London and my company and decided to return to freelance writing. I moved to Brighton, and felt so much more free as I wandered around the South Coast without the responsibilities of old. One weekend my wanderings took me to a craft fair. In the corner was a gentleman with a Graphology stall; he was in the process of packing things up. I asked the graphologist to do an assessment of my handwriting. He was in a hurry to go home, and didn’t seem to care that I only had twenty quid on me. With some impatience he agreed to take the money and do a quick appraisal. He told me to write down a phrase like ‘the quick brown fox…’ and also a few words of my choice. Then he sat back, and looked at my handwriting and said ‘You’re a writer.’ That’s all he said. He had seen my handwriting and he knew what I was… and in that moment I realised that he had it right. I am a writer. A prolific one… and an interfaith minister sometimes as well.
Sometimes it takes somebody else to tell you who you are… somebody in this case who didn’t give a fig but just wanted to go home.
These words came to mind a day or two ago. They were written for my funeral readings website, but most importantly for those that seek comfort in the midst of great sadness.
An angel fell to earth She tumbled like a stone A meteor A speck of space rubble
She laughed As she entered The outer atmosphere
Just a dot of light She fell from space But then suddenly She swooped Into the stratosphere And unfolded Her magnificent White wings Sailed and soared Progressing Through the blue
She dived Like a hawk Then turned And wheeled upwards On a breeze Like an eagle Her flight was dreamlike Perfection
Flocks of birds Swerved round her Surprised Humans looked up Marvelling at the shooting star Appearing and disappearing
For a while She floated on a crown of clouds Then dived earthwards Riding on air currents Tasting the perfume Of distant flowers and trees
She came To meet departing souls She came for me
My fading light Slipped into her hands And her wings opened
As she left the ground I looked back But the spirit of love Carried me to a place of joy Outside time itself
When people die we sometimes view them differently… in ways we didn’t see them when they were alive. We recall the good and the bad with a degree of uncertainty – sometimes guilt, sometimes sentimentality. There is no harm in being realistic, and with this in mind I have written a funeral reading for someone – very much like someone I knew, who was ‘almost an angel, but not quite’ in other words ‘A Kind of an Angel’.
Were you an angel? Sometimes Were you playful? Often Were you nice? Very often Could you be funny? More than often
Yes, you were a kind of an angel Yes, you were kind Yes, you could be angelic You were… A kind of an angel
When you were funny We laughed, When you were cheerful We cheered, When you were sad We felt bad
How we will miss you With your way of being We’ll never forget you Your way of seeing The funny side Of funny days Funny and silly In funny ways Yes, you were kind of an angel
So now you are an angel For real An angelic one And definitely A funny one
You’ll make them laugh You’ll make them cry You’ll make them jump You’ll make them fly
You’ll make a great angel Which is why We’ll miss you Our favourite Kind of an angel
This beautiful view of the earth from beyond – the overview – is reported to have affected a number of astronauts quite profoundly. After seeing the Earth from space, many astronauts have described their transcendent awareness of this sight in strongly spiritual language. Understandably they are greatly changed after seeing this view of their home planet for the first time. Predictably such opinions by space travellers are interpreted pretty boringly by scientists. The scientific fraternity compare this profound change of attitude as simply the effect of seeing something beautiful… like viewing the Grand Canyon for the first time. But it’s clear that experiencing the cosmic view of the Earth enables the observer to take in both the greatness and the insignificance of our planet and its multi-billion occupants – animal – vegetable and mineral. Here is a bit of ourselves – a simple seed – ancient and complex – mystical and physical. This image, once seen in all its glory, enables us to appreciate and relate to the spiritual self… whether one is on Planet Earth or far from it.
It is no coincidence that the image of The Earth from space -– The Blue Marble (first taken by Apollo 17 on December 7th, 1972) is the most reproduced image of all time. It is the seed of cosmic totality (possibly one of many) as experienced by those that have the privilege to be held within its life force. It may be the most powerful spiritual image you will ever get to see in your life-time.
Cosmic spirituality is something we can all share. Using the image of Earth from space is something that I have used in meditations many times, and it enables us to step outside of ourselves and think about other people, places and ideas in our fabulous world. The power of a meditation (like the Metta) is made even more meaningful with an awareness of this image as part of the process.
One thing that this image tells us: religion is man-made. Spiritual awareness is cosmic.
Sometimes meditation brings total connection with all things
Just as peace comes to mind So love resides in the heart. Just as calm meets the soul So time diminishes.
Then grace fills the being And the heart opens Like a flower.
These are the moments Of meeting with everything Touching every sound Hearing all colours Drinking the music of forests Hearing the song of the ocean, The chattering of birds and beasts An instant of love, Connection, Harmony, And Joy.
To believe or not to believe… That’s the real question. Here’s ‘A Prayer in Honour of Eternity’. It is also to be found on my websites – Prayers for Everyone and Funeral Readings
Some say: ‘This is the end’ And think ‘I am coming to the end’ But there is no end
For eternity Is in the soul… It is in the mind The bones The body The heart
Others say ‘I know about the end’ They imagine They understand Nothing
I only know That any belief in the end Is an idea A passing thought Without beginning Or end
For eternity Is in the soul… It is in the mind The spirit Music Laughter
And because I see and feel And hear and taste And sometimes remember And sometimes do not remember I welcome mystery
For I am eternal And I know eternity I have met eternity I am without end
