It occurs to me…

This photo taken in Puerto Vallarta in 2009.

Blessings —

through it all, the blessings shine through,

inexplicably so,

against all odds,

somehow,

some way,

the blessings shine through —

but of course,

it helps to part the curtains.

Drawn back, as often, to the Coleman Barks translation of Rumi’s The Guest House:

The Guest House

​This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

​A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

​Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

​The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

​Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

I am seeking God.

God is seeking me.

The odds favor us finding each other,

though more likely through His efforts than mine.

Still, we’re both looking.

Much time is spent in Christianity on The Great Commission, Matthew 28:19:

“’Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and the Son and the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.’”

It occurs to me on reading this today that we shortchange the following sentence, what I have dubbed “The Great Assurance:”

“’And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.’”

Granted, one has to get past the urge to reply with the Airplane inspired quip: “Thanks, Jesus, but quit calling me Shirley,” but having done so, it seems to me that this passage provides great comfort, great assurance.  Jesus has given us a tall order, but is not asking us to do this alone, he is agreeing to partner with us in the process of living our lives.  I, for one, could use the help.

This photo was taken and originally sent in 2009. I can mentally put myself back on the path, but can’t for the life of me recall exactly where the photo was taken.

Stepping onto the already occupied elevator today the thought occurs to me:

Whatever happened to elevator music?

As we shared that cube we used to share a common experience, if not a common floor.  (Well, yes, for varying distances we had our feet on the same elevator floor, but you know what I mean.)

But back to my point,

Whatever happened to elevator music?

Watered down, instrumental, elevatorized songs we never (we hoped) would have to hear from beginning to end, music composed, it seems, to help us forget about time on our vertical journeys. The trick seemed to be to have us focus on the vapid music, and its lack of heart and soul.

No R-E-S-P-E-C-T from Aretha here.  No Y-M-C-A. Nothing to make you want to sing, dance, or even tap your feet.  We’ll have none of that in our shared rectangle. Only vaguely familiar tunes easily forgotten once you began your horizontal travels.

Sadly, we are now left to staring at each other’s shoes, wondering when it became okay to wear brown shoes with a dark suit, when socks (if worn at all) no longer needed to “match” or even “go.” 

Here’s my floor.  But really, whatever happened to elevator music?

From Roger Miller’s Leavin’s Not the Only Way To Go, this excerpt that seems to apply well beyond the lost love story of the song:

“People reach new understandings all the time

Take a second look

Maybe change your mind”

It occurs to me that putting those three lines between thought and action could keep me out of a lot of trouble.

Originally sent in 2012, photo taken of a willing subject who spent a lot of time at the base of the fountain in the back yard at our previous home. The fountain moved with us, the frog didn’t.

From Hope, by Lisel Mueller:

Hope…

“It is the singular gift

we cannot destroy in ourselves,

the argument that refutes death,

the genius that invents the future,

all we know of God.”