• evansph2

Updated: Dec 7, 2021




Click HERE to see a video our church used to start our worship service this week. So beautiful!!



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  • evansph2

Updated: Nov 16, 2021


This morning I decided to try a variation on my usual sitting meditation. I just decided to hold an important word in my mind. This is a variation on a technique called "centering prayer". (See more about that by clicking HERE). You find an important word in a text -- or in this case the image just "came" to me. As I held onto the word and the image of driftwood, of course, my mind wandered. I brought it back to my word -- "driftwood". This process continued for a while when it suddenly occurred to me to notice WHERE my mind drifted instead of the simple fact THAT it drifted. My mind drifted to an art experience I had had over the week-end, then it drifted to drawing, then it drifted to cooking -- all things I love to do! I took it as a sign that I should let myself "drift" more often!


In that frame of mind I went to my sketch book and just decided to let my pencil "drift" over a page that had some colored squares painted on it. I thoroughly enjoyed just experimenting with what kind of marks I could make with a pencil -- without having anything in mind. It was just an experiment. I looked back in my sketchbook and found a couple of other times I had just played around with some art tool and made "marks". There is something satisfying in doing this for me. I put on some music and called it a new form of morning meditation.





And then I remembered a time this summer when I encountered a huge cache of driftwood on a beach and I wrote a poem;


DRIFTING


I walk along the beach

and discover a collection

of driftwood. Grayed,

cracked, broken...

beautiful.


Beautiful in a way

that its original form

would never have understood.

Separated from its original purpose,

no longer a part of a tree --

transported by the sea

to a far distant shore,

bleached by time and sun.


Oh friends, we could embrace

such transformation,

be prized for our cracks

and crags. Allow

ourselves to drift

into a new sort of beauty

as the years roll by.



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  • evansph2

Updated: Oct 25, 2021




What if you knew what you’d die of and when and where and who would be there? Would you avoid those places? Would you protect yourself from all danger? Would you try to somehow defeat this knowing? Or, would you walk forward willingly into the fate that was determined for you? Would you disbelieve it? Would you live more consciously? More kindly? Would you slow down? speed up? Would you learn to tap dance? Meditate? Would you quit jogging, dieting? What committees would you resign from? Or, would you finally volunteer to join one because after all you DO want to influence things before you die? Is there a trip you’d take or a restaurant you’ve always wanted to eat in? Or, would you go off on your own to sort out the path to your death?


Of course, we’re on that road right now as I write and you read these words. Is my happiness about not knowing the particulars of my death a protection? If I don’t know, it is easier to stay on the mindless path of the status quo…


There is a Buddhist exercise where you get yourself a toy dagger and you keep it in your belt for a week – a ready reminder that death can always be at hand. Or, at least the awareness of it can.


Here is a poem from Ellen Bass about all this…


IF YOU KNEW…


What if you knew you'd be the last to touch someone? If you were taking tickets, for example, at the theater, tearing them, giving back the ragged stubs, you might take care to touch that palm, brush your fingertips along the life line's crease.

When a man pulls his wheeled suitcase too slowly through the airport, when the car in front of me doesn't signal, when the clerk at the pharmacy won't say Thank you, I don't remember they're going to die.

A friend told me she'd been with her aunt. They'd just had lunch and the waiter, a young gay man with plum black eyes, joked as he served the coffee, kissed her aunt's powdered cheek when they left. Then they walked half a block and her aunt dropped dead on the sidewalk.

How close does the dragon's spume have to come? How wide does the crack in heaven have to split? What would people look like if we could see them as they are, soaked in honey, stung and swollen, reckless, pinned against time?


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