Happy Love Day

What if God was one of us?

If God had a name,
What would it be,
And would you call it to His face
If you were faced with Him
And all His glory?
What would you ask if
You had just one question?

If God had a face,
What would it look like
And would you wanna see
If seeing meant you would have to believe
In things like Heaven
And in Jesus and the Saints
And all the Prophets?

What if God was one of us;
Just a slob like one of us;
Just a stranger on a bus
Tryin' to make His way home?

Lyrics by Joan Osborne

I have been troubled lately, troubled as to how I am supposed to love “everybody”. Why that just doesn’t seem possible. I’m supposed to love that guy blasting his rap music so loud that I have to roll up my windows, I’m supposed to love that woman who shoves me out of the way so she can get on the train first, love that person who cut me off in traffic and then flipped me the bird. I just can’t do it God.

And then I remembered the lyrics to this song. It was released in 1995 and had a catchy tune that caught my ear right away. Then when I heard the words, it just floored me.

And then I woke up this morning remembering them.

If each and every one of us, on each and every day were told that God was here among us, but it was up to us to figure out who he/she was. Why you bet I would love that guy with his rap music, I would love that woman shoving me and I would even love that person flipping me the bird.

Because what if they were God? I sure would want God to know that I loved him/her now wouldn’t I?

And you know what?

Now, I know,

THEY ARE GOD!

And I am too.

And the truth is, it is all about love. Love for all.

"I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there
can be no more hurt, only more love."
~Mother Teresa

"A human being is a part of a whole, called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest... a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty."
~Albert Einstein

May you have a Valentine's Day filled with love, love for yourself and all.

Coal Holders

We Are The Coal Holders

Ever since the beginning, there's always been the guy who’s job it was to carry the last hot coal. (Remember?)

See, when the tribe moved on, someone had to carry the last hot coal to start up the next fire at the next campsite. They needed this fire to cook with, sleep near, talk and sing around. Now, many of these coal-holders, over time, became folk singers.

Later on, some went electric. Some even became rock and roll singers, punkers and rappers. Hey, different tribes, different instruments. But the job itself has never changed.

My dad was one of these guys. And a lot of his songs were pretty damned hot!

We are Woody’s coal-holders. We do this to keep our present day tribe warm, fed, and informed.

Sometimes it gets real cold out there (Have you noticed?) and it seems like a chilly wind is just going to blow us all off the map.

A lot of people are feeling the effects of the chill; no food, no shelter, no singing, no rights. And other people are chilling inside; no warmth, no joy, no song, no tribe.

Coal-holders are real important right now!

They will be the ones who will make it possible to build the next fire. They will be the ones to serve up our next hot meal or our next warm talk. And though it seems that there are no bonfires burning just yet, I do feel that things are warming up!

- Nora Guthrie and everyone here!

Do you think God created the universe and then just disappeared? God speaks to us every minute of every day. Most of us are listening to so much background noise that we don’t hear him at all. In the recent tragedy involving coal miners, God was all over the place. 13 miners trapped, 12 lost their lives and 1 survived. Go look up 12 around 1 on the internet. How many disciples including Jesus were there? The 12 who lost their lives spent their last minutes writing letters to their families and loved ones. Letters of faith and love. “I’ll see you on the other side” – “It’s just like going to sleep”. Coal miners are the backbone of this country. They are the real Americans, the ones who work hard at dangerous jobs. And they have been victims of heinous “big business” tycoons who have treated them worse than dirt. But they survived and continue to bring that coal up from the depths of the earth. They are some of the most heroic people in this land. And sometimes they reach for the stars like Homer Hickam http://www.homerhickam.com/miners/

God wants us to know that he is always with us, and to remember that “We are the Coal Holders”. And the world needs us now, light up your fire, get that coal hot, sing it out to the world. Sing it!

In the words of Woody Guthrie -

Heaven

It’s after my work tired and weary, I lay down to rest my eyes,
I see this world change in a whirlwind and heaven flies down from the skies;
I see rising up from my wreckage, cities and mansions so bright
I see my friends eyes and their faces lit up with a bright shining light.

I walk through the sunshiny factory where dresses and shirts are both clean;
A brother and sister are singing at work as they watch all the wheels;
No smudge clouds of smoke hid my valley, my sight it is clear for miles;
The mountains are all dancing happy, the trees are waving me smiles.

There are no sickly faces about me, the children are healthy and gay;
Not one homeless soul is around me, not lost, nor cripple, nor lame;
The street laid in finest of plastics, the atom is laboring as well;
No airships are crashing here by me, no dead ones in burning hotels.

No fast cars collide nor turn over, no death curve along my new road;
No cheaters, no gamblers, no robbers, no graveyard, no prisons, no jails;
No gasbombs, no brass knucks, no billies, no battles ‘tween worker and boss;
No patrolman, no officer, policeman, to ride into crowds on his horse.

The last labor battles are ended, they’re shown on the screen and the page;
The workhand is happy at building his world like the play on his stage;
Profiteers are gone and forgotten, except in my history and book,
My friends all have jobs here in heaven and sing as I stand here and look.

I am sawing the finest made fiddle, I am touching the richest skin drum;
I am blowing the sweetest of woodwinds and blowing the deepest of horns;
I dance to my music I’m making, and the world joins in with my dance;
Science and hope cures the fevers, not one grain is blowing by chance.

Every hand works in hand with the other, and not for power nor greed;
Every hand works to its fullest ability and is paid in its deepest of need;
No cancer, no tuberculosis, no paralysis nor asylums are here
No bowery, nor skid row of homeless, no eye that is blinded by tears.

If you can only see with me this vision of heaven I dreamed,
Then you can take new faith in working with comrades and friends
And when I woke up from my sleeping and looked down my raggedy street,
I go back to work with my vision and I drink down the bitter and sweet.

I know as you hear such a dream, friend, you will not pass it along;
I do not expect you to sing it as I do, nor to sing such a curious song;
I wrote down this song for my own self, and sing it now to my own soul,
But if you’ll sing songs of your dreamings, then you will reap treasures untold.

Row, Row, Row Your Boat

Row, Row, Row your boat
Gently down the stream
Merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream……….

Anne Sexton : Life into Art

A story, a story!
(Let it go. Let it come.)
I was stamped out like a Plymouth fender
into this world.
First came the crib
with its glacial bars.
Then dolls
and the devotion to their plastic mouths.
Then there was school,
the little straight rows of chairs,
blotting my name over and over,
but undersea all the time,
a stranger whose elbows wouldn't work.
Then there was life
with its cruel houses
and people who seldom touched -
though touch is all-
but I grew,
like a pig in a trenchcoat I grew,
and then there were many strange apparitions,
the nagging rain, the sun turning into poison
and all of that, saws working through my heart,
but I grew, I grew,
and God was there like an island I had not rowed to,
still ignorant of Him, my arms and my legs worked,
and I grew, I grew,
I wore rubies and bought tomatoes
and now, in my middle age,
about nineteen in the head I'd say,
I am rowing, I am rowing
though the oarlocks stick and are rusty
and the sea blinks and rolls
like a worried eyeball,
but I am rowing, I am rowing,
though the wind pushes me back
and I know that that island will not be perfect,
it will have the flaws of life,
the absurdities of the dinner table,
but there will be a door
and I will open it
and I will get rid of the rat inside of me,
the gnawing pestilential rat.
God will take it was his two hands
and embrace it.

As the African says:
This is my tale which I have told,
if it be sweet, if it be not sweet,
take somewhere else and let some return to me.
This story ends with me still rowing.

- "Rowing" by Anne Sexton, from The Awful Rowing Towards God

This rowing is very hard. Just when I think I have everything figured out. I realize I don't. And then the hardest part is I realize I am all alone. I can't bring anybody with me. I have to row this boat all alone.

I have been hitting my daughters over the head with all the wonderful new things I have discovered. Filled with enlightment and joy, I just want them to get on the boat with me. Go here, read this, listen to this. A shock to realize that they weren't listening at all. Then I had a vision of my little girl self patiently nodding my head to my mother who loved and strived her whole life to be what she thought God wanted her to be, and tried to make me come with her. My eyes glazed over, my ears grew plugs. Nodding my head, yes mother dear. But the whole time not listening at all. And I realize now that I can't make my daughters get in the boat with me. Only I can row, and row, and row.

It's lonely.

And now I realize, my mother was too.

Are you Alive?

Santa brought me a very unexpected gift this Christmas. He helped me find the hidden doorways to the secret of my very own being.

I discovered that I was asleep, and a journey has begun. A journey to discover my heart.

Just like Jules Verne in a Journey to the Center of the Earth. I have embarked on a journey to the center of me. Into my own earth or heart.

And with each new day I feel more alive than I ever have. I feel the earth and stars as they move. I feel myself dancing with them in this lovely game of life.

Each day brings me more magical discoveries. Old things become new treasures that I find along the way. I collect books and I become so attached to them that I find it hard to part with any of them.

One that I have kept and treasured for many years is "Dandelion Wine" by Ray Bradbury. How wonderful to go back and find this treasure, and read it now with new eyes. Here is a link to someone who says it much better than I ever could. Link