When Sarah gathered herself together enough to speak without weeping, she had to ask:
"How did you know my most terrible secret? Is my lack of faith in God so obvious?"
"My lady, I assumed that you would have such thoughts simply because any human being in your position would HAVE to have them. You give no outward sign of it. And it is not lack of faith. You can't stop thoughts like that from entering your head. Faith doesn't mean that you never doubt. Faith only means that you never act upon your doubts."
As James Maxton cemented and grouted the seven angels, he underwent a spiritual transformation. A diabetic, coming off drugs, James suffered pain and swelling in his feet. He could only work three hours a day. Once every hour, he would limp back to his house and bathe his feet in ice. It wasn't until he completed the icons that James saw the beauty of what he had created. "I got all choked up," he says. "For me it was a spiritual awakening, just looking at them, seeing the people all around looking at the angels, too. I like to say I was reborn in that garden. It was my personal resurrection."
Play is our contact with our love for life. It brings us back into our joy at being alive and shows us where our freedom is. Play moves us out of our fixed mindsets: it offers freedom from the tyranny of habit, freedom from the mundane and ordinary, from the rational and need to know and be in control. It's freedom from rigid identification with race, class, gender, and even species.
How do we make a place sacred? By removing diversions. By creating silence. By bringing our presence and btreth to a point of stillness. By listening with our skin, touching with our energy field, feeling with our senses. By holding intent as we enter a sacred place. By drawing out the power of a place with love, courage, and attention. By inviting spirit and welcoming it fully.
from "EarthLight" (Sprding 2000, Issue 37) by Meg Beeler
On a sould discovery journey in the desert, our group included Miguel Gruntlein, who had studied the Peruvian flute. Early each morning I would hear Miguel somehwere near the camp playing the most serene song to gree the dawn with the same haunting tune; as we moved camp, the tune changed. When asked, Miguel said he was playing the songs of the canyon. Each place has its own song and reflects a unique facet of his soul that comes alive in the particular wild place he visits, a conversation between Miguel and the wild.
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