We write to you as the moon moves into its fullness and spring does the same in the Northern Hemisphere. Seeds are on my mind. In the loam of silence seeds for the future are planted from the invisible world of the yet-to-be born. This year as I enter the season of planting, I am aware of the preciousness of wholesome, unadultered seeds, which reproduce so generously. One squash or ear of corn multiplies a hundredfold in the natural order of things. This year as I drop seeds into the blessed earth I am thinking about the generations that brought this tiny seed being to my hand. It is the same with each of us, born of seed that has come a long long way over time to blossom as "me". It's hard to wrap our minds around the great human and plant ancestry that precedes us. None-the-less the lineage supports us day in and day out as we eat the fruits of seeds passed to us in the unfoldment of time...as we wear clothes made of fabric spun from plant gifts, or sheared from animals who feed on plants born of seeds. Even petroleum comes from plant seeds. And, I believe, that those in our blood lines who are deceased, are forever are a foundation for our lives.
May our moments of silence this Sunday be dedicated to the great river of life-giving force that waters a sacred natural order, arising faithfully in form. In this spirit, may our lives also flower forth from this well-spring. There is so much to remember in a world that feeds on speed, weapons, and a throw-away mentality.
a link to a short video of a 13 year old girl from Holland, Melissa Venema, playing "The Silence" on her trumpet. It is the original version of "Taps" written in 1801. When I heard it, the peace of remembrance and gratitude swelled in me...carried by a new generation.
Here's to a culture of peace and creativity born in the folds of inner silence.