HORSES, WATER, AND SACRED SERVICE “You can lead a horse to water…” Well, you know the rest. I was never easily led to water, or anywhere else for that matter. I have always been cautious about what the water had really done for the one seeking to lead me. If it appeared that the proverbial water had done something beneficial for you, I may well follow you and take a drink. If you speak about the water as being helpful in one way, yet how you live exhibits something entirely different, I am not interested in being led. Not by you. Not by anyone. It does not matter how many others may be sipping or gulping. I want to literally test the waters before I will follow
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So far Unity Palm Beach has created 22 blog entries.
Who is Dying? I’m dying. I am not. That distinction has set me free. In a time of veracious global illness and vast dying there is an invitation to open into the inescapable truth that I’m dying. Most likely not today. In all probability not anytime soon. And yet even that is questionable. The only thing that is beyond question is that it will happen. Equally beyond question is that I am will never die. There is a tension of sorts between those two unquestionable truths. One day the who of me will release its final exhalation and this incarnation will be ended. The what of I am will remain unaffected. The what may well carry on becoming another who. Unlearned lessons will move with that final
JOGGING WHILE BLACK I guess it is the price you pay for jogging while black. I am not in any way making a joke. I at first felt as if typing those words was making me sick. Then I realized I was typing the words from a deep sick feeling down inside of me. News reposts tell me that a young black man was hunted and gunned down for basically being black. For jogging while being black. How could that be? When I was in my early teens a high school senior in my home congregation decided to bring a friend of hers to church. I recall vividly looking down the hallway as Jennifer and her friend approached from the opposite end of the hall. It is
Crying, Not Sorry I am crying, and I am not sorry. I am admittedly rationing the amount of news coverage I am currently ingesting. I am accessing, to the best of my ability, the least biased reporting as is possible. I want to remain aware of what is happening, without allowing myself to become saturated or politicized. As I am consciously participating in the news coverage my heart and my body are responding with incredible waves of both excruciating pain and exhilarating celebration. I am seeing before me and feeling within me what seem to be the broadest ranges of human experience. I am watching, in real time, as precious souls are leaving the planet in unprecedented numbers. I am witnessing as health care professionals deliver not
HUMAN BEING We are spiritual beings having a human experience. Are we? My question refers to the latter, not the former. It has oft been quoted. So often I am not sure it holds much meaning. We are spiritual beings having a human experience. It took me decades to realize the last thing I wanted was to have a human experience. I was clearly a not-so-human being trying every way I could to have a spiritual experience. Trying to get rid of this bothersome humanity in order to hover over this body and earth as a purely transcendent being of only Light. I longed for the perceived perfection that books and teachers pointed to. I lived a life divided against myself. I thought that if I was
ALL IN THIS TOGETHER I have been repeatedly hearing that we are all in this together. Why does that often not feel like good news? I am making the choice to follow the CDC guidelines during this prolonged pandemic. I go to my office once a week to sit alone in front of a camera and live stream a Sunday service to countless people I can’t see, and many I do not know. I choose to wear a mask coming and going from my office. I am washing my hands and sanitizing my surfaces. I am primarily engaging these practices so that I remain available to be of service, and so that I do not risk infecting anyone else. I do not seek approval or applause because
LOVE: STAT! I have never been clearer that the time to love is now. With a global pandemic keeping us locked within our homes it does seem the only way to survive is to distance and to disconnect from others. In the physical realm this indeed is having a measurable effect. But even as we distance there has never been in my lifetime a more crucial time to connect at a deeper level and to love with a broader and more expansive love. My last blog post was entitled Serviceable Disconnection. I feebly attempted to describe the ongoing mechanics of both disconnection and connection. I will not elaborate further on that missive except to say that both are essential to how we unfold and evolve as human
SERVICEABLE DISCONNECTION Staying connected was never my strong suit. Because of things that happened very early in my childhood people were scary and intimacy was polluted. I learned down in my emotional body that when I was open and available, I got hurt. Before I had the right and the voice to say no things happened to a child that simply should not happen. People who said they loved me used that promise to compromise and abuse me. And so early on I learned that openness was dangerous, and love could be tormenting. If this is already too much for you, please feel free to scroll on or hit delete. If you have heard or read me at all you know that I often remind us all
GROUNDED “You are grounded, young man!” “You will stay at home until I tell you that you can leave!” “Go to your room!” “You have just lost your privileges!” “You go sit and you think about what you have done.” I actually was only grounded once as a young teen. The threat was ever looming, however. I always tended to be the good kid. The responsible one. The one my mother could always count on. I had an extremely short career as a rebel at about thirteen. I found out was grounding was all about. It actually wasn’t so bad. But back to good kid I went. So, it is a truly shocking experience to be, at age sixty-two, grounded for the second time in my life.
SICK AS YOUR SECRETS I am a somewhat public person who greatly values privacy. Privacy is not the same thing as secrecy. Someone once pointed out to me that when I die countless secrets will die with me. I guess at a level that is true. But whenever I am sitting with someone and they share something with me that they had been holding in secrecy the release of energy is palpable. When they say what they have feared to say to another living being, and I do not run shrieking from the room, the relief is beyond description. The knotted energy of the secret is untied in the telling. The shroud of shame is vaporized in a moment of vulnerability. What had seemed so solid and