Author Archives: Jennifer

Summer Re-Run: On the Usefulness of Grief–Gifts from the Child

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Dear Wonder Child Blog Readers,


This post on grieving was first published 2 years ago.  Each idea about grief is couched in a quote from the Wonder Child.  May this post bring anyone peace and comfort as they move through, and with, grief. 

Blessings,

Joseph



Everyday
 my child gives me
brief snapshots of things
he would like me to share. 
This week, as a significant chapter of my life
drew to a close,
my child gave me several gifts
to help me move through,
 and with, my tears.
Here are some of them.

“Tears,” said the child, wiping one from the tortoise’s eye, “cleanse the heart and water the soul. You are so open when you weep.”

                                          

“Is there a way out?” wept the wounded man to the child. “Yes, dear one, it’s through your wounds and it’s through me.”

                                              

“The sadness is back,” said the old man to the child, “what should I do?” “Embrace it,” said the child tenderly, “and then keep moving.”

         

“Do not mislead them,” said the child to the angels, “there is sorrow just as there is rain. There is anger just as there are storms.”

                                            

“There are tears,” said the child holding the old man weeping. “Let them come. They are healing you, me, the other children, the world.”

                                          

“Why fight your tears?” asked the child as the old man wept, “tears are to grief as laughter is to joy. And both are just as necessary.”

     

“I know you want to take away their suffering,” the child said the man, “but if you did, you would take away their reason to change.”

“So comfort them in their suffering,” said the child, “help them bear it, but let them let it go.  You cannot take it away, it isn’t yours.”

The child came to my bedside in his ship of full of light and said, “It is OK-cry.  This water I sail on is from the tears of the blessed.”

“Come,” said the child to young man weeping, “look at what your tears have grown!”

“Shh,” whispered the child to the angels, “listen to the old man weeping, “his grief is the moving the stars to shine.”





Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

Summer Re-Runs: The Spiritual Aspects to the Parts of Speech, Part III, Adjectives

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Dear Wonder Child Blog Readers,


A couple years ago I did a little series on the spiritual aspects of the parts of speech. It generated a lot of visits and discussions.  It was also one of my favorites to write. Today I am reposting Part III, Adjectives.  I hope you like it. Let me know, as poetically as you can.  If you want to read the rest of this series, look in the category archives on the left side of this page for the category, The Parts of Speech. 

Peace,

Joseph

The Spiritual Aspects

Of the Parts of Speech,

Part III: Adjectives

By

Joseph Anthony

 

Adjectives are the painting words in our language.  You could
say, the lion, and that
would technically be a complete sentence, but why not say what the lion is
doing?—The lion roars.  Next, imagine what the lion looks like: The golden lion roars.  Or,
The wild-eyed, golden-maned lion roars with the roar of creation.  The
sentences with the adjectives are more interesting.  They give you a
better picture.  You could say, the
flower grows, or, the
dew-dappled, red rose grows.  See what I mean?

Our handy online etymology dictionary says that the origins for
the word adjective mean to add to or throw
near.  What words do you add to the names of things?  Do you
throw in swear words?  Do you add pet-phrases that somehow describe what
you are saying?  Are the describing words you use mostly of a visual
nature?  Do you speak in generalities or can you be specific?

Reflect on the nature of adjectives.  Really play with
them, for adjectives make the creation alive and interesting—they are the
painters and poets of our language.  They are creators and
catalysts.  Imagine, for example, what color God is.  What color is
His/Her hair?  Reflect on the colors of emotions.  What color is
pain?  What color is joy?  Reflect
on the sounds you listen to.  Which sounds do you love?  Which sounds
are grating?  Reflect on the textures of things.  Do you prefer soft
clothes or rough?  Hold someone’s hand today, a friend, spouse, or a
child, and describe what that is like—both the feel of their hand and the
feeling that act brings to your heart.  Reflect on the colors you see in a
given day—or do you see them?  Is your life grey and covered in
dust?  If so, do a cleaning and get out the paint brushes of adjectives
and color your world with beautiful descriptions.  Reflect on the
qualities that describe the Divine.  And let’s not forget about the sense
of smell.  Reflect on the kinds of smells you love.  Describe
them.  What does heaven smell like?  What does love smell like? Try
to use adjectives in every sentence you say today—try and use all the senses
too.  Even if it sounds outrageous and silly—talk like an eccentric
poet.  Have fun and play with adjectives.

 





Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

On the Building and Tearing Down of Walls, Part Two of Two, By Joseph Anthony

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On the Building and Tearing Down of Walls

Part Two of Two

By

Joseph Anthony

 

 

We talked
last time on building and tearing down inner walls.  We spoke of these walls as stemming from the
wisdom and creativity of children.  What
happens though when we feel like we’re too cramped or need to make some sort of
change?  Here is one way of transforming,
coming out of, and inviting others into your inner paradise.

Gradually.  Begin by clearing out the space of unwanted
and unhealthy clutter: thoughts of self-hatred, shame, arrogance; and start
bringing in thoughts you want to live with: joy, gratitude, generosity,
love.  Add a window or two.  Open them. 
Let the fresh air and light in from mentors and friends.  Build a door—a beautiful, hand carved,
wood-hewn door—perhaps a non-traditional—round-Hobbit door; maybe a triangular
door, or one shaped like a star.  You
pick.  Whatever shape you pick, remember
this: these door opens from the inside. 

Begin adding
art work—beautiful visions and pictures of your dreams and aspirations; vision boards; scenes
of nature, mornings, mountains, trees.  Keep
happy memories tucked away in special places. 
Add a few knick-knack—curious, quirky things that will become your
unique personality traits.  Have a few,
well-chosen books (everyone has at least one book in them).  Bring in some candles or beautiful lamps,
soft blankets, clean bed sheets, flowers, healthy food, clean water.  You decide what these symbolize for you.  I like to think of the healthy food as
positive affirmations, the clean water as living and bathing in the truth, and
so on.

When you’re
ready, open the windows and let the light in; or open the windows at night and
let the fireflies in and the soft gaze of the moon.  Either way, let the fresh air of new ideas in.
Lean on the sill and breathe, gazing at the beauty—imagining the possibilities. 

And when you’re
ready, open the door.  Stand at the
threshold for as long as you need to, and then step out.  When you’re ready invite safe, friendly
people inside to talk with (living or dead), host dinner parties, sing-alongs, or
reading groups.  You get to decide who
and when and how.  You might even invite
people in to make love with.

And yes, you
might get hurt.  You might open the door,
come dancing out, and stub your toe on something someone left lying around
outside—a worn-out  limited belief or a
rusty, old idea.  Some one might say
something mean, break a promise, and so on. 
It is difficult to shield ourselves from all pain. 

When we get
hurt however, we have a safe, healthy, clean, and holy place to go.  We will have a well-stocked medicine cabinet
filled with the healing balms of mantras, prayers, and songs; we will have
ready the elixirs of positive affirmations and creative pursuits; we will have
the healing cures of physical movement—tapping, walking, drumming.  We will have the secret remedies of the prayers
of other people—keep a stash of these treasured somewhere in your space and
replenish them often.  Keep a supply of
the antidote for fear: actions.  Feel the fear and keep moving.  Feel all of your feelings, honor the pain and
its messages of healing; honor your feelings by simply knowing them to be what
they are—feelings—neither mysterious
nor the end all and be all of who you are.

So build
your walls, create fragrant, holy, beautiful spaces—temples of wisdom and love.  Tend the gardens of your body, mind, heart,
and soul.  Know that you can use any of
these as safe places.  Each is inherently
and irrevocably a paradise.  Know too
that you get to choose who comes in.  You
get to open the door.  Lots of people
might come knocking, but only you have the power of opening the door.  And you can stay outside or inside for as
long as you like.

One last
thing: remember to honor your inner child for starting the process of building
a wall in the first place—a process
inspired by play.  All wisdom is
play, and all play is wisdom.  Connect
with that child with gratitude, express that appreciation by affirming him or
her; and you can express that appreciation for your inner child (or children)
too by appreciating and honoring the children you see around you—your own
children, your students, your nieces, nephews, grandchildren, or the children
in your neighborhood or on the train.  Take
a cue from these children: learn to have fun inside and out, and come out and
go in when you see fit.  Learn that
whatever else this wild, complicated life is, it is play—serious sometimes
perhaps, tragic, but it is play.  It is a
dance of wonder and of discovery.  It is
the play of becoming who you are.

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Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

On the Building and Tearing Down of Walls, Part One of Two, By Joseph Anthony

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On the Building and Tearing Down of Walls

Part One of Two

By

Joseph Anthony

 

People build
walls when they need a safe place to live. 
Animals build shelters for the same reason.  Some say we build psychological/spiritual
walls after we’ve been hurt or betrayed. 
Some say the thing to do once we’re emotionally and spiritually mature
is to tear down these walls.  Some people
believe they build walls and never come out, they’re too afraid; they always
stay in. 

My take on
walls is different.  I believe building
walls is wisdom in action.  I believe we
build walls when we’re children not because we’ve been hurt, we build them
before we’re hurt—we build them out of play. 
Give a child a cloth, a bed sheet, a large piece of silk and watch them almost
instantly build a fort or wrap it around themselves.  Watch them transform the space underneath a
table or in a closet, in a tree—almost anywhere—into a safe, magical
place.  Teens even love their own
space. 

In other
words I believe building walls is natural, creative, holy, and necessary.  Inner stress comes when we go inside and have
trouble coming back out, or when we are unable to invite people in, or when we
outgrow the space and don’t make proper renovations, or we don’t tend the space
and it becomes cramped, isolated, filled with shadows.  As this happens over time, our inner space can become unhealthy and we in fact do need to come out
or let people in to help us clean. 
Perhaps we sense our inner space has become too confining, restricted, or
narrow.  It’s now that someone might
suggest to us that it’s time to tear the walls down.  And there are some of us who need that type
of violent gesture to free ourselves and feel empowered.  That’s OK. The walls came tumbling down in
Jericho after all (with the power of commitment and music, no less).

And if you
find yourself telling yourself (and others) that you never come out or you
always stay in your wall and that you can’t come out, know that words like always, never, and can’t, are
simply not true.  If you had never come
out of your wall you wouldn’t know to even want to.  Anytime you genuinely laughed—you were
outside the wall.  Any time you wept in
front of someone you were outside the wall (or you had invited them inside).  So you can
come out.  The way might be cluttered,
but you can, if you choose.

I suggest a
gentle approach to walls—in building and transforming them, and choosing when
to come out or let others in.  It is an
approach infused with the overarching idea that the wall was built in the first
place for a reason, a holy, and healthy reason. 
It was built out of the spirit of play and to keep ourselves safe. Know
that the word paradise means a walled
garden—a safe, beautiful place surrounded by a wall.  Did we use our paradise as a place to hide
and to withdrawal from painful people and situations?  I hope so. 
Did some of us become addicted to the inner space, the isolation?  Did some of us neglect our inner gardens and
let them become over grown with weeds?  Yes.
We all do to one degree or another and at one time or another. But when we know
it’s time to move out or let others in, there is a way to do so that honors
both your wisdom for building it in the first place and the wall itself.  And I will share my thoughts on this process on
Wednesday. 

For now, be
with the idea that inside of you is a paradise.  That’s a wonderful idea indeed.

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Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

Playing With Words: Grace, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

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Playing With Words:

Grace,

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

Grace is something we say at meals.  We are saying grace, as in thank you, we praise you, be with us.

We say that dancers or athletes move with grace.

We say we are under God’s grace.

How can this one little word mean so much?

Grace is something we can pause for and say.

May we speak it with everything we do.

We can move in ways that are filled with grace.  We can walk through life’s circumstances with grace.

Grace comes from the Latin and means “favor, esteem, regard, pleasing qualities, good will, and gratitude (Online EtymologyDictionary).”

When we pause to say grace, what are we really saying? Do we favor the food, the cook, the Divine, all of the above?  Do we hold them all in high esteem?  Are we speaking with kind regards and goodwill for their pleasing qualities?  After all, I’m sure the food, the preparer, and of course, the Divine, all possess pleasing qualities.  Are we speaking gratitude for the meal, the cook, the Divine, the fellowship? All of the above?  And more?  What are we saying when we pause to say grace?

How about when we move gracefully through our lives?

May we all figuratively and literally slow-down in such a way as to move with grace in our bodies and thoughts, and spirits.  May we move with
the consciousness of beauty in body, mind, and spirit.  May grace be in our thoughts and hearts; may it spread like the fragrance of honeysuckle into every heart and hand.

Compare the Latin roots with the Sanskrit roots for grace: grnati, which means “to sing, praise, and to announce (ibid).”

When we accept life with grace we are singing praises to the Creator.  When we realize the need for change and move with grace towards achieving those changes, we are singing praises to the
Creator.  When we move with beauty in mind, heart, and body, we are announcing we are part and parcel of the One Great Dance; that we are infused with the same blood as the One Great Dancer.

The Lithuanian roots for grace (giriu) mean “to praise and to celebrate
(ibid).”

When we speak with grace, allowing beauty to be in our words, tone, timber, and intentions, we are praising each other, praising ourselves, praising the Divine Singer of All.  When we esteem one another, assume the goodwill of one another, we are celebrating each other and the One Cosmic Partier.

When we move with grace we are celebrating ourselves, each other, the very ground we move upon, and yes, we are celebrating the One.

Is it true “there but for the grace of God go I?”  Are we held in grace by the Divine in such a way that we only go because of that grace, because of the Divine? Are we woven into some sort of fabric of predestination in which we simply get to move the Creator’s intentions, beautiful though they may be?

Or do we have a say in how me move, where we move, and why we move?  Do we get to pick the colors of the threads and the style of the stitch? Do we get to decide what we make of this intricate tapestry of breath and bone?

I believe we are graced with freedom; freedom to move how, where, and for our own purposes.  The grace that propels us from the Divine to help us move in the world is God’s esteem for us, God’s favor for us, God’s goodwill and kind regards for us; it is the Divine singing praises through, and for, us; it is the Divine celebrating His/Her Life through, and with, us; it is the Divine celebrating you and me for simply being you and me.  It is the Divine’s trust in us; the Divine’s faith in us.

I am a part of grace; you are a part of grace; we are all a part of grace; of the singing, the praise that the Creator announces through our simply being here—here and now.  We live in gratitude for the Creator and the Creator lives in gratitude for us.  It is proper and good, holy and wonderful to love what we create.  How much more so the Divine for us?

May we all realize grace in our bodies, minds, hearts, and souls.  May grace be in our thoughts, feelings, movements, and dreams.  May grace flow with our breath.  May we sing grace throughout the land; announce grace through whispers and shouts; proclaim grace in the touch of our hands; may we celebrate being alive by being grace made flesh; grace
manifested within us, through us, from us, for us, and for all things in heaven and on earth.

May the grace of the Divine be with us always—how else could it ever be?

 

All donations go to medical bills and groceries. <3

 

Reflections on Hawks and the Sparrows: Lessons on Disciplining Our Thinking

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Reflections on Hawks and the Sparrows:

Lessons on Disciplining Our Thinking

By

Joseph Anthony


 

Many of us
have observed hawks being pestered by little sparrows or crows and not fighting
back.  It is a fascinating thing to
watch.  The other day I sat for fifteen
minutes as two sparrows flew around and around a beautiful red-tailed
hawk.  They dove at the hawk, seemingly
pecking at it, and the whole time the hawk either just sat motionless on the
smoke stack it was perched on or it took to the sky and simply flew in great
rising circles.  Never once did the hawk try
to reach out with its razor sharp talons and crush the little nuisances.  I kept wondering why.  Why would a clearly more powerful bird allow
such annoying little birds to mob it so? 
In addition, why would the little sparrows pester such a fierce bird,
knowing that at any second it could turn around and snip their little necks?

Of course a
flying sparrow is hard to catch even for a speedy hawk.  But why else would a hawk ignore such pests?
I like to think the hawks are doing it for wisdom, wisdom that we can learn
from.  And even the sparrows offer lessons. Here’s my
take on this strange phenomenon and what it means to our spiritual growth.  

The sparrows are obviously protecting their
interests, a nest perhaps, a territory; and the hawk is a major league
enemy.  One sparrow wouldn’t dream of
attacking a hawk, but two or more would. 
So to keep their flying space safe, they risk all, cast all abandon to the
wind—literally, and swarm a clearly bigger and more powerful predator.  They go together, but their objective is to
defend.

For the hawk’s
part, we need to realize they are extremely economical birds.  They only move when necessary, when food is
available to ambush or when they need to find other hunting grounds.  They do sometimes fly just for the sheer joy
of being swept upwards on rising currents of wind or to surf the breeze,
letting the air sing through their out-curved feathers.  But in general, hawks don’t move much.  They watch, but they do not waste
energy.  So when they’re being pestered
by sparrows, they ignore them.  They don’t
expend valuable time and energy trying to shoo them away or kill them.  They ignore them and, if necessary, move
on.  Of course, if a hawk is the one
protecting a nest no other birds–sparrows or crows, would ever come close to
them. A hawk protecting its eggs or fledglings is a very fierce creature,
and the rest of the bird-world knows that. 
Protecting its own nest aside, hawks don’t fight other birds that pester
them.

What can we learn from all of this?

First of
all, those thoughts that mob our head are actually protecting their own interests.  They’re not there to mock or annoy, even if
it appears that way. They are trying to knock us off course because our course
means (so they think) death to them.  The
sparrows of pestering thoughts want to keep things the way they are; they enjoy
the old ways, the learned helplessness, the familiar territory.  To have the hawk of a new idea gliding
effortlessly around them poses a threat to their way of life. 

Taking a cue
from the hawks we don’t need to spend the time or energy fighting pestering thoughts;  we can simply let them be (what we resist persists).  If we want we can go someplace else (replace
the pestering thoughts with ones we like and invite), or we can simply ignore
them and focus on whatever the task is at hand. 
Hawks can sit for hours watching, letting the wind rustle their feathers
but not their minds.  We can learn to do the
same.  If we are economical with our mental
(and physical) movements and learn to move consciously in the world, consciously fostering thoughts we want to think, then we don’t need to be disturbed when a little mob of pesky
thoughts comes around.  Besides, if we know they are only trying to protect their own, we can even have a little compassion towards them and not seek to destroy them.  We can learn from them.  They understand the power of strength in
numbers.  This is something we can always
keep in mind.  We are not solitary
hawks.  We need each other to help us soar.

Notice too how hawks find thermal currents of air and with only
minimal effort, can be carried upwards to great heights, and swiftly.  Hawks observe little bits of leaves and
sticks that are caught up on those currents and then they simply slip into them
too, letting the warm column of air lift them with a few gentle thrusts of their wings, high into the sky.

We too can
look for warm currents of sunny air, rising columns of positive thoughts from
mentors and inspirational people, artists, writers, musicians, and children
everywhere; and let our thoughts be lifted with them to high places; places we can glide on; places we can soar from and search out new horizons; places we can
scan the world from in search of new opportunities.  We can soar for the sheer joy of being alive.

So there is
much to learn from birds—pesky birds and birds of prey.  In fact, there are object lessons everywhere;
in every leaf and tree; in every feather and beak.  Our job is to watch, listen, and breathe, and then
weave our stories in with Mother Nature’s.  They are after all, one and the same.  And there are treasures everywhere in the infinite folds of her gown waiting
to be discovered.

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Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

Gifts of Shadow and Light, A Story of Beginnings

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Gifts of Shadow and Light

A Story of Beginnings

By Joseph Anthony


“To
own one’s own shadow is to reach a holy place — an inner center —

not attainable in any other way.”

–Robert Johnson


 

Darkness and
the Young Soul stood together on the shores of a great sea.  They watched silently as the waves spilled
over one another in a moiling effort to dance around their feet.

The sun hung
peacefully in the distance, watching yet not intrusively.  It watched as a father does wondering when
his child will go make something of himself in the world.  The moon too watched from just beyond and
above a range of misty blue mountains. 
She smiled and nodded to Darkness. 
He returned her nod with one of his own.

And then Darkness
reached into the folds of his cloak and produced a sphere of swirling black
fog.  He held it out to the Young Soul
who stared at the roiling ball of blackness with wonder.  It looked alive; like animated India ink congealing
into the form of a ball filled with spirals. 

“Is it mine?”
asked the Young Soul.

“No,”
Darkness replied, “it is mine. I offer to you it as a loan.  Care for it as one would a child, for indeed,
that is what it is.  Hold it until you
know it well and it knows you; hold it until you are one.”

Darkness
placed the sphere into the Young Soul’s hands. 

“It’s warm,”
said the Young Soul.

“Everyone
expects shadows to be cold,” said Darkness, “owing, I suppose to shade and its
cooling properties, but the shadows I give are filled with light.  And light is warm, just as the most
comforting words are warm, not cold.”

“What
happens now?”

“You will lose
it.”

“Lose it?”
said the Young Soul as he stared into the piece of the night that roiled in his
hands. “Why would I do that?”

“It happens
to every soul.  They forget the gifts
they carry, lose them, if you will, and then spend the rest of their lives
searching for them.”

“You mean I
am meant to lose it?”

“Destined.”

“Why would I
pick a Destiny like that?  Why would I lose
what you just gave me?”

“Adventure.  All souls long for adventure; to be able to
explore the jungles of emotions, to sail the rivers of passion; to feel what it
is to inhabit a body and to know hunger, to make love with the Muse and the to
create beauty unlike anything the world has ever seen or heard, tasted or felt.
 So they accept my gifts and then lose
them.”

“That all
sounds tempting, but what does losing your shadow have to do with it?”

“It starts
the adventure.”

“I don’t
understand,” said the Young Soul.

“You needn’t,
at least not yet.”

“But why
would you give me a part of yourself knowing it was going to be lost?”

“Every gift
is lost at some point,” said Darkness, “the giver knows that.  The joy comes from knowing the gift has been
received with grace and is being passed on from generation to generation, heart
to heart, and from the knowing that the gift will grow, blossom, multiply, and
become many gifts in many forms.  That is
the way of all parents and their children. 
The children become lost and then found in the most unexpected places
and ways.” 

“How does
one go about losing a shadow anyway?” asked the Young Soul testing the black
sphere’s weight.  It felt as if he was holding
a ball of air.

“Begin lying
to yourself about yourself. Once you do your attention shifts and you forget
the gift and then it runs off to begin an elaborate game of hide and seek.  For, like all children, it loves begin seen,
and when it’s not being seen, it does all sorts of remarkable things to get
your attention.  And one of the things it
does is to begin playing.”

The Young
Soul laughed.  “Well I am not going to
lose mine.  I will never lie to
myself.  I intend to live bathed in the
light of truth always.”

As he spoke
the sphere cracked open like a black egg and began spilling its black yoke all
over the Young Soul’s hands.  He gasped
and cried out in fear.  But it was too
late.  The shadow spread around and
within him like black ivy until it disappeared within him completely.  He shivered as if filled with cold, black
ice.  The waves receded and seemed to
wait in the wings for their next instructions from the moon.

“You said
your shadows were warm.”

“They are,
but lies are cold, and ‘never’ and ‘always’ are the coldest of all.”

The Young
Soul straightened himself and trembled. 

“So,” he said,
swallowing hard, “now I fill a body, is that it?” He spoke as one resigned, yet
trying to summon as much courage as he could to accept the consequences of his
actions.

“Yes, be
born,” said Darkness, “the adventure has begun.”

“How will I
know where to look for my shadow?”

“Look in the
things you truly love and hate.  It will
be revealed in your passions and desires; look for it in your mean criticisms
of others for it will be reflected there. 
Look for it in your talents–the ones you develop and the ones you see
in others but are too afraid to try out for yourself. Search your dreams for it
will unveil clues to its whereabouts there; it will move like a black deer through
the forest of your mind; it will swim like a black fish through your deepest
thoughts.  And know this: it can leap
from you and enter other people just for a moment to look at you through the
eyes of its host seeing if you can recognize it.”

“It can
merge with other shadows?”

“Shadows
were born to merge.  It is their deepest
desire.  One day when all of my shadows
become one and return to me, the world will explode into light and a new heaven
will descend upon the earth and spread like the first, eternal morning of
paradise.”

The Young
Soul turned his face away.  He seemed to
be listening to something only he could hear.

Darkness
smiled.  A small vessel approached the
shore pushed by the unseen hands of an unseen current.  In the boat sat a woman dressed in a flowing
gown of silk, colored like the waves and the foam.  She was singing. In her arms she held a baby. 

The Young
Soul looked on with wonder as the boat touched the shore.  He turned to face Darkness.

“Is it time?”
the Young Soul asked.

“Only if you
say so.”

The Young
Soul looked at the woman, she looked down at the infant in her arms with all
the love of the Dawn looking at you through your bedroom window.

“Thank you,”
said the Young Soul to Darkness.

“You’re
welcome.  We will meet again.”

The Young
Soul embraced Darkness and then turned, and moved towards the woman in the
boat.  He stumbled in the sand and waves,
the first of many stumbles he would make on his journey into and out of
himself.

Darkness
stood and watched them drift away.  His
cloak billowed and suddenly became all wings and feathers and he rose and flew
towards the ever welcoming light.  

 

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Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

Playing With Words: Innocence

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Playing With Words

Innocence

By

Joseph Anthony


What was your word,
Jesus? Love?  Affection? Forgiveness?

All your words were one
word: Wakeup!

–Antonio Machado

 

 

I have been
fascinated by the concept (for lack of a better word) of innocence for quite a
number of years now (this blog is called, “The Wonder Child Blog,” after
all).  Innocence means a lot of different
things to a lot of different people. 
Some people believe once you “lose” it you can never get it back
again.  Some believe we weren’t born
innocent; that there was only one–well two, if you count his mother–innocent
beings to ever walk the planet.  Still others
believe innocence is a magical thing that we can grow back into no matter how
old we become or what happens to us.

What follows
are a few reflections on innocence.  Before
I share them however, it’s best to begin at the beginning: with a little
etymology. I will also use a few ideas about innocence from the 17th
century mystic, Emmanuel Swedenborg.  No
other philosopher or mystic had more to say on the subject of innocence as he
did.  For Swedenborg, the entire cosmos
hinges on innocence, but more on that in a minute.

The word, innocent, comes from the Latin and means
“not guilty, not harmful, and blameless (Online Etymology Dictionary).” Around
1200 it became associated with sin and evil, as in not-sinful and not evil
(ibid). And in the 1400’s it began to mean “pure.”  Most interesting to me is that innocence is
related to the word “noxious,” as in, “not-noxious
(nocere) (ibid).”  And of course, noxious, means “hurtful or poisonous.”
Lastly, the “nocere,” Latin roots are related to the Proto-Indo-European
“nek-ro,” which means, “death,” (necro
is a Greek word for “dead body”) (ibid). 

Many people
would say we are born innocent only to be corrupted by the world later on.  Interestingly, Swedenborg said that the
innocence of infancy is only the beginning; that it’s wonderful in itself; that
it’s a picture of spiritual innocence, but that it’s actually not complete
innocence (Arcana Celestia).  According
to Swedenborg, innocence involves “the willingness to be led,” and being in a
state of love and wisdom (ibid).  It is
something we grow into.  This is why
certain older folks are so delightfully child-like in their old age—they have
fused the wisdom of their experiences with love, they are consciously innocent,
one could say. 

Swedenborg
takes this all even further, and says that the Divine, the Creator of All, is innocence (ibid).   It follows we couldn’t live without this innocence.  We receive innocence as infants; it is
planted within us; and this innocence remains within us forever, and, according
to Swedenborg, over time, becomes our “living soul (ibid).”  Without innocence we couldn’t grow spiritually
or discover heaven.  Heaven is, after all,
the Divine itself, and thus we could say heaven is innocence itself.

Keeping in
mind Swedenborg’s ideas, let’s go back to our etymology for a moment.  Some of us have things happen to us that are
traumatic, abusive, tragic, devastating. 
Some of these experiences seemingly destroy our sense of wonder, love,
self-love, self-worth, our ability to trust, our ability to experience joy or
pleasure, happiness or peace; some of us seemingly lose our sense of inner
freedom and confidence; we perpetuate the abuse by living in addictions and
shame-based behaviors that swirl  around
destructive and sick relationships for years. 
All of this would seem to suggest that innocence can be destroyed,
harmed, or even killed. 

I don’t
believe this is so.  Such tragic
experiences can cloud our “sense” of innocence; but the Divine innocence within
us can never be harmed, killed, or taken away—it’s Divine.  We may feel we are light-years away from our
innocence, but it is there.  Jesus said
in Matthew, “It is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these
little ones should perish.”  In other words,
our innocence never dies.  We may die
physically, emotionally, even mentally, but never spiritually—our innocence
never dies.  We may descend into personal
hells and deprivations and be unconscious spiritually, but our core, the very
center of our being—no matter how clouded, covered, or hidden, is always
shining, always whole, always radiantly innocent. 

So what do
we do if we feel our sense of innocence is lost? What do we do if we feel we are
in a state of unconsciousness spirituality; if we’re living a life of learned
helplessness, lost in addictions and fear, rage, and sickness?

We need to
wake up.  Something must rouse us awake:
a tragedy, an illness, a mentor, a moment of complete hopelessness and darkness;
something must rouse us into consciousness, into a moment of clarity, a moment
of realization. We might also wake up in a moment of profound bliss and
creativity—this does happen although it isn’t talked about as much.  But just as we wake up from a deep sleep by a
sudden and loud noise, or a dream that’s too intense, we wake from our sickness
by something “loud” happening to or around us, by our lives becoming so corrupt
we must wake up or die.  Leaving aside
for the moment how we wake up, or that the painful events are often caused by
our own destructive behaviors when we’re in such states, the main thing is we
need to wake up.  And just as we wake
from our physical sleep by outside forces we need outside forces to help us
wake spiritually—mentors and friends who know and truly care for us; who can
see the way ahead when we cannot yet do so for ourselves.

This need
for awakening magnifies the reality that innocence is ultimately
indestructible.  For without the spark of
innocence within us, we could not recognize the moment of clarity or the deeds
or words from our mentor that rouse us from our stupor.  We wake up because innocence recognizes
innocence, and a fire is born.

And just as
infants wake up and begin stretching, we need to begin stretching upon
experiencing our spiritual awakening.  We
need to exercise our mental discipline, our wills, our ability to follow
directions and be led by others.  As this
happens, our desire to engage in destructive behaviors falls away little by
little (or all at once); we begin to see that there are things we’ve done in this
world that we need to try to fix, mend, seek forgiveness for.  And the more we live in, and from, a state of
forgiveness, for ourselves and for the world, our innocence grows and our sense
of guiltiness lessons and the more we are able to be led by love—love from
within and love from without. The more we become right with ourselves and
continue making things right in the world, the more innocence, from wisdom and
love, blossoms.  The seeds are always
there within us, just as the Divine is always there present in every living
thing, and the Divine, as we’ve said, is
innocence.  So then, the answer as to how
to be reborn into conscious innocence is what it is for just about everything
else: Wake up.

 

 

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Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

Write From Your Love: the Art of Writing Birthday Verses and Poems for Children

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Write From Your Love:

the Art of Writing Birthday Verses and Poems for Children 

By Joseph Anthony


 

There is a
tradition in some Waldorf Schools for class teachers to write “birthday verses”
for their students—poems in honor of their students’ birthdays.  Some teachers write a new one for their
students every year (in Waldorf Schools teachers travel up through the grades
with the same group of students); other teachers select a passage from one of
their favorite poets and suit it to their particular students (that’s also a
good way to introduce students to wonderful poets they might not otherwise know
of).  Some teachers have their students
memorize their birthday verse and recite it to the class; others simply give
the poems as gifts.

I have
written hundreds of poems for children over my 17 years teaching thus far.  Birthday poems, graduation poems,
students-leaving poems, etc.  It’s one of
the funnest parts of my vocation actually. 
Not only do their birthdays and other milestones afford me opportunities
to write poetry, I love writing poems that I know will mean something to them
in that moment and hopefully, for years to come. Today I am offering a small selection
of some recent poems I wrote for my first graders. 

Now some of
you might be thinking, “I can’t write poems.” 
To that I say: Yes you can.  You
can write poems or stories, you can sing, you can draw, you can dance.  You can do anything you want to.  Leave go the old, limiting voices.  It doesn’t matter if the poem rhymes.  The only thing that matters is that you think
about, pray for, and imagine the child you’re writing for; write from your love
for that child; write from your hopes for that child; what you would love to
see that child do, become, or be; write what you would love to say to that
child—words they will treasure (imagine words you would have loved to hear from
someone that meant something to you and then write those).  Envision that child in the light and write
that vision, write FROM that vision.  Write
to heal, write to instruct and guide, write to entertain, write to enlighten. You
can write with themes from the curriculum, from nature, from your own
relationship with your students. There is no right or wrong.  Write from the heart.  Most of all have fun.

All that
said, here are a few poems for young children. In another post I’ll share ones
I wrote for teenagers.

Peace,
Joseph

 

Little
Poems for First Graders

 

The
fledgling owl looked into the night,

And saw
that it was filled with light,

She drifted
like silence born with wings,

And touched
the heart of everything.

She knew
how to laugh and she knew how to care,

Her kindness
blessed the evening air,

She glided,
dreaming through the woods,

And made
it her mission to share the good.

 

********

 

Running
with the wind, my heart is free and strong.

Playing
with the forest creatures, joining them in song.

Exploring
paths of dappled wonder, breathing in the light,

I am
peaceful in myself, my thinking clear and bright.

 

***********

 

Said
the oak to the seed, “Dear one, dear star,

Treasure
this truth: you are loved as you are,

You
shine and you thrive, perfectly you,

Breathe
easy in knowing this wonderful truth.”

 

****************

 

Poised
between running and dancing,

The
rabbit stopped to talk with the sun,

He
learned to breathe, and that all was well,

And
then he played until the day was done.

 

*************

 

“You
are taken care of,” said the earth to the seed,

“You
have all of the warmth and light you will need,

It
comes from the world and it comes from your heart,

Breathe
easy in knowing this right from the start.

You
will blossom and grow so please do not worry,

Just
be who are and try not to hurry.

You
are held dear one in the arms of the Light,

So
rest now and dream through the long winter night.”

 

 

 





 

Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

Thanksgiving, A Little Story on the Nature of Prayer, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

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Thanksgiving,

A Little Story on the Nature of Prayer

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

A prayer hung heavily on a branch of the Tree of Life. Ripening over centuries, it grew sweeter with age and the persistence of faith.  One day the Gardener strolled by, singing as usual, and plucked the prayer from the Tree, and with great gusto, took a hearty bite, letting the juices river down his chin.

 

“Now that,” he said, talking with his mouth full, “is a good prayer.”

 

He continued to eat the prayer, crunching down to the core. When he got to the star shaped seeds he carefully picked them out and then casually, gracefully, and with intention, dropped them to earth.  Weeping for the sheer ecstasy of having been touched by the Gardener’s hands, the seeds fell for days and weeks through open, pristine space, tossed here and there by currents of sound and desire.  They danced as they descended—leaning into little pirouettes and whirled in sweeping spirals, down, down, down they drifted and eventually landed precisely where the Gardener intended them to go—right into the hearts of a little boy and his father.

 

The little boy had prayed prayers of gratitude all night, for his father hadn’t had a drink in over three months; and the father, weeping in thanks for finally having been freed from the chains of his disease, had prayed prayers of gratitude all night as well.  The seeds nestled in their hearts and, because they were prayers of thanksgiving, sprouted quickly, spreading their holy fire into entire orchards of flourishing trees right through the dark valleys of the lives of that boy and his father.  Soon the boy and his father would be harvesting the fruits of their prayers, and sharing them in heaping bushels with each other, their neighbors and friends, and the world.

 

“A beautiful day,” the Gardener said as he plucked another prayer from the Tree, “thanksgiving is blossoming everywhere.”

 

 


 

 

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