In the Graveyard
The fireflies
rose from the grass
among the headstones
and danced all night.
I couldn’t help but think:
“The souls have risen
to shimmer and to play.
Look at them.
That is what dancing
in heaven must be like.”
Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog
A Peace Visualization
I adapted the image of the chalice and the passing of the Light
from a teacher meditation by Rudolf Steiner.
See yourself holding a golden chalice to the sky. Imagine, as you give thanks, Light spiraling down and filling the golden cup. See it spilling over and everywhere. Imagine you suddenly realize you are in a circle of people, each one holding a golden chalice. See yourself passing the Light to the person next to you, pouring it into their chalice, meeting their eyes. See that person, perhaps it’s your father, mother, neighbor, or a relative from the Other Side, maybe it’s Jesus or Mary, Buddha or Krishna, maybe it’s your husband or wife, teacher or mentor, co-worker, or a perfect stranger. See their heart through their eyes, and see that person receiving your Light and then turning and passing it to the next person until it circles back to you. Imagine the Light pouring all around you, running over your cups and beginning to collect at your feet. Imagine the Light lapping at your feet, like cool water, or warm water, whichever sensation brings you more comfort. Imagine the Light spiraling over you and upwards, back to the Source. Imagine everyone in the circle turning outwards and sharing their Light with others who have formed a ring around your circle. Imagine the Light swirls around each of them, chalice to chalice, and that they in turn share it with another, ever widening circle, until people on the streets simply stop, drop their briefcases or cell phones, and step into the circle, lifting their cups to the Light. See this until the world is filled to overflowing with Light—infinite, never-ending, glorious Light. See this until it rings true within your soul. Because this is how it happens. This is how Peace and Goodwill spread throughout the land, person to person, gaze to gaze, chalice to chalice, heart to heart.
Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog
They had walked all day. Miles they had come taking turns carrying the child. As the mother and father moved cautiously through the darkening woods they ached with fatigue. And when their plodding steps slowed to a halt, they sat down to rest, right there in the middle of the road. The mother handed the child to the father so she could stretch out. The father held the child on his chest and joined her on the cool, dusty road.
Then silently, from the darkness, yellow eyes appeared. The father grabbed the child and sat bolt upright. The animals stepped from the shadows towards them. He roused his wife. They huddled there together, shaking—turning every which way, only to see animals forming a circle around them. The child began to giggle. The father moved to cover his face, but the child brushed his hands away. His eyes widened with glee as the animals moved closer.
The first to reach them was the mountain lion. She carried something in her mouth. It was a rabbit. She laid it at their feet and turned away, yellow eyes flashing. The bear lumbered towards them next. In his mouth were two rainbow trout. He laid them before the trembling couple, snorted and sniffled, and then turned back to the shadows. Then came the heron, looking for all intensive purposes like a tall, skinny butler. He stepped his long, remarkable strides, and in his outstretched wings was held a bowl of pure, cold water. He offered it without spilling a drop. And so, one by one the animals came bearing gifts of wild berries, salads of dandelion greens and edible flowers, and even freshly baked bread from—from—the couple never found out where from. And lastly came the reindeer and the wolf. The reindeer carried a wreath of glowing candles in her antlers. With the utmost care she laid it before them. It illuminated their tear-stained faces. The wolf took his place beside the family and stood guard as they began to eat.
And so that night they feasted on a meal lovingly prepared by the animals. They had never had such a nourishing meal.
After they had eaten and drank their fill, the wolf disappeared into the cave of the night. And the couple laid back in the road to sleep. The darkness was almost complete as they stared exhausted into the tree-branch laced sky. Suddenly the trees leaned forward and down with their branches. The couple screamed, but then realized the trees were opening their arms in offering—they were giving them a place to nestle for the night.
The couple looked at each other and then carefully stood and stepped into the waiting branches. The trees lifted them instantly high off the ground. The air caressed the little trinity of humanity as it rose, higher into the night sky. That night, they slept like baby birds in the gently swaying trees.
It was the child who awoke when he heard the earth singing the sweetest of lullabies. It was a song of crickets and of night birds and frogs, it was the song of the padded steps of animals, it was the song of the river flowing somewhere in the darkness. As he listened, he felt the earth holding the roots of their tree with all of the love and tenacity of a mother swaddling her baby.
And so it was the child who felt the arms of the moon reaching down and lifting them even higher.
Her embrace was like refreshing silver water pouring slowly over them. And as the moon cradled the little family, the child laughed as he watched the Milky Way swooping her star-fringed arms and gathering them all—the mother and father, the babe, the animals, the trees, the earth, and the moon into her gently dancing arms.
And the baby reached up and brushed her face, tracing his fingers through her star-dappled hair. And as he did, his eyes caught site of the universe turning towards them, carrying them along in the perfect folds of his cloak of shadows and light.
And the child laughed. He laughed as he saw the Creator of All holding them tenderly in cupped hands. And as he took in this marvelous vision, he sank into the cradle of his parents arms and knew all of this was within himself. He held it all—the animals, the trees, the earth, the moon, the Milky Way, the universe, and the Creator–in his heart. Within him was one elaborate tapestry of wonder and perfection. He knew he treasured it all inside, and with that thought, he went to sleep in the dear, innocent arms of his mother and father.
Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog
It begins with the body. The hands, the feet, and the eyes—the parts of the body that reach the furthest. Draw these in first. Fold your hands gently in your lap. Tuck your feet neatly beneath you like a giraffe sitting down to rest. Then close your eyes. Now let the ears have their say. Let any sounds—birds, clock, refrigerator clunks, cars, your own breathing, simply waft in like the breeze through the window. Smell whatever smells are drifting in the air around you while you’re at it.
So now what?
Mind-full? Mind-empty?
Mindfulness means a mind full of meaningful things.
That implies space—space to empty and space to fill. Space to let be. Space to expand and space to contract.
So let the thoughts come. Simply let them float in that same open window that the sounds and fragrances are swirling through. Let them in like the scent of honeysuckle from the vine on the fence outside or like the hum of the computer fan.
Most of our troubles come from thinking about and judging the thoughts that come.
So let the curtains of your judgments simply settle or rustle gently. Let them wave over one another—all of those judgments, simply let them judge. Trying to deny them is like trying to stop the curtains from spilling through your hands while you are trying to stop them from moving.
All of the judgments about judgment strain the brain and the body. The judgments about the body, the finances, the car inspection appointment, the grocery list, and soccer practice, the dying uncle in Sandusky, Ohio—let them all come. Befriend them. If you view them as wrong, or as enemies, or as bad, they will grow like the darkest of shadows and eventually fill the space with darkness dotted with many menacing yellow eyes.
Let the mind fill—sense after sense, thought after thought. Let the mind empty–sense after sense, thought after thought. Let the thoughts and sense impressions stream in and out, like your breath. Attach your attention to none of them, or let your attention attach to all of them.
Practicing mindfulness makes us aware of the mind’s comings and goings. And if we can love the awareness without concern over whether or not we are judging, then our practice will be emptied of care and filled with wonder and serenity.
And we can do all of this while walking as well. We do not need to be sitting to be mindful. Try it. Slowly stand. Revel in the sense of balance as you step–little triangle by little triangle–out of the house and into the woods, or into town, or simply across the room to sit closer to the window. Absorb every part of the ground that your feet touch. Absorb what the hands brush or tap as you pass. Absorb what the eyes touch. Resist nothing.
See if you can feel the air passing through your fingers as your hands do their sweet—really, if you think about it—sweet–pendulum dance as you stride. Sure it’s all about balance—the way the arms sway in time with the legs, but it is really all a lovely orchestrated excuse to swoosh air around like a walking bird, and plus it propels you through space, as a fish through water.
You can walk mindfully, knit mindfully, wash the dishes mindfully–even suffer mindfully.
Mindfulness involves loving the body and not resisting it, or pretending it isn’t there. Be hungry, sleepy, awake–full of light.
And fear not, all this liberal-anything-goes-attitude doesn’t have to color the rest of your life. Form rigid boundaries elsewhere if you like to do that sort of thing. Boundaries have their place, just as the unyielding metal rail along the high winding mountain road in Jerome, Arizona has its shepherding, guarding place. Make all of the judgments and rules you want—just take the time to get to know them—intimately know them, like Adam knew Eve. Know that there will be judgments about the judgments. If you get to know them well enough, perhaps you will want to let them go. Perhaps you will stop blaming them for nibbling on the fruits of your meditation. Perhaps you will stop looking for their ultimate cause. Perhaps you will learn to love them for who they are and what they are trying to do.
Whatever you do, I encourage you to keep the windows open. You could shut them, but that would close out the fresh-aired adventures.
This being human is such tender, delicate work. It is also powerful and strong enough to forge the steel of the guard rails along mountain roads.
You may as well surrender into who you are at the core, the quick, the shining center. You might as well let the softest of crimson lights seep into your every cell and thought. You might as well dive into the love of who and what and where and why you are. You might as well. The sun rises and sets with you or without you sitting cross-legged by the window, or walking outside, deep into the woods.
PS: I took the photos in today’s entry whilst up in the Adirondack Mountains.
Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog
Once upon a time Made asked the Maker to teach it about letting go.
“I will need to Make you differently in order for you to learn that,” said the Maker.
“Alright,” said Made, “as long as I will be able remember the Way I Am Now.”
“You will,” said the Maker, “in fact, that remembrance will be the door to your success, but in order to remember and in order to learn about letting go, you will need to experience forgetting.”
And so the Maker recreated Made. And Made was given hands, feet, and the senses. Made became, in short—Human. And in order to learn about letting go, humans were made to grasp.
And while the Maker was working, Made asked: “Tell me what you are doing.”
“I am making you Human. Your fingers and the structure of your hand will be able to grab hold of things—to draw things to your body for use and inspection. Your feet will be able to grasp the ground and then push it away thus creating the ability to move—but the grasping comes first. Your eyes will be nothing more than truncated limbs that will be able to take in what they see. You will be able to feel when someone is looking at you, for eyes truly touch. And you will be given other senses—smell, hearing, taste—and they will all seek to take-in, to gather, to bring in towards your body experiences that will help you begin to remember. Even your mind will want to grasp things—ideas, perceptions, dreams. And all of this grasping, grappling, grabbing, touching, and holding—will keep you stuck on Earth—until that is, you remember, and then learn to let go.”
“And how will I learn that?” asked the newly formed Human.
“You will grasp and hold onto things until those actions and attitudes hurt too much. Then you will learn to let go.”
“You mean I will have to feel pain in order to learn how to let go?” asked the Human.
“Yes, there’s some tiny glitch in the system I’ve created. Letting go hurts sometimes, but not as much as the holding onto things.”
“A glitch in the system? I thought you created perfection.”
“I did. The glitch is your misuse of freedom, and that’s not really a glitch so much as a lesson that needs to be learned.”
“Alright,” said the Human, “when do I get to go?”
“Anytime you want.”
“How about now?”
“Now’s fine.”
“What do I do?”
“Let go.”
“Oh, I see,” said the Human, tears suddenly forming in her eyes.
“Good bye,” said the Maker weeping quietly, “I love you.”
And as the Human began descending the spiral staircase to Earth, she called up, “Hey! Love is holding onto things, right?”
The Maker laughed and said, “No, love is the ultimate letting go.”
And the Human, while walking down those silver, rainbow-dappled stairs, began to be filled with both wonder and fear, for she began forgetting where she had come from and where she was going. Her memories dropped away like pine cones from a shaken tree. And as her last memory fell away and she stepped into the waiting egg, she understood how much the Maker loved her. The Maker loved her enough to let her go.
Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog
The Song
By Joseph Anthony, Inspired by the Bark of Bear
They say sound only goes so far before thinning into nothing. Theoretically sound can travel forever, but alas, they say, sound needs molecules to carry it across time and space, and once those molecules dissipate, the sound falls away like dust. They also say sound doesn’t exist in space because there are no mediums for the sound to travel with. In theory sounds can be made in space, they say, but they just can’t go anywhere.
What they don’t know, or at very least don’t want to know, is that there are mediums other than solids, liquids, and gases with which sound can travel. In addition, it must be remembered that theory, in Greek, means contemplation or speculation. It is a form of meditation on the nature of the possible as based on what the meditator wants to experience through his or her senses. Luckily there are more senses than the usual ones we think of.
There is the sense of spirit, for example. If you doubt this sense exists, think back to a time you were in a crowded room and felt you were being stared at. How can someone’s eyes touch you from across the room? Spirit. There is also the sense of soul. Like spirit, it is a conductor of all things invisible, but it also carries in its deep, shadow-dappled pockets—memories—memories of all things sensual. The soul’s memories themselves are carriers of all that we experience—consciously or unconsciously. We have all been suddenly filled with the aroma of some fragrance from the past—everyone always gives the smell of some sort of pie as an example here, but it can be the scent of grief (yes, grieving has a fragrance, so do all the emotions). It can also be the aroma of the pages of old, beloved books, magazines, letters, or of the brown-armored millipedes curled up in the corners of the room. All of these scents are carried via memories on the eternal waves of the soul.
And it is precisely on the senses of spirit and soul that sound travels upon, and travels upon forever.
So when she heard the child singing, the sound was traveling the corridors of the memory, passing through the many spacious rooms of her soul, directly into her heart. As soon as she heard the singing she rose from her desk and began following the sound. The sound was woven with light so when she stepped into the cool, autumn night, she could see the sound leading her, like an audible firefly deep into the darkness. And with the loving, watchful gaze of the moon helping light her way, she followed the singing through the trees, over the little creek, out into the field where it suddenly rose into the surrounding treetops. Bewildered, she stopped and looked up.
“How am I ev—,” she began, only to find herself rising through the damp, earth-filled air into the waiting canopy of trees. She swore she heard laughter inside the singing as she grabbed hold of a branch, some 50 feet above the ground. She looked down at her house and the yard. They seemed so small, even from where she stood, swaying in the sky.
And then the sound of the singing leapt to the nearest cloud. When she reached the cloud, close on the heels of that wonderful sound, she was amazed to feel how cold the cloud was to walk through. It was like walking through feathery snow–pleasant and refreshing. The laughter in the singing was clearly ringing as the singer loved the game of being followed. And with the smallest waver in song, the child took hold of a star and swung into space, leaping from star to star as if they were an elaborate, illuminated jungle-gym.
Of course, she followed—led by, carried by, and sustained by— the singing.
Ah, the singing. The child sang a melody she had heard when she was a child herself. It was a song that brought her glad tidings of comfort when all around her the world was crumbling. It was a melody of light and of celebration. It was a song of her dreams. She would break free of the pain surrounding her within and without and she would touch the world with her wisdom and imagination. No, she would do more than touch the world, she would save the world. For every story of survival, redemption, and transformation, forgiveness, saves the world. And her story was one of great courage and triumph. And so when the child appeared singing the holy song, she heard it immediately. And immediately it lifted her into the world of the child. And she followed, gladly, tear-filled, and with the utter relief that comes from a sudden rest after many weary miles traveled.
So the child and the woman sang and played in the stars. All the while, the song wove through her soul, like the very fragrance of wonder. And then it happened. As she swung in a swing suspended from the arms of a star, she realized the singing was coming from her own heart. She looked up for the child. The child was nowhere to be seen. There was the icy grip of panic but then she heard the laughter riding the melody of the singing. It was definitely coming from within herself. Resounding through the mansions of her soul, the song of the child echoed and played upon the walls and through the gardens.
She lazily swung to a stop, and then stepped from the swing. Relishing a moment cupped in the crescent hands of the moon, she stood, steadying herself for the dive. With a deep breath, she leapt into the ocean of space down towards her yard.
And as she descended, she sang, she sang with the child, she sang with the stars, she sang with the planets, she sang with the sun. She sang with the moon, she sang with the clouds, she sang with the trees, and the grass, that dew-bathed, cool, wet, wonderful grass. She sang with her feet, she sang with her blood, she sang with her tears, she sang with her lungs. She sang with her bones and she sang with her hands. And she sang herself back through the screen door and into the kitchen, where she stood, weeping, singing, praying, with wave after wave of gratitude welling over and through her.
And the child, having been heard and recognized, followed and found, curled up in a cozy bay window in her soul to dream.
She walked back to her desk, like a queen, her stride filled with power and strength, and she picked up the pen. It flew across the page, spreading the glistening melody of hope and of grace deep into the pages of the night.
Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog