The Summer of the Rising Tides, Day 71: Each One’s Path

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August 10, 2020-

The sojourner faced east, and saw the Sun rising, Venus setting, a group of deer grazing and a Muslim, on a prayer rug, greeting the new day with his first devotions of the day.

The sojourner next faced south, saw the white Moon, with a barely discernable Jupiter to its left, a group of javelina headed uphill and on a quiet street, a small group of Christians walking to their morning devotions at the neighbourhood church.

The sojourner turned to the west, witnessing a still sky of cerullian blue, a chevron of geese rising in the sky, off to a day on a nearby lake, the stewards of downtown heading to their places of work and a trio of Buddhists taking their places on mats, crosslegged, in earnest meditation.

The sojourner finally turned northward, seeing the distant clouds, which would tease the mountaintops with a fog of verigo, a vaguely discernable black bear trudging along towards the forest, a line of cars coming into town, for their day of earnings and sacrifice and a lone Wiccan, eyes closed and hands gently tapping on a hand drum.

The sojourner saw truth in all, but dared not let them know, lest their minds become clouded with fear, and their hearts turn from the blessed focus with which they had each begun their day. He returned to his center and gave thanks unto the Source of all being.

Thoughts on A Thanksgiving Just Past, and On Black Friday

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November 24, 2017, Prescott-

Why do I wake in a state of love?

Perhaps it’s because the alternative

is nothing but a debilitating illusion.

I was treated to a fabulous Thanksgiving Dinner,

courtesy of my hard-working,

always conscientious

best friend,

and her younger daughter,

this daughter’s boyfriend

and BF’s middle sister.

I had the pleasure of

helping out,

before and after the meal.

Helping always makes

me feel a part of the lives

of those around me.

Thanksgiving has its

roots in our primal need,

as creatures,

to praise our Creator.

The Konda Reddy people,

of southern India,

praise their Lord,

when the wild mango ripens.

The Zuni, of western New Mexico,

offer thanks, each December,

by blessing the houses that

have been built or renovated,

during the course of the year.

The wise among us,

do similar things,

once a year.

They also offer thanks,

first thing in the morning

and last thing at night.

Thanksgiving is not

imposed by conquerors.

It is a gift of the heart.

The sweep of commerce,

leaving little sacred,

in its wake,

screams “DEALS!”,

even before one’s

heavenly meal,

is a thing of the past.

Again, today,

I think I’ll pass.