on choosing kind words

In recent weeks we have seen words used to bully, distort the truth or make bombastic claims. The desert father placed an emphasis on brevity of speech, as they knew what damage words can do. Here is an ancient Irish prayer – appropriate for Good Friday – to help us develop greater stillness.

A Íosa, Mhic Dé, a bhí ciúin os comhair Phioláit, ná lig dúinn ár dteanga a luascadh gan smaoineadh ar cad tá againn le rá agus conas é a rá.

O Jesus, Son of God, who was silent before Pilate,
don’t let our tongues move
without thinking about what we have to say and how to say it.

When we see the blossoms

New life is sometimes related to shedding of the old self. Struggles can strip away the surface layers of our lives. Growth often requires releasing old identities or expectations. Hardship can be alchemical.

Without the bitterest cold

that penetrates to the very bone,

how can plum blossoms spill forth their fragrance all over the world?

Dōgen Zenji, 1200 -1250

How will you meet the day?

A rock and a flower are both worn by time

The rock is eroded, the flower unfolds.

One is broken down, the other breaks open

How will you meet your days?

Will you let them wear you away, or will you let them split you wide so that your color spills

Mark Nepo, The Book of Awakening

falling apart

The meditative perspective allows us to experience the self not as something static,

but as a process that can tolerate falling apart and coming back together.

Mark Epstein, Going to Pieces Without Falling Apart 

Relax into the present

Every moment offers a choice: cling to the mind’s chatter or relax into the present.

When you stop labelling experiences as “good” or “bad” and simply let life move through you, the weight of resistance lifts.

What remains is a quiet, unshakable joy – the silent hum of existence itself.

This is the bliss of being, always accessible beneath the noise of the self.

Michael Singer, The Untethered Soul

Sunday Quote: to bless or to curse

On Palm Sunday.

On the outskirts of Jerusalem
the donkey waited.

Not especially brave, or filled with understanding,
he stood and waited.

How hard, yet how absurdly easy, it is
to bless instead of curse.

If God appeared at the side of the road,
tired and dusty, and asked,

Would you lend me your donkey,
would you say yes?

Mary Oliver, The Poet Thinks About the Donkey [extract]