Faith is an act of ultimate concern.
—Paul Tillich
By faith, I don’t mean obedience to any principle or doctrine or person, but more, a faith in life. Faith is our covenant with life no matter what befalls us. It is our belief that we are part of something larger than us. It is our commitment to let all that is larger than us be our teacher. What light is for plants and flowers, faith is for human souls. It is that which causes us to grow and that toward which we grow. Imagine a seed growing underground toward a light it can’t yet see. In just this way, love and suffering cause us to break ground and flower.
A Question to Walk With: Tell the story of a friend who has helped you grow. How can you be such a force in someone else’s life?
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A Question to Walk With: Describe something in your life that feels unbearable. How are you living with it?
A Question to Walk With: Tell the story of a time when you felt the Universe move through your heart. How did this effect you? Describe your journey of finding others in your life.
This is from my book of poems in progress, The Tone in the Center of the Bell.
The homeless man with no legs crawls on his dolly like a snail while the world keeps whizzing by. No one wants to lose their legs, to go that slow. But sometimes, we’re forced to stop in order to empty ourselves of everything that’s in the way. Love can stop us in our tracks just as swiftly as suffering. It’s up to us to choose love before suffering takes our legs out from under us. In truth, every time I thought I was going somewhere, I began to speed up, and then began to feel behind, then lost, and then I felt a failure of sorts. Until I was loved or broken in place. And being rid of all I imagined and wanted, I rediscovered the wonder of just being here. This seems a cycle of human seasons—from want, to hurry, to feeling urgent and behind, to feeling lost and then a failure, to being stopped in our tracks, so we can rediscover the bareness of being. Now, my want is to accept this endless practice, which we call being human. We keep going, though there is nowhere to go. We keeping wanting, though there is nothing to own. We keep breaking, so that love like light can flood every break. I drop some coins in the legless man’s cup, hoping that you will drop a pebble of light in my mouth, when I have lost the urge to run.
This excerpt is from my book in progress, The Signature of Being.
A Question to Walk With: Describe as aspect of home that your mind has dreamt and built. How are you living in that dream now that it is built. Which do you like more: dreaming what needs to be built or living in the dream once it is built? Why?
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A Question to Walk With: In conversation with a friend or loved one, discuss something you have seen with clarity though it has been hard to live out.
This is from my new book of poems in progress, The Tone in the Center of the Bell.
Buddha said the origin of light came from within. The implication is that there is an inner plane of forces that mirrors the elements of the physical world. That as matter is a conduit for fire, water, earth, and wind, our wakeful consciousness is a conduit for the forces of inner light, which manifest as intention, care, compassion, and kindness. And while survival has us navigate the struggles of circumstance, the transformative way to meet and mitigate events is to express the inner forces of light into the kinships that strengthen the Web of Life. In this way, light has migrated for eons through our suffering and delight into the world. This, then, is our one assignment: to make our humanness the lens through which light comes into the world.
This is from my book of poems in progress, The Tone in the Center of the Bell.
Good morning, Michigan! I’m really excited to be here today in the Big House to celebrate YOU, the class of 2022!
Now, let me be honest: I initially said no to the invitation to be your speaker. I said I had a scheduling conflict, and that I was already planning to be here next weekend for my son Christopher’s graduation. He was part of the class of 2020, the only class in Michigan history to not have a graduation ceremony. Thank you, Covid! But now, finally, his class will have their own moment to shine right here next Saturday!
This is from my book of poems in progress, The Fire Dialogues.
The story of Moses carries an archetype that we all must face and live with. Of all his brethren, Moses was closest to God. Indeed, he climbed Mount Sinai to receive the ten commandments and heard God directly. But due to an accident as a child in which his tongue was burned by a hot coal, he stammered greatly. All his life, he suffered an inability to easily speak what he knew to be true. Though he listened to God directly, he couldn’t convey what he heard to others.
Inevitably, this is everyone’s fate when crossing from the inner world to the outer world. We all have trouble speaking what matters and yet we must try. Often, we are misled to think that falling short in how we convey the truth is a failure, when it is not trying at all that damages us. For even light through a crack is illuminating.
A Question to Walk With: Describe a race you need to stop running. How can you begin to stop?
This is from my book of poems In progress, The Tone in the Center of the Bell.
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