Sunday Morning Meditations

Sunday morning meditations in the living room where I rarely go.

We are in a tumultuous period of our human history. Look at what’s happening in the world to validate the statement. What all of us learn from the process is that we can’t control it. That frustrates some and emboldens others for there is a struggle between forces of the new and the concrete of the past. The answer may come from the carnival wheel barker who chants “round and round she goes, where she stops nobody knows.”

I hope we each don’t have to wait until we have nothing to lose and nothing to gain before we change our thoughts and thus our minds. It seems to me the need to be right is the problem. If we let go of that, we may receive the grace of transcendence.

Enough of Sunday morning! I’m looking forward to the truculent energy of Monday morning, so I can learn again and again to let go.

Unwanted Phone Calls

There is so much going on in political Washington, that I will leave it for another time and post.

I do have a question for the readers of this blog. Has this ever happened to you?

The Phone rings. It’s a number you don’t recognize. You reluctantly answer, and there is a very slight pause, and then the person says, “I’m Hazel with accounts services, and I want to talk to you about your account.”

By that time I usually hang up, because it’s either a scam or an advertisement.

Other calls are from some police organizations, and it’s always with a forceful live guy on the other end pitching help for the FOP, the PBA, the SBA, or some other benevolent fraternity. They never listen. They are insistent. If I say I give to my local law guys, they say, let me put you down for just ten dollars. By this time I’m indignant, and I hang up, not without an expletive or two.

Apparently, if you are on the “do not call list” you have to re-up every so often. I just bought a new phone system. It has a call block feature. I love it.


Hypocrisy thy name is the UN Security Council.

Last Friday the Council voted unanimously for a thirty-day cease-fire in Syria and the lifting of sieges.

Syrian Asad forces backed by Russian bombs have been killing civilians in rebel-held territory. Tens of thousands may have been killed or maimed in war-ravaged enclaves.

The United States backs the rebels with its firepower.

The United States is the number one supplier of weapons to the world. Number two is Russia. Next comes France, China, and the United Kingdom.

The US, Russia, the UK, China, and France are the five permanent members of the Security Council. Are they voting for a cease-fire so they can sell and re-supply more weapons?

When will governments, the suppliers of arms, and those who buy them realize their greed is the source of war’s pain and dying in the world?

The so-called leaders of our fragile planet purport that peace is complicated. The heart, the temple of compassion and the soul of the Golden Rule, knows it’s simple.

The desert wind

I sat in the courtyard of a beautiful adobe home on the outskirts of Santa Fe, a few years ago and listened to the voice of a high desert wind.

The courtyard trees translated the wind’s voice and pulled me into a meditation of awe and expectation. I had several minutes of being alone. It was magnificent and an eternity in a single experience.

The wind sound was not the rustle of an Eastern forest when the wind speaks through the trees.

It was not the clapping voice of the low desert where palm fronds applaud in a steady wind and clap their appreciation to the All That Is.

It was an undulating hushing voice of a canyon wind speaking through the Pines and Cactus and Sage. This is the same wind that has forever honored the native people of the southwest, and it honors each of us for we are the sister and brother winds of breath.

I’ve spent time in the desert camping, hiking and just listening. It is an experience of stunning silence. In the morning and early evening the wind is present and, as I mentioned, the wind brings its own sounds. In the stifling bright hot of the day all is quiet. The only movements are the translucent and distorting heat waves rising off the baking-sand in the sun.

I think about these things, mostly in the winter.