By Wayne Muller
There is a Tibetan parable that says if we put a tablespoon of salt in a glass of water and drink it, the water will taste terrible and bitter. But if we were to stir that same tablespoon of salt into an enormous, clear blue mountain lake, the water in the lake would remain sweet; we would not taste the salt at all.
The problem, the Tibetans say, is not the salt we are given. The real problem is how spacious is the container into which that salt is poured.
The question is not, never, ever, whether or not we will be given challenges and limitations. We will. The question is, how will we hold them, how will we be changed, how will they shape us, what will we bring to the healing of them, what, if anything, will be born in its place?
From Conversations with God, by Neale Donald Walsch
Do not feel abandoned. I am always with you.
Listen to Me in the truth of your soul.
Listen to Me in the feelings of your heart.
Listen to Me in the quiet of your mind.
Hear Me, everywhere.
Whenever you have a question,
simply know that I have answered it already.
Then open your eyes to your world.
My response could be
in an article already published.
In the sermon already written
and about to be delivered.
In the movie now being made.
In the song just yesterday composed.
In the words about to be said by a loved one.
In the heart of a new friend about to be made.
My Truth is in the whisper of the wind,
the babble of the brook,
the crack of the thunder,
the tap of the rain.
It is the feel of the earth,
the fragrance of the lily,
the warmth of the sun,
the pull of the moon.
My Truth–and your surest help in time of need,
is as awesome as the night sky,
and as simply, incontrovertibly,
trustful as a baby’s gurgle.
It is as loud as a pounding heartbeat,
and as quiet as a breath taken in unity with Me.
I will not leave you,
I can not leave you,
for you are
My creation and My product,
My daughter and My son,
My purpose and My…Self.
Call on Me, therefore,
wherever and whenever
you are separate
from the peace that
I will be there.
I walked passed this old man of a tree,
On my way to solitude near the dells of the lake;
His stately demur jolted my gaze upward, amazed;
I stood beholding his long branchs, once strong arms;
Poised starkly, in all knowing, pronouncing:
Study and know, no matter the count,
969 were mine, and those days quickly passed.
How much is enough Methuselah?
So many days I want, before the green of my life,
Like yours, flows at last?
Dried out for years you’ve been, perhaps,
More or less, I know not.
Yet here I found you, strong, still, stark;
Seemingly dead, and yet
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