Dora’s Baton

We each have life’s race to run; in relay with all our others;
How will we finish? How will we know?
If our race was run well, that others might grow?
That others might grow into grace, joy and confidence…
Will my life, your life, make the transfer clear?
Will it at all, as we live each day, a difference make?
Will the ideals we hold close, of faith, hope, joy, and love…
Will these things pass well? Relay secure?
Will these connections be made…
Into their hands? Upon their feet? Into their hearts?
Will their lives pick up our pace?
Will their lives improve? Be challenged?
Those lives with whom we run life’s race?

To be sure of one thing, of this I am certain,
A runner runs best when she runs to her calling.
So give this race your all, my all too; and may we reflect often on this;
This relay race of life needs team mates devoted one to the other.
And while we run, while you run and I run too,
One more thing we might think or consider;
The baton, our baton, our life really,
Is lived best when lived and raced for the sake of the others.

For each race, each relay, each exchange we make,
Is a part of the whole scheme, whatever the take.
Yet more oft than not, we forget to enjoy,
Until we are done!
Yes, more oft than not, we forget to enjoy
Our race, your race, my race too,
Until it is done, and we are over the line,
That race, lost or won, forever in time!

And it seems true too, with the passing and crossing over of a life,
Only the cheering, weeping and rejoicing heard behind the line,
Reminds us again, so that we and all others might finally know,
How well our race, your race, my race was run;
Each wild and precious race, how was it run?

How will we know then, you wonder? This, today, is what I presently think:
That when we hand the baton of life over,
When it is gladly received by another runner,
Then we will know a life, a race, a baton, had meaning;
The baton received well, is recieved for the running!
Then we will know, a race first run with misgivings or fear,
Has transformed its runner with its passing, though how, it is unclear;
Then we will know, and perhaps understand, perceive,
Our baton held so dearly, must pass on to be received.
The baton must pass, and so do we; before an exchange of runners may proceed.

So now a request I make, and I make without further adieu,
The time to receive a baton is at hand, it’s true;
Receive the baton willing; and run with it fast;
Passed on from Dora, then on to you and to me;
Passed on for our learning; it’s time we receive.
Receive her baton, of faith, of joy and love for the others;
Receive her baton, take flight, not cover!
Receive it for life and all of those living!
Receive it from Dora, and all that it’s giving:
Wings for soaring, feet for running, breath for breathing,
Our baton, her baton, yours and mine too;
Carry it forward, for the next runner,
Carry it forward in strength, please do!

Do you see what this means—all these pioneers who blazed the way, all these veterans cheering us on? It means we’d better get on with it. Strip down, start running—and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we’re in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way: Cross, shame, whatever. And now he’s there, in the place of honor, right alongside God. When you find yourselves flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, that long litany of hostility he plowed through. That will shoot adrenaline into your souls! ~Hebrews 12:1-3 The Message (MSG)

In Memory of Dora C: For all those who knew and loved you…may they be encouraged to run their course, strong and true, following your good life as a pattern for their own. May they rejoice in the gift of knowing you and receive your baton with happiness to run their race…towards the Beloved One.


Percussive

Underneath it all, the everything of my days,
Time, timbre, tempo, tone skillfully scored,
Upon the tablet, the clef of my heart,
Playing the treble, then again on bass,
Tickling, fleeting notes like praise;
Brings dancing to feet; brings singing to voice.

Music to my ears; color for my eyes; sweet on my tongue;
All is possible, with harmony and dissonance.
Perfect juxtaposition; give and take; calm and boisterous.
Lived to the hilt; embracing everything and nothing.
Sweet symphony! Life!
Breathe in…breathe out.

Playful rhythms thrum my mind, like river’s current;
Trilling minutes trip away as water over fall;
Dribbling in agony, the seconds sometimes will,
Dribbling in agony, an hour wanting to fill;
Other days swooping minutes fly fast;
Fly fast minutes, no shadows to cast!
Whether perceived or not, time does pass;
Whether perceived or not, time does cadence
Its perfection the percussion of marching,
Its perfection the marching, no end its knowing!

Can you hear it? Do you perceive it? Feel it do you not?
The music of the sphere?
Am I alone, in this wonder to partake?
A witness solitaire, to the rhythms on the air;
See it expand; notice its contraction; behold its height, width, depth.
Its percussive beat syncs with my every breath.

via Daily Prompt: Percussive
Percussive

 


growingbolder.com

Life in Particular

To live life sleeping is to live as feather, blown in the breeze.
To live life trusting is to live as eagle, peaceful above the fray.
To live life fearing is to live as coward, afraid of that which is not.
To live life embracing is to live as mother, alive to possibility.
To live life doubting is to live as beast, restless to roam.
To live life accepting is to live as child, carefree in bliss.
To live life striving is to live as competitor, stranger of idleness.
To live life dying is to live as divine, extravagant without end.
To live life loving is to live as fire, burning unconsumed.

Doesn’t everything die at last and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? ~Mary Oliver

Particular


You Choose!

Most of the time, given the opportunity, I prefer not to choose. My general preference, when the time to choose arises, is to let my spouse or friend or client or employee make the choice for me: where to dine; what to work on; where/when to exercise; which movie to watch or music to listen to.

This is not a comfortable or flattering thing to admit about myself, especially since I am the type of person who likes to ‘work out’ my body. How strange then to realize that I am quite lazy when it comes to choosing in the realm of the everyday and mundane. How hard is it really, to make a choice? Why would I rather deflect an opportunity to make my own choice onto others? And yet, to not choose is making a choice too, isn’t it?

“The truth is, if what we choose to do with our lives won’t make a story meaningful, it won’t make a life meaningful either.” “Life has a peculiar feel when you look back on it that it doesn’t have when your actually living it.” Donald Miller

Perhaps the problem with choosing comes from the fact that there is so much from which to choose. If choice making was always about this or that; black or white; yes or no; stay or go, perhaps choosing would be easier. On one hand I wish that making a choice was a one-and-done deal, like when I say I choose to lose weight, gain strength or improve my health status, then BAM, my choice is made and I’m done. Wouldn’t that be grand? No more decisions to make. But that system wouldn’t work too well for me if I made just ONE unwise choice. How could I undo a poor choice if I only had a one-and-done choice making system?

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Fortunately, for all of us, life is full of choice making opportunities, except when our perception tells us otherwise. If we feel stuck, plumb out of choices, then it’s time to remind ourselves this one thing: as long as we are breathing, we may choose; and we may choose as many times as is needed and we may choose differently every time.

Even though I am a lazy choice maker, I am grateful this life I live is not a one-and-done game of chance. No, this life is more like playing the slot machines with the statistical advantage stacked in my favor, because I am privileged to choose; and my choice to choose means I may choose over and over and over again…or not.

In this life, it’s a happy, powerful sentiment to know we have the authority to re-write our life’s story line if we find our story less than meaningful. If by our choices we choose to do the same things enough times, eventually the statistics play out in our favor and our choices become our habits (for better or worse); then our habits create our life (for better or worse). So here’s to the wonderful, wacky world of choice making, and here’s my note to self: You CHOOSE…like your life depends on it!


The Compost Pile

Compost! Perhaps this is a strange topic for rumination in a health and fitness blog, but sometimes I just have to write about stuff as it inspires me. The topic of compost first cast upon my imagination a few days ago when I read the quote (below) on a friend’s Facebook page.

Compost is proof that there is life after death.

As the CEO of our local worm farm, my friend is a specialist in all things concerning the nature and composition of soil. The vitality of her worms depends largely upon the quality and nutritional value of their food source, which is of course, their soil.  And because I am a person who often reflects on life and death from time to time, the topic of compost seemed a likely candidate for my next writing compositon…no pun intended. And I could not help making a connection from the science of physics in regards to life and death and compost because one of the rules of physics asserts: the law of conservation of energy states that energy can never be created or destroyed; it can only be changed from one form to another. (The HeartMath Solution)

So then, I must conclude in fervent belief that all of nature, science and faith points to life after death. As a believer in the ‘afterlife’ of the soul and in the rules of the physics of the universe, this everlasting energy cycle, which had no beginning and which knows no end, means, I believe, we each will continue on for eternity, never to be quashed or destroyed.

Now, back to compost, which is indeed very alive even though it is de-composing. On this point we must never forget that compost is not fodder for the burn pile, but rather it is food and nourishment for the soil. The rearranging of its chemical and physical composition gives nutrients and life power to those things rooted for growth in the ground.

But first and foremost, it must be acknowledged that it takes a certain amount of time before compost may become a suitable growth medium for soil. A compost pile must be exposed and mixed with the elements of water, light and oxygen in proper proportions to become a vital soil supplement. Days and days of patient, mindful administration go into successful composting.

The ground’s generosity takes in our compost and grows beauty. Try to be more like the ground. ~Rumi

A similar process of composting is necessary for the growth of my life, my soul. It is in those things which annoy or vex; those things which I may dismiss or consider as dead or dying: relationships, attitudes, goals, or whatever…which may instead just need more mixing or exposure to grace, kindness or patience. My acceptance of this process rather than my contempt is what is needed for the material on my compost pile to eventually become a source of deep nourishment for growth and change in my life. And this one thing I know without a doubt: to live a full, vital life, one must grow.

Rumi gives me some insight into the beauty of composting when he says that we should be more like the ground…open, receptive, non-judgmental. There is a gentleness, a humility in this sort of thinking and believing. But it requires an element of faith in the unseen, microscopic reality which operates on the principle of life after death. Ahh, behold the lowly compost pile.


The Master Piece

What would your life look like if you considered living as though it were a commissioned work of art? Your very own master piece?

I am an artist at living, and my work of art is my life. 
Suzuki  Japanese philosopher

What media would you use to create your life? Would you sculpt in clay? Carve from wood? Chisel from stone? Write with pen? Color with water, or oil, or ink?  Would you build your masterpiece from metal, rock or paper? Would you craft in the science of body, mind or spirit? Would you compose music with voice or instrument? Would you console with open heart, hands, and arms?

If we want our lives to be works of art, we must be willing to take the time and risk the intimacy required for creating an artisan life.
The Artisan Soul: Crafting Your Life into a Work of Art
Erwin Raphael McManus

When the art critics come to review and behold your art, what would they observe? How would they describe your masterpiece? How would you describe the work of your life? What do you desire for your masterpiece to communicate to those beholding it? What do you consider to be the crowning feature or achievement of your masterpiece? Does your masterpiece contain flaws or imperfections? Are those flaws to be hidden or exposed for their intrinsic value and beauty? Does your work of art excite, intrigue, inspire, or delight those who observe your creation?

Forgiveness. The ability to forgive oneself. Stop here for a few breaths and think about this because it is the key to making art, and very possibly the key to finding any semblance of happiness in life.
This is the Story of a Happy Marriage ~ Ann Patchett

Tell me…show me…I want to know and experience the shared joy of your Work of Art, your Lifeyour Master Piece!


Just Breathe

Let everything that has breath and every breath of life praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! Hallelujah! (Psalm 150:6 ~ Amplified Bible)

Sigh, without making a sound in the vocal cords, and imagine an all-compassionate presence of Yah. Imagine that each breath is itself a blessing. Yah holds and embraces us, Yah is our inner source of strength, and in each breath, we bless Yah for as long as we live, which is our “forever.”
(Ecstatic Kabbalah ~ David A Cooper)

This is the air I breathe, This is the air I breathe
Your holy presence living in me

This is my daily bread, This is my daily bread
Your very word spoken to me

And I ~ I’m desperate for you
And I ~ I’m lost without you

(Breathe ~ Lyrics: Michael W Smith)

Focus your attention on your lungs, as if only your lungs exist. Feel the pleasure when your lungs expand to fulfill the biggest need of the human body – to breathe. Take a deep breath and feel the air as it fills your lungs. Feel how the air is nothing but love. Notice the connection between the air and the lungs, a connection of love. To breathe gives us much pleasure. Just to breathe is enough for us to always be happy, to enjoy life. Just to be alive is enough. Feel the pleasure to be alive, the pleasure of the feeling of love…
(The Four Agreements ~ Don Miguel Ruiz)


Life must be lived with a writer’s courage. Just as a blank page cannot be improved, nothing can be done with an unlived, untried life. To dare to live will involve mistakes and missteps. You and I will end up with choices we regret, opportunities we missed, words we wish we could go back and say or leave unsaid. Perfection is impossible. But a rough draft, no matter how flawed, sits within reach of an artist’s redemption.
Michele Cushatt ~ Undone, A Memoir

Live, Laugh, Love