Tag Archive: Faith


Happiness

Beautiful passage by Hermann Hesse (July 2, 1877–August 9, 1962).

For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfill themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. . . . Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.

I was several hours away from a small inter-department speech when it happened.  I wasn’t particularly stressed. The previous night, I had plenty of sleep and my morning was fine. As I started with agenda and opening remarks, I noticed the left side of my face became numb. I could speak, and though the audience never saw, I knew everything wasn’t quite right.

After the presentation, my spelling wasn’t right either. Words like ‘dream‘ were spelled ‘draem.’ ‘Acute‘ became ‘accute‘ and ‘slide deck‘ became ‘sldie feck.

Within an hour, everything returned to normal, as though nothing happened. I knew it wasn’t. I experienced a TIA, a transient ischemic attack, or mini-stroke.

The doctor knocked politely, opened the door, and sat in the standard hospital issued chair. From his look, we both knew his message would suck.

“So,” he started solemnly, “we ran a few tests. We concluded you encountered a mini-stroke.”

“Yeah, kind of figured” I nodded.

“What concerns us is that about 1 in 3 who experience a transient ischemic attack will eventually have a stroke, with about half occurring within a year after the initial attack. We’ve looked at your tests and reviewed your history and previous heart-related issues. We believe you’re more likely to be in that range.”

“Any idea how long I might have?”

“Good question. With proper medicine, a major change in diet, maybe minutes, hours, days, weeks, months or a couple of years.”

“Well,” I laughed. “That narrows it down.”

“We feel it’s going to happen. When? Well, we aren’t sure. Hopefully, we can get you to the years or beyond, but there’s no guarantee.”

I was discharged with medication and a batch of follow-up tests.

Stopped at the Apple store on my way home to pick up a replacement iPhone.

“Would you like Apple care+ or Apple Care+ with Theft and Loss?”

“Huh?” after snapping back from another place caught in random thoughts.

“Would you like Apple care+ or Apple Care+ with Theft and Loss? You know, AppleCare+ extends your warranty coverage from one year to two, and extends phone and chat support from 90 days to the full two years as well.”

Standing dazed for a moment, “No thanks,” I replied with a smile. “The phone will likely last longer than me.”

There are no warranties in life. And while the duration of my life is uncertain, I concluded during my meditation last night to come quietly into this “transition.”  Outside of wanting to take one last Alaskan cruise, I simply wish to feel the presence of loved ones.

I experienced a powerful out of body experience (OBE) during meditation last night. While I will detail that experience in a later post, I realize there is no possible way to escape death. Except for Enoch, No one ever has, not even Jesus, Buddha, etc. And, of the current world population of 5 billion-plus, almost none will be alive in 100 years. So, like others, I will welcome death upon arrival.

Yet, at this moment, my message is simple – it is possible to feel both the beauty of a loved one’s passing, knowing he or she is free from suffering while simultaneously experiencing the relative suffering of my loss. To do anything other than that is to by-pass my humanity in some essential way and listen to the wisdom inherent in God’s love.

I close with this, if my warranty doesn’t expire, I shall write again. But I shall double my effort to enjoy each minute of every single day. I believe we all need to do just that.

Peace …

covingtonOn January 18, 2019, Covington Catholic High School faced heavy backlash after a group of predominantly white students was filmed harassing and insulting Native Americans participating in an Indigenous Peoples’ March in Washington, D.C. The students were visiting to participate in the simultaneous anti-abortion March for Life, which attracts many Catholic groups. Many of the students wore “Make America Great Again” hats.

In one of several videos of the incident, a student wearing a Covington Catholic sweatshirt is seen smirking and blocking the path of Nathan Phillips, an Omaha elder and Vietnam War veteran who was playing a ceremonial drum. The students reportedly chanted “build that wall“, while others stood in a circle nearby and chanted “CovCath is the best.”

There’s several ironies. First, all of this comes days before Dr. Martin Luther King Day. Second, students attending the anti-abortion March for Life seem to subversively claim, “We march for life, but we impugn the life of anyone notwhite.”

Go figure.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote:

I’m concerned about a better World. I’m concerned about justice; I’m concerned about brotherhood and sisterhood; I’m concerned about truth. And when one is concerned about that, he can never advocate violence. For through violence you may murder a murderer, but you can’t murder murder. Through violence you may murder a liar, but you can’t establish truth. Through violence you may murder a hater, but you can’t murder hate through violence. Darkness cannot put out darkness; only light can do that.

And I say to you, I have also decided to stick with love, for I know that love is ultimately the only answer to humankind’s problems. And I’m going to talk about it everywhere I go. I know it isn’t popular to talk about it in some circles today. And I’m not talking about emotional bosh when I talk about love; I’m talking about a strong, demanding love. For I have seen too much hate. […] and I say to myself that hate is too great a burden to bear. I have decided to love. If you are seeking the highest good, I think you can find it through love. And the beautiful thing is that we aren’t moving wrong when we do it, because John was right, God is love. He who hates does not know God, but he who loves has the key that unlocks the door to the meaning of ultimate reality.

Love is ultimately the only answer to humankind’s problems. Unfortunately, love requires effort.

Freedom is not given to us by anyone; we have to cultivate it ourselves. It is a daily practice.

~ Thich Nhat Hanh ~

Chances

From a Sacramento dinner I looked at the rain as it beat a gentle rhythm upon the roof. The grey sky rolled left to right as dinners ushered dates under umbrellas. Pools of puddles widened as rainfall became heavier.

Good evening,” said a voice awakening me from the moment. “My name is Michael and I will be your server tonight. May I start you off with a drink?

Ah,” I said recovering. “Just a Diet Coke, Please.”

With that Michael darted off on his rounds.

Throughout the meal, I heard Michael’s name whispered amongst the guests. Finally, I gathered some mental strength and queried the patrons in the table next to me.

“Oh,” one guest whispered. In a hushed tone, she leaned inward, “We are friends of one of Michael’s friends. By day, he is a TSA Agent. But he has to work nights during the shutdown to pay expenses. We understand he won’t take charity, so we’re going to leave him a hell of a tip. It’s our way of helping him.”

Their meals came. The table received the bill and headed out. Michael came to collect the check. He momentarily looked. He exhaled heavily, wiped a tear or two and returned the check-holder to his pocket.

My check-holder arrived twenty minutes later. The bill was $59.87. For a moment, I thought about client policy, only fifteen percent tip maximum. “Too bad I muttered,” as I wrote a $100.00 tip.

Friday saw an early wake-up call. Flight 323 was due to leave in a few hours. I arrived at Sacramento International well before departure. TSA interactions were cordial, but none reminded of Sheila from a few days earlier.

When boarding started, I met a stunning older blond woman. Approximately 6’1” or 6’2,” long blonde hair, a silver back pack, and towing a standard black roller carry-on. We engaged in conversation. Just as I, she was a consultant. And strangely, we had similar experiences, similar travels and similar travel horror stories.

Sadly, I never asked her name. I wish I did. Two strangers, hitting it off on a Southwest jet bridge, traveling to the same city, in the same career field, knowing one another, yet never not knowing one another.

In Casablanca, Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman said their last words to each other in a weird foggy glow on the taxiway. A Lockheed 12 aircraft looms behind them, promising adventure. This is a threshold of escape — a point of departure for the characters, an apt space of closure for the film. In real life, our films move forward, unending. And for once in the past nine years, I wish I had more time.

Strange.

As I write this, I realize how much I miss her. Like many others, it makes you feel warm inside and you feel lucky to have met someone special that is missed in your life. However, I am jealous of the people she gets to meet. I wish I had another chance.

Life is about chances. Maybe it was chance that I met Michael. Maybe, chance had nothing to do with it. Maybe it was chance I met a wondrously beautiful and engaging woman on a Southwest jet bridge. Maybe ‘chance’ had little to do with it.

In a lot of cases, life is about opportunity. When I met Michael, I was drawn to his cause simply because others were so drawn to him. As for my chance traveler, we were drawn to each other for some reason. But I forfeited my chance when we parted.

I whispered a personal thought into the hotel’s bamboo plant, remembering the opening of “Red Corner.”

“When I was a child, I would come to this park and play. My grandmother told me why the bamboo is here. She said, “It is waiting for the wind to touch it. It is filled with emotions. Listen to the sound and you can feel them.””

In closing, I think of the woman I met and of the missed chance. We are somehow interconnected. Borrowing from the character Shen Yuelin (Red Corner):

My Iife has changed. She opened me up and in some way, will forever be a part of my Iife. And hopefully, I will never be the same.

Remember, leave nothing to chance.

Flipping through channels late afternoon, I caught the ending scene of Cast Away.

Cast Away tells the story of a FedEx executive who must transform himself physically and emotionally to survive a plane crash and being washed upon a deserted island. In the years of survival, he saves one Federal Express package.

The ending sequence finds Chuck delivering that package to Ms. Bettina Peterson (played by the late Lari White).  In the end Chuck stands at an intersection – of his life. With map in hand, Chuck must decide which direction the rest of his life will travel and has no idea where the roads will lead. A woman who stops and gives directions is the addressee of the package just delivered.

Like Chuck at the film’s beginning, My life was mapped. I had places to go, people to see, work to do, limited time to spend on anything. Yeah, I was very good at my job.

Everything crashed in April 2010. The identity I created died. Meaning, I crashed. Lost job. Lost love. Lost home. Lost reputation.

Like Chuck, I was limited to few choices. I adapted and survived. My first six weeks comprised of long walks and filing unemployment. I was 50. And the chances for good employment like the one I was fired from would not come again.

May 2010 was filled with day-after-day of job applications. I was completing my customary job application quota when I clicked on a Career Builder ad for a job in Albany, New York. I sent my completed resume, printed the receipt, attached the acknowledgement for unemployment compensation evidence. Then, I moved on.

After working several gigs just to bring in a paycheck, I realized I had so soured my life in the city that it would be unlikely to get any decent job offer. Strangely enough, Albany called. A few interviews later, I landed in Albany, NY with two suit cases and a heart of hope. I found a small apartment in Cohoes, NY, adjacent to the banks of the Hudson River.

Metaphorically speaking, my world was exactly like Chuck Noland as Albany would become my small island. Prior to landing on my island, I painstakingly created an identity, but I didn’t live it. I called myself a chameleon, for I embellished so much I could easily adapt and fit in almost any situation.

That’s a key statement. I lived a created identity and remained unable to fully understand just how lucky I was.

In the end, God’s quest for accountability and the events of prior months broke me from my obdurate foolishness. My overall lack of concern for the threats to my life and to those I loved were disastrous.

As such, when walking along the Hudson River at night, each river tide brought peace and tranquility. Even though I lost Karen (Noland’s Kelly), I remain grateful that she remained in my heart – at every step in New York.

Eight years later, I’m an experienced valuing person. I learned to appreciate life and others. Decreased workload allowed me to think about other people and respect them for who they are. God had to cast away Chuck (to throw) Noland (no land). I, wandered and moved onward, albeit slower and hard.

As a Buddhist, I want to say to everyone experiencing deep anguish, it’s normal to consider quitting. Don’t. When we are in the midst of a season of suffering our decision is either to lay down and quit or to keep breathing and trust God will bring what we need during life’s tide.  For me it has brought real peace to my soul.

My dream job before 2010 was illusion.

Last year, The New York Times (NYT) chose Jada Yuan from 13,000 applicants to travel as a journalist to go to each and every place on the NYT’s 52 Places to Go in 2018. In her January 4th, NYT article 1 Woman, 12 Months, 52 Places, Jada Yuan summarized lessons learned. The key lesson applies to everyone.

“Trust in myself, trust in the fundamental goodness of people, trust that as a traveler, I could watch my back without walling myself off from experiences,“ and that “… the center of my life isn’t there [New York City] for me anymore. It’s with me and it’s mobile.

Same lessons applies for me. Of all my experiences since 2010, I too have learned to trust myself – that the center of my life isn’t in any one particular place. It’s within me and within my ability to love.

Given the fact that on any given day I could die, someone asked how I keep going. I remember Chuck Noland:

“… keep breathing because tomorrow the sun will rise, and you never know what the tide will bring.”

Get Past Dog

A friend of mine visiting her home country was staying at her sisters’ and called me at just the right time.

I can’t believe it,” she muttered.

Believe what?” I inquired.

My sister is just like my mother.”  Continuing, “She is constantly telling my nephew how much everything costs. She’s teaching him the exact same thing she taught me. I hate it.”

I see,” I noted. “Maybe? Just maybe? He’ll be able to grow past it. That, just because he is experiencing this today, doesn’t mean he can’t overcome it.”

Frustrated, she lashed out, “No. He’s just like a dog. He’s learning only what he’s trained.”

Yeah. Maybe.” I noted. “But maybe just like other kids today, he’ll become resourceful, interact with others and become something better than that being taught.”

No.” she replied. “Impossible. He’s only being groomed into being guilted into caring for his mother.”

But maybe ….” Pause.

Click.

If you want to make a call …

She hung up.

The messages children learn are powerful, with most being planted before we discover the capacity to challenge and reject them. Such a message is found in Harry Chapin’s song Flowers are Red, released some 40 years ago.

In the song, Chapin offered a warning to those who would abuse privilege. As such, a little boy is delivered to school full of life. He sees a world full of colors with no rule as to which should apply to what. The crayons dare him to draw. The teacher intervenes for the boy’s “own good,” as she’s seen this before. It’s bad. A child’s view of a world offering flowers of different colors brings only trouble. Eventually, the teacher punishes the child until he surrenders and tells the teacher that “flowers are red, and green leaves are green.”

The last stanza of the song indicates the child moves to a new school. A new teacher claims ‘… painting should be fun. And there’s so many colors in a flower, so let’s use every one.” However, one student paints flowers only red and green. When asked why, he quotes his previous teacher.

“… flowers are red, and green leaves are green. There’s no need to see flowers any other way than the way they’ve always have been seen.”

The point I was trying to make was that we must get past children being nothing more than trainable dogs. Yes, maybe her nephew (and her sister) are having a difficult time. However, there should be nothing that summarily dictates the future – that our current opinion of any child should not become that child’s life.

Instead, maybe life has a different, yet unseen purpose. Maybe, her nephew will cure some form of cancer, become a recognized mathematician, create a solution to global warming, write great novels, a wonderful chef, an honest and trusted business owner, husband, lover and father. The possibilities are endless.

Enthusiasm should be our vehicle for education and love. As a Buddhist, I believe Chapin’s real message might better be directed toward the second teacher. Will the second teacher give up? Can the second teacher be successful? And, should she be successful, would not the lesson be that life still remains a place of endless possibility?

This Christmas I ask each parent to look at their children with love. Do one thing … get past dog.

The fourteenth letter was written in reference to the question, “How will I find you if you’re not here?”

Reading this letter after so many years, I honestly can reinforce that no one can show you one true method. And self-help guru’s offering a technique offer only a program that had somehow worked for them. But watch yourself. When you talk to someone, are you aware of it or are you simply identifying with it?

A key to knowing someone is “watching.” Is that person aware of their anger, happiness or peacefulness? Can they study their own experience and attempt to understand it? Where did it come from? What brought it on? I don’t know of any other way to awareness. I belief one can only change that which is understood. As noted in my letter, one has to get to the middle to ‘know.’ For me, I’ve found that which is not understand is often repressed. But when you understand it, it changes.

I believe the key to finding someone is through that person’s love. Another way of saying it, perfect love casts out fear. In my letter I make a series of statements – a guide if you will – on finding me. In other words, to find me when not physically present is to experience pain yet be able to dream. One can also find me by being foolish for love and shout ‘yes’ (thank you) to God upon the shores of a lake. To find me you must be true to yourself. To find me, regardless of what life throws at your door, get up and help someone in need. Do those things and you will find me?

What I tried to provide was a compass. There were no demands, no expectations, and no dependency. I did not demand that my love make me happy or that my ultimate happiness lay in her. I provided a guide … for her … on how to find me. Maybe, just maybe … such a guide might work for you.


My Dear Love:

You once asked how to find me. In truth, all of us are constantly changing and we continually search, assess and rediscover ourselves. Even though I have a passion for life, for the few close friends who’ll stand beside me, for passions captured and passions missed. Still, does anyone really know me? Do I even know myself? The more I see, the more I believe I’ve remained a mystery, even unto myself.

While we are profoundly emotionally deep and rich in our belief for each other, just how do we attest to knowing? Often, I look upon myself with great curiosity, even wonderment. Robert Frost’s poem The Secret Sits is a simple couplet where its meaning is left unto the mystery of the reader.

“We dance around the ring and suppose,
But the secret sits in the middle and knows.”

All of us have spent our lives dancing in a circle while simultaneously contemplating life. And in the end, maybe the ‘secret’ is God. Only god knows the secret to all which exists. Another interpretation could be that the world we live is often left open to interpretation. We, as stewards, are given the right to interpret the world upon our own experiences.

However, to truly find me, can you understand ache while simultaneously dare to dream? If you wish to find me, will you risk looking like a fool for love for the adventure of being alive? To find me, can you sit in pain without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it? To find me, can you be in joy while dancing under a moonlit, start-filled sky? To find me, is it possible to live momentarily live in the space between disappointing another while remaining true to thy own self? Is it possible not betray your soul? Is it possible to live with failure and while standing at upon a lake’s shore and shout, ‘Yes?’ To find me, can you find grief and despair, experience being weary and bruised, then get up, and do what needs to be done to feed the poor?

In essence, to find me, you must find yourself, for ‘I’ am in the middle.

While deep and rich, I treasure our friendship and love. Our exchanges are extremely important. I suppose one could muster old fashioned boundaries, but that may impede our spiritual growth and love. Whenever the world bogs you down, wherever the compass takes, you can find me in my words, letters and love.

Find me and I shall find you.

Love … W

Originally, I wrote the thirteenth letter in response to the question, “Why I was called?” In years since, I’ve come to learn that one true way to answer this question is by being true to yourself. In essence, one has to know oneself, accept oneself; know their strengths, passions, and limitations. One path to knowledge is through living life. Unfortunately, many never live. Thus, one is neither able to embrace oneself nor truly understand the reason they’ve been called.

In spite of this understanding, I look upon some parts of my life cringe from some things either said or did. My ethical GPS went askew, neglecting that to which I had been called. In those times, my failure to identify and affirm the truth didn’t mean there wasn’t consequences. Rather, the harm projected was greater because some may have believed I didn’t care whether or not I (and to a larger extent, society) adhered to truth or equality.

This letter was written as a call to monarchs – monarchs of the environment – monarchs for the people. We must guard and bear one another’s burden. Sounds idyllic. Yet, we should be about standing for truth, regardless of the jeers. Lastly, treat everyone with kindness – not because they are kindhearted, but because we are.

In reading my thirteenth letter, what pops into my head is the desire to be true to yourself. if you can’t find them, steal them. Dale Carnegie wrote:

“The ideas I stand for are not mine. I borrowed them from Socrates. I swiped them from Chesterfield. I stole them from Jesus. And I put them in a book. If you don’t like their rules, whose would you use?”

Yes, I wrote this letter to my love, but its core message is about being true to yourself.


My Dear Friend:

Recently, I the movie ‘Frozen’ and was enchanted by the characters struggles as I did in 2013. Like all, there was love, personal setback, and subsequent victories. In most movies, lessons will smack one right across the face. Movies such as Crash, The Blind Side, Life is Beautiful, and A Christmas Coral are just a few of the thousands. In most movies, via each character, we live, dream, root, cry and rejoice.

For many on this planet, life is not a Disney movie. As such, you and I have seen undue wrong. As a team, we’ve work for reconciliation in our own world, our schools, our home, our social acquaintances and friends. However, the voice of injustice often cries from a wilderness most fail to go. “Ah.” We say. “Tomorrow.” As such, we pass by the victim to tarry another day. That ‘tarry’ becomes another day – then another – then another – and so on. We barter, “What can I write? Who can I possibly help?”

It’s hard to start the next chapter of life while constantly rereading the last.

Walking with you every day, I’ve truly honored to be in your leadership and effort to bridge equality. As a result, I have encountered many a friend I may have never crossed paths with. Yet, the question you and I often discuss is not how we got here, to this event or that event. Rather, the question I recently thought of is, “Why was I called here?”

I thought hard.

The answer struck walking in cool October winds near a small, but vacant city park. After stumbling and steadying myself against a park bench, for a moment – yeah, just a moment – the souls of former children, mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters spoke through falling leaves.

It wasn’t an impressive answer. Some might claim it rather vague, even unassuming. As a Buddhist, I’ve been taught love and compassion are the driving force behind each and every action. And within those voices, I was surrounded by hearts from years gone by. Yet I was able to bridge past and present and reached humanity, professed dignity and brought forth a wealth of love never seen.

Remember, many a brick wall is comprised of flesh? You’ve always blasted through. Hell, we didn’t know if we were right or wrong. We just blasted past when feasible. And that’s our call – to fight – for the forgotten, to blast through walls of flesh, where we can, when we can, but always in love and compassion. And as we move forward, it is imperative to maintain compassion. Since many forgot to support one another in equality, God chose us to reinforce His gift of love. Therefore, be true – always be true.

Our world has always been about bonding. As such, we need to join others who will make it better. Just as the world moves forward unto the future, you and I can’t go back. So, while you know this letter is only for your eyes – I must confess. You know that cool October wind mentioned earlier? I wasn’t solely surrounded by only hearts from years gone by. I heard children from our future.

Thus, this letter is for them. God calls us to be stalwarts for them. You and I are part of their future. We are commanded to continue the good fight.

Always remain that amazing you. I embrace you, even now, even here.

With love ….. W

Love LetterThis is the first of two love letters. You may already discern that many of my letters were ought-right expressions of love. Yet, there are firsts in one’s life that aren’t meant to be forgotten.

As such, there was this natural anticipation to write such a letter. I hadn’t read this letter since sealing it years ago. Now, I read it again. Once the message starts to sink into your heart, I wish this letter had been read, then answered.

So why the “Love” Letter? If there is a Buddhist message, it would be the following:

Love is not something we can hold in our hands. It’s more than an emotion we hold in our hearts. Love willingly gives part of ourselves to one another. I’ve experienced them, both in heart and soul. I tend to liken these as gifts to God, to love and myself; it helps me understand my love for God.

In truth, for many of us, its been a lifetime since we have told others how much they are loved. And so, to all my readers, I want you to know you are loved.


My Dear Friend:

We are separated by time and distance. Yet even in upstate Michigan, the stars are no match for thy beauty. I wish to be swallowed by your aurora. The prospect of living another day without your voice brings me no pleasure.

I there are few promises in this world. Maybe before the divine bids me adieu, I will know thy touch once more. Hypnotize me by your breath. Engulf me in your love, by the fire. Course through my soul and brand my soul in love.

Of all the dreams, I believe only them of you to be most true. Yet, each dream unfolds another truth of the serene, a gift from a hidden heaven. I can feel you in my arms. I can confess my soul’s longing. You are perfect. Majestic.

When I am lost, I fast. In your fragrance, I am intoxicated. The bed you sleep upon is blessed. The rain that bathes you is holy. For I have seen within thy bejeweled eyes. Come walk in the garden by moonlight. Stir me by day, satisfy me in the dark on the river. Rest softly and sweetly in my arms … forevermore.

In 2012, I wrote two letters surrounding the theme titled, ‘Because of You.’ There are many in this world that we owe a great deal of gratitude, whose legacy remains unfulfilled. In fact, Alan Turing once said:

Sometimes it is the people no one can imagine anything of who do the things no one can imagine.”

When I now read this 2012 letter, I think of Joan Clarke’s quote from the movie The Imitation Game.

Do you know, this morning I was on a train that went through a city that wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for you. I bought a ticket from a man who would likely be dead if it wasn’t for you. I read up, on my work, a whole field of scientific inquiry that only exists because of you. Now, if you wish you could have been normal… I can promise you I do not. The world is an infinitely better place precisely because you weren’t.

In essence, I wrote this letter to my love during a very difficult time in her life, where she questioned herself and her value. Thus, this letter is the first of two. It’s for those who think they are alone, unworthy, or ripped apart.


My Dear Friend:

Upon entering a Pomona, California church for some quiet prayer, I became a witness to a Bible study group reading Mathew 10:34.

“Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send [or bring] peace, but a sword.”

After reading, the leader stated, “Relationships will be ripped apart, but life in Christ will be found.” I found this to be a harsh example of living Christlike. Since 2010, my walk has focused on finding the kingdom of peace within all. And that same very kingdom within us is also outside us.

In all my walks, I’ve never found Christ to be ripping people at the seams. Sadly, I’ve only seen people rip each other at the seams.

Therefore, just as Christ is unique, so are you. You are divinely created. You are divinely loved. Therefore, the same power of agape love is equally available to both you and I. And likewise, we nourish each other just as much as we nourish God, just as much as God nourishes us.

Because of you, I can do something more than show up. Because of you, I live in dignity, filled with purpose and love. Because of you, I no longer ask God for permission to be in His company, for you are God in love and peace. Because of you I’m not afraid to be me, to be the person I was always meant to be. Because of you, I no longer doubt.

Love is understanding. It’s not a physical transformation, it’s an inner transformation. You are the water in my life. Your love is my water. You always find a way, always. It doesn’t matter if the solution is immediately visible to you or not, God finds a way – just as water — it may cut through, circumvent,

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