The miracle of ‘being’,
although it seems like an unimaginably huge miracle.
I look into the faces of my cats
and the fact that they are little beings
just blows me away . . .
there is somebody in there looking back at me.
Even Phoebe,
who is not as open
looks at me and into me,
and accepts me as an equal.
We are equal,
although with different talents and skills.
It’s not as easy to look into other peoples’ eyes like that . . .
they are usually clouded,
though I often look into the eyes of a stranger
and they look back
and we see each other,
really see . . .
and it always ends with a smile.
Something in us has connected.
I celebrate a small miracle that my daughter is in a new recovery program “Lighthouse Recovery” a beacon of light! Hoping and praying that this will be a good fit for her sobriety on a long term basis.
Spontaneous signs of friendship and natural kindness where grudge or feeling of indignation could have ruled almost unexpectedly made me feel welcome and silently this little miracle opened to deeper connection vice versa. Thank you for this gift of the day, my dear friend! Back into the flow of where we all are part of. A quiet miracle after opening up again to what is. Thank you all.
A ‘quiet’ miracle: We’ve made it so far. I’m thinking especially of my siblings, my nephews and nieces, many dear friends…. We are still here in spite of everything. Here is a poem that reminded me of this.
“After Our Daughter’s Wedding. (by Ellen Bass)
While the remnants of cake
and half-empty champagne glasses
lay on the lawn like sunbathers lingering
in the slanting light, we left the house guests
and drove to Antonelli’s pond.
On a log by the bank I sat in my flowered dress and cried.
A lone fisherman drifted by, casting his ribbon of light.
“Do you feel like you’ve given her away?” you asked.
But no, it was that she made it
to here, that she didn’t
drown in a well or die
of pneumonia or take the pills.
She wasn’t crushed
under the mammoth wheels of a semi
on highway 17, wasn’t found
lying in the alley
that night after rehearsal
when I got the time wrong.
It’s animal. The egg
not eaten by a weasel. Turtles
crossing the beach, exposed
in the moonlight. And we
have so few to start with.
And that long gestation—
like carrying your soul out in front of you.
All those years of feeding
and watching. The vulnerable hollow
at the back of the neck. Never knowing
what could pick them off—a seagull
swooping down for a clam.
Our most basic imperative:
for them to survive.
And there’s never been a moment
we could count on it.
It’s our first full day as empty-nesters, and it’s VERY quiet around here! Thankfully our kiddo is in good company — she moved in with my mom, just a short bike ride away from her new college campus. The miracle we celebrate today is that of achieving long-term goals: The Kid and Grandma have been planning this since she was in 5th grade, and they pulled it off perfectly.
That I have been blessed with another new day, new year. My birthday was on Monday, the 14th. My blessings are many. The birds serenading me this beautiful, sunny, glorious day is a miracle. My cup of “Joe” is pretty good too!☕️😊🙏🏻❤️
Im alive
Im on a day off
I got my digital clutter decluttered today
I pause my facebook (unplugged)
I cancelled memberships I am no longer wanting to pay for
For me today is the quiet changing of the season, from summer to fall. In the Celtic calendar, Autumn begins in August. As we pass mid-month, I am aware of the shifting winds, late summer flowers bursting with colour, energy and sheer exuberance, the stems of the leaves outside my window turning red one by one. In six week’s time the maple trees outside my window will be flaming red, and orange. They will provide a canopy of colour, under which many in our neighbourhood will celebrate the final hurrah of summer, and a gradual letting go and welcoming of autumn, then winter. It feels like a miracle, and perhaps it is …
I just returned from an 8 block walk. According to my spinal doctors most people who have had as many compression fractures as I have had are no longer able to walk. I’m still able to remain in my own home with sufficient funds to pay the bills and upkeep. Access to the Internet allows me to visit this site each day and share with such dear and caring people from near and far, folks that enrich my life. Another quiet miracle is my access to music. Music on the Internet, music on the tele, music on CD’s. I can no longer perform. My muscles are too busy holding up my back to lend my diaphragm the support it needs to sing on the stage but I can still feed my spirit with music, humming along and quietly vocalizing the notes. These are a few of the many quiet miracles that immediately came to mind. Last but not least, I’m extremely thankful to have been given this day. Life itself is a miracle and a mystery. The problem is we often focus on the mystery and forget the miracle! As Kevin said a few days ago, “Peace through war never works and never will.” May we learn that we are life and choose to honor that fact. That would truly be a miracle.
That I have been given another day; another chance to be a better person than I was yesterday, I also am very grateful for the quiet miracle that my dog, Clancy is still with us. 15 months ago we were told he had 4 months at the most to live…and here he is…happy, wagging his tail, playing and contiuing to give love. Thank you to God!!
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The miracle of ‘being’,
although it seems like an unimaginably huge miracle.
I look into the faces of my cats
and the fact that they are little beings
just blows me away . . .
there is somebody in there looking back at me.
Even Phoebe,
who is not as open
looks at me and into me,
and accepts me as an equal.
We are equal,
although with different talents and skills.
It’s not as easy to look into other peoples’ eyes like that . . .
they are usually clouded,
though I often look into the eyes of a stranger
and they look back
and we see each other,
really see . . .
and it always ends with a smile.
Something in us has connected.
I celebrate a small miracle that my daughter is in a new recovery program “Lighthouse Recovery” a beacon of light! Hoping and praying that this will be a good fit for her sobriety on a long term basis.
Spontaneous signs of friendship and natural kindness where grudge or feeling of indignation could have ruled almost unexpectedly made me feel welcome and silently this little miracle opened to deeper connection vice versa. Thank you for this gift of the day, my dear friend! Back into the flow of where we all are part of. A quiet miracle after opening up again to what is. Thank you all.
A ‘quiet’ miracle: We’ve made it so far. I’m thinking especially of my siblings, my nephews and nieces, many dear friends…. We are still here in spite of everything. Here is a poem that reminded me of this.
“After Our Daughter’s Wedding. (by Ellen Bass)
While the remnants of cake
and half-empty champagne glasses
lay on the lawn like sunbathers lingering
in the slanting light, we left the house guests
and drove to Antonelli’s pond.
On a log by the bank I sat in my flowered dress and cried.
A lone fisherman drifted by, casting his ribbon of light.
“Do you feel like you’ve given her away?” you asked.
But no, it was that she made it
to here, that she didn’t
drown in a well or die
of pneumonia or take the pills.
She wasn’t crushed
under the mammoth wheels of a semi
on highway 17, wasn’t found
lying in the alley
that night after rehearsal
when I got the time wrong.
It’s animal. The egg
not eaten by a weasel. Turtles
crossing the beach, exposed
in the moonlight. And we
have so few to start with.
And that long gestation—
like carrying your soul out in front of you.
All those years of feeding
and watching. The vulnerable hollow
at the back of the neck. Never knowing
what could pick them off—a seagull
swooping down for a clam.
Our most basic imperative:
for them to survive.
And there’s never been a moment
we could count on it.
It’s our first full day as empty-nesters, and it’s VERY quiet around here! Thankfully our kiddo is in good company — she moved in with my mom, just a short bike ride away from her new college campus. The miracle we celebrate today is that of achieving long-term goals: The Kid and Grandma have been planning this since she was in 5th grade, and they pulled it off perfectly.
That I have been blessed with another new day, new year. My birthday was on Monday, the 14th. My blessings are many. The birds serenading me this beautiful, sunny, glorious day is a miracle. My cup of “Joe” is pretty good too!☕️😊🙏🏻❤️
Happy Belated Birthday, PKR!!! Wishing you a year filled with good health, lots of laughter, love and happiness!
Thank you Nannette….❤️
Happy belated birthday PKR 🙂
Thank you Michele…❤️
Happy Birthday! 🎂
Thank you Laura..❤️
Im alive
Im on a day off
I got my digital clutter decluttered today
I pause my facebook (unplugged)
I cancelled memberships I am no longer wanting to pay for
For me today is the quiet changing of the season, from summer to fall. In the Celtic calendar, Autumn begins in August. As we pass mid-month, I am aware of the shifting winds, late summer flowers bursting with colour, energy and sheer exuberance, the stems of the leaves outside my window turning red one by one. In six week’s time the maple trees outside my window will be flaming red, and orange. They will provide a canopy of colour, under which many in our neighbourhood will celebrate the final hurrah of summer, and a gradual letting go and welcoming of autumn, then winter. It feels like a miracle, and perhaps it is …
I just returned from an 8 block walk. According to my spinal doctors most people who have had as many compression fractures as I have had are no longer able to walk. I’m still able to remain in my own home with sufficient funds to pay the bills and upkeep. Access to the Internet allows me to visit this site each day and share with such dear and caring people from near and far, folks that enrich my life. Another quiet miracle is my access to music. Music on the Internet, music on the tele, music on CD’s. I can no longer perform. My muscles are too busy holding up my back to lend my diaphragm the support it needs to sing on the stage but I can still feed my spirit with music, humming along and quietly vocalizing the notes. These are a few of the many quiet miracles that immediately came to mind. Last but not least, I’m extremely thankful to have been given this day. Life itself is a miracle and a mystery. The problem is we often focus on the mystery and forget the miracle! As Kevin said a few days ago, “Peace through war never works and never will.” May we learn that we are life and choose to honor that fact. That would truly be a miracle.
Life, connection, and the prevailing interest across all people to do good work.
Morning sun streams into the eastward window of my home. Very Grateful for a new day of living and Life.
I will quietly acknowledge the miracle
of another day, another breath, another
opportunity for a little magic.
That I have been given another day; another chance to be a better person than I was yesterday, I also am very grateful for the quiet miracle that my dog, Clancy is still with us. 15 months ago we were told he had 4 months at the most to live…and here he is…happy, wagging his tail, playing and contiuing to give love. Thank you to God!!
Writing and reading . Meditation.
I woke up to another day 🙂