Tag Archives: consciousness

Pray Without Ceasing

Everything possesses at least two appearances:  the physical and the spiritual.


Most of us attempt to judge or discern things about situations, circumstances, neighborhoods, homes, people, plants, objects and animals based upon their surface or physical appearance. Yet, except for the physical items where surface appearance may be altered by–say–a coat of paint, most of us do not have a great deal of choice about our given, physical form.

Spiritual appearance is that aspect of something or someone, which is the more important of the two “appearances” to observe.  It is also the more changeable form of appearance and, potentially, the most able to becoming bright or fully luminescent.  Spiritual appearance is capable of changing in a heartbeat, depending upon the place we find ourselves abiding—in our consciousness—and in our activities, as well as depending upon the purity of our intentions.

Spiritual appearance is a little more difficult “to see” with the naked eye; but, it may be glimpsed as a form of radiance or glow, permeating and sometimes extending beyond a physical form. But, before concerning ourselves with the physical or spiritual appearances of others, we need to work on growing our own Light.

One of the most accessible means through which we may grow our Light is by establishing a dialogue of well-wishing and positive intentions toward ourselves and others.

There are a great number of recommendations and books devoted to prayer and “how to pray.” Yet, what if we were to simply make our greatest care and focus the continual wish, for ourselves and others, for that which is in everyone’s greatest good or highest Light? There is nothing—no prayer or wish—simpler than this. Right action follows closely on the heels of an open, unencumbered and working heart.

Spiritual Flight

Standing at the kitchen counter, peeling fresh garlic while making dinner, I catch myself thinking–in a most consternated way, “This is really tedious.”

Then, the fall begins.  I go from standing on a cloud of Light–hanging out with the saints, lamas, angels and rinpoches–to common, cranky grudge.

Not wishing to land or leave that sweet space of Being, I deploy the paragliding wings of my next thought:  “I am so grateful to have this fresh garlic in my home, ready to prepare and eat.


On a roll now, I continue, “May the hands that have made this portion of my evening meal be blessed:  the gardians of the ‘seeds,’ planters, tenders, farmers, field hands, harvesters, shippers, distributors, truck drivers and grocery-store workers. Thank you for the gift of this holy food.  May it heal my body.”

An updraft of Grace comes to assist me in navigating my late-afternoon flight among all things physical.  Having spread my wings in gratitude, blessing and connectivity, I am aloft again.


Walking into one of my out-of-home, work spaces, I see that a professional acquaintance is on-duty.  Upon seeing me, he immediately affects a deep frown and drops his shoulders in defeat.

“What is going on?” I ask, as I unpack my things at a table and pull out a chair.


We have had a couple of informal conversations, where we learned we had both spent time at geographic points far west of here.

“I so don’t want to be here today,” he says, gesturing around the almost empty space.  “The basement thing is getting to me.”

“You are going to have to turn that around, if you want to find any joy here,” I respond sympathetically.  “Look, you have windows on two out of four sides of this space.  And they are full size. The windows face both west and south.  I know it is raining today; but, on sunny days, you get the late afternoon sun.

“You are are warm and dry and safe,” I continue.  “Plus, you have the privilege of entering your own private kiva everytime you come to work. This is a space of potential grounding and centering.  How many people get to do that at work?”

He pauses to consider the perspective I offer him.  “Yes, thank you for that–a kiva.”

I watch as his shoulders lift and this new perspective takes root in his consciousness, helping him reframe his perspective.

Spirituality: Riding the Wave

At ten o’clock at night, the music above our heads seems only to be growing louder.  My husband and I, both early risers, are tucked in for the night, while our neighbor upstairs, a late sleeper, has cranked up the volume on a classic-rock radio station.  He is celebrating the electrifying nature of life and the late night a little bit longer.

“Do you want to go upstairs and say something?” I ask across the steady beat and hum of a solid bass line, which is the only audible part of the music, driving itself into our sleep space.

“Not really,”  my husband answers grumpily.


“I don’t want to ruin his evening,” I explain my glued-to-the-bed immobility, knowing our upstairs neighbor has trouble holding and enjoying his space on the planet.  Our neighbor struggles with clinical depression and, for music to be playing this late, his evening must be rocking along all right.

“Hey, can you guess what is playing?” I ask my husband, changing the focus of the conversation.

“Give me a minute,” he shifts gears mentally, from considering his personal discomfort to listening to the music’s bass line more closely.  “‘Black Dog’–Led Zeppelin.”

The song finishes and another comes on.  We play this game for another half-hour, not wanting to walk upstairs to crsuh our neighbor’s Spirit.  And, in the process, we learn something.  The most melodic bass lines create the most memorable songs–even if a band’s name eludes us, the music is memorable and a song will stand on its own with a rhythmically and melodically well constructed bass line.

Eventually, the music’s volume goes way down and, a little later, the music is turned off.  The whole experience makes me wonder whether or not I have been focusing too much on what I consider the “melody” of my life, when it is the bass line–life’s small daily habits–that matter most.