Friday January 25, 2013

Every Friday we light candles.  

We light them for ourselves and for everyone.

Begin

This is now.  Don't

postpone till then.  Spend

the spark of iron on stone.

Sit at the head of the table;

dip your spoon in the bowl.

Seat yourself next your joy

and have your awakened soul

pour wine.  Branches in the 

spring wind, easy dance of

jasmine and cypress.  Cloth

for green robes has been cut

from pure absence.  You're

the tailor, settled among his 

shop goods, quietly sewing.

--Rumi

We tried a journaling idea.  

Since it's still January we took a minute to think about beginnings.  When does something really begin?  Can you tell when something really starts?   Sometimes you can and sometimes you can't.  And yet, true thresholds seem to be crossed at times.  To anchor the thought into our day to day, we spent a minute thinking about the start of our day.  Is there a time or a place when we leave the misty fog of dreamtime behind and cross into the clarity of the daylight?  What could be done at this threshold to say hello, to ourselves, to the day, to freshness and curiosity and wonder?