ĐĎॹá > ţ˙ C E ţ˙˙˙ B ˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙ěĽÁ 5@ đż H% bjbjĎ2Ď2 ): X X H ˙˙ ˙˙ ˙˙ v v v v v v v 2 2 2 2 F < ă# ś ( ś ś ś ś ś ś ś b# d# d# d# d# d# d# $ $ R ë& ° # v < ś ś < < # v v ś ś # ć" ć" ć" < v v ś v ś b# ć" < b# ć" ć" # v v # ś í!Ĺ 2 ˛ Ň # b# ł# 0 ă# # ' " X ' # v v v v # & ' v *# 8 ś v , T ć" D Ä x ś ś ś # # ¤ . Ü"
. Selection of Readings for Sunday, July 31 Service: Communing With Beauty
By Chief Dan George
The beauty of the trees,
the softness of the air,
the fragrance of the grass,
speaks to me.
The summit of the mountain,
the thunder of the sky,
the rhythm of the sea,
speaks to me.
The faintness of the stars,
the freshness of the morning,
the dewdrop on the flower,
speaks to me.
The strength of fire,
the taste of salmon,
the trail of the sun,
and the life that never goes away,
they speak to me.
And my heart soars.
* * * * * * *
The following are from www.herondance.org --- part of their e-newsletter called A Pause For Beauty
This followed the Chief Dan George prayer listed above.
It may seem odd at first, but you can walk the forest and do exactly the same thing. You can get on speaking terms with everything: animals, little bugs, and you can do that with everything. It simply means you are aware, you are opening, you are noticing, you are standing with something. It is relationship. Community. That is what will save the world. It is communion that will save the world. Communion with beauty. In the 1960s I was working on the old farmhouse. Dilapidated and abandoned. I spent a whole summer fixing it up so we could use it for meetings. I was thrilled to be working physically doing carpentry on this old house. I just love that stuff. Anyway, while working I would look out at the fields and the forests. One day I was standing under a great western white pine that smelled so beautiful. I kept stopping my work and looking out at this field. I had no idea why I was so entranced by the fields and the intense blue of the sky. And the top of the green fir trees against the blue sky. And the yellowing grass against the green. I was absolutely entranced by it. All summer long. This seemed to be the path of my life, and I asked myself why my Christian tradition says nothing of this. Why has nature been dropped from the agenda of contemporary Christian spirituality? In fact most Christian spirituality is opposed to nature. It is afraid of nature. It seems to be afraid that nature might compete with what they call the Centrality of Christ. That is a false dichotomy. Beauty is a gift, a grace. A system, a reminder of truthfulness. That grace is always there. That is why I go into the woods. That is why I lie down on the grass. It is a presence of grace. The beauty of the natural world is healing, is informing. I think that our engagement with beauty, our intimacy with beauty, can save us. FRITZ HULL
* * * * * * *
These quote are from a book newly published called Love and Gratitude. It is available on the website www.herondance.org
Love is the fruit of beauty. When you see a beautiful tree, you fall in love - ah, beautiful flowers, the bluebells, the primroses - beauty enters the heart and creates love. That is why in the world today we lack love, because there is less and less beauty in our everyday lives. Whenever you make something with love, you feel humbled. You could not make such beautiful things on your own. It must come through divine inspiration. In that way, beauty and humility go together. It is an act of surrender to the divine source. The divine inspiration uses your body, your hands, and your talents, as a channel for beauty, whether it is a Henry Moore sculpture or a painting by Van Gogh or some beautiful peasant house in rural Vermont. Or beautiful shoes made in Rajistan.... Therefore beauty is a source of spiritual healing. For me beauty is the essence of our being, the soul of our being.
Satish Kumar, from a HERON DANCE Interview, HYPERLINK "http://www.herondance.org/studiostore/merchant.mvc?Screen=CTGY&Store_Code=art&Category_Code=beauty" Issue 23
Some say the creative life is in ideas, some say it is in doing. It seems in most instances to be in simply being. It is not virtuosity, although that is very fine in itself. It is the love of something, having so much love for something - whether a person, a word, an image, an idea, the land, or humanity - that all that can be done with the over flow is to create. It is not a matter of wanting to, not a singular act of will; one solely must.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes, from HYPERLINK "http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=kEZHuwjsTmw&offerid=39828.413790719&type=10&subid=" Women Who Run with the Wolves
You will find as you look back upon your life that the moments when you have really lived are the moments when you have done things in a spirit of love.
Henry Drummond
* * * * * * *
Sleeping in the Forest by Mary Oliver
I thought the earth
remembered me, she
took me back so tenderly, arranging
her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds. I slept
as never before, a stone
on the riverbed, nothing
between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated
light as moths among the branches of the perfect trees. All night
I heard the small kingdoms breathing around me, the insects, and the birds
who do their work in the darkness. All night
I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling
with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.
From The Leaf and the Cloud by Mary Oliver
What secrets fly out of the earth
when I push the shovel-edge,
when I heave the dirt open?
And if there are no secrets
what is that smell that sweetness rising?
What is my name,
o what is my name
that I may offer it back
to the beautiful world?
Have I walked
long enough
where the sea breaks raspingly
all day and all night upon the pale sand?
Have I admired sufficiently the little hurricane
of the hummingbird?
the heavy
thumb
of the blackberry?
the falling star?
* * * * * * * * * * *
Have you seen the roses shiver then open their small fluted
perfect panels of mildest silk, besieged
by another idea? Have you seen their wild faces
when they first open?
Have you seen them lifting themselves to the
heat of the sun,
or the rain tapping with its slender fingers on
the pale sand below?
Or the bunched bee in the blossoms, doing its work,
entering and emerging, and the flowers
shining in their bed of leaves?
The first streak of light in the darkness,
the first bird to sing,
the first whale to rise out of the black water,
the first morning of the spring tide
the first lupine geranium poppy
first sweet corn,
the first afternoon spent outdoors, after illness,
first child
speaking its first words
first peach on the tree
first grapes
first hand-holding first kiss
first afternoon of snow
flakes like salt tapping the leaves
then the swirl then the soft clouds tumbling down
first road to the ocean,
first smell of the ocean
first white heron
first abalone,
first crab, iridescent in the seaweed
first mountain
first fern
first egg with a tapping from inside
first rose
red rose first white rose opening
itself and no more than itself
and more than itself.
* * * * * * *
By Gary Snyder
Ah to be alive
on a mid-September morn
fording a stream
barefoot, pants rolled up
holding boots, pack on,
sunshine, ice in the shallows
northern rockies.
Rustle and shimmer of ice creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard on toes
cold nose dripping
singing inside
creek music, heart music,
smell of sun on gravel.
I pledge allegiance
I pledge allegiance to the soil
of Turtle Island
one ecosystem
in diversity
under the sun----
With joyful interpenetration for all.
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