Your Monday Blessing: The present spirit

Your Monday Blessing:
(with apologies to Mr. Dickens, and wishing him and his a happy 203rd birthday)

“Come in and know me better, man,” the winter giant roars,
He’s crammed your hearth with mistletoe while you were filled with snores.
He didn’t die with Boxing Day, or February’s chill,
The spirit drinks the season up, and never gets his fill.
“Come in and know me better, all, come sit beside the fire,
My spectral heft’s more real than many a funeral pyre.
You won’t find me tomorrow, man, I wasn’t here before,
I make the misers merry, then give the proceeds to the poor.
I’m larger than your bank account, more terrible than fear –
For whatever will befall you, it’s bound to happen here.
I am the present moment – ain’t I beautiful and bold?
Come, draw aside the curtain, the fire’s quickly getting cold.
Your virtue’s hidden in the vault – I have an extra key,
Tomorrow gains no interest from your strident misery.
Don’t build a shrine to someday, and store all your good deeds there,
While a child dwindles down to death, for lack of proper care.
In every home I travel to, I freely drop some balm,
The ones who know their need the most oft find my peace and calm.
The ones who know their need the least wrap arms around themselves,
And fight for their last raisin, while there’s turkey on the shelves.
The decent folk, they raise a glass, and speak to your good name:
Those profligate big spenders of compassion and acclaim.
Why revise their faulty figures, when you could just prove them right –
By rising every today, a little grateful for the light.
Come in and know me better, I am waiting for you here,
I’ll share of what I have, and I will keep you in good cheer.

“Much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they visited, but always with a happy end. The Spirit stood beside sick beds, and they were cheerful; on foreign lands, and they were close at home; by struggling men, and they were patient in their greater hope; by poverty, and it was rich. In almshouse, hospital, and jail, in misery’s every refuge, where vain man in his little brief authority had not made fast the door and barred the Spirit out, he left his blessing, and taught Scrooge his precepts.” – A Christmas Carol, Chapter 3

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The Super Bloom

I wasn’t going to watch the Super Bloom this year. It’s just gotten too commercial. What is it now – seven hours? Still, it’s only that long becase people want to watch it, right? So many of the top ThoughtStreams are previewed there, so even if you’re not into all that green ‘n’ color, it’s quite an event. And I do think there’s something so almost – well – sacred about the way familes gather in the same V-room to experience it. All the jokes, all the fake arguments over people’s favorites, everyone home-cooking chicken and fries from the same algorecipe.

My friend Anne’s a Blooming fanatic – she follows it all year round, even goes to see some of it live. It’s all a bit too intense for me. I couldn’t tell a lily from a pansy, and germinating schedules make my head spin. But I’m glad she derives such pleasure from it. Lord knows, a lot of the things I spend my time on must seem horribly arcane and pointless to her. And probably are, when you get right down to it.

So I’ll probably port with her to a party somewhere. Or maybe it’ll just be the two of us, which to be honest I think I’d prefer anyway. Most weekends we port together anyway, Blooming season or no. I gave her full V-Room access, so when I get home from work her avatar’s right there, ready to give me a hug. I got creeped out at first by her being home before me, almost waiting for me (though of course she’s at her home, too, obviously.) But now it’s lovely. She’s a good friend.

Now that I’m writing about it and all, I’m almost kinda looking forward to the whole Super Bloom thing, in a nostalgic kind of way. There’ll be the purple crocuses, of course, everybody celebrates those. I like when they use the peonies to carry the bloom up to halftime. Oh, and I do hope we see those bursts of yellow – what are they called? (I have deFine turned off – I know, I’m weird. Whatever). Those yellows are amazing. It’s like the sun exploding or something.

People around here are all saying New England’s going to win. So I guess I’ll root for Jacksonville, because I tend to root for the underdog. Anne’s a Seattle fan, since she was born there, technically, so I expect she’ll want New England to lose, too. At least it’s not Shanghai-Dubai again this year.

But the game’s kinda immaterial. I just like the whole circus of the thing. And like I say, the nostalgia of it all. It’s amazing, in this day and age, that they have the event all in one place. I believe it’s at the three-mile stadium in Dallas this year. I can’t remember what name it goes by now, the sponsors change so fast. And of course the purists keep saying it should be moved back to Pasadena, where it used to always be – but that’s not very realistic since it all happened, is it? I heard there’s a ThoughtStream about California Dreaming, it’s supposed to be very sentimental and sweet. I’ll have the Kleenex ready.

Even though I was never a huge Super Bloom fan, and rarely pay attention to the Blooming most of the year: as a kid, all Super Bloom night, I used to sit transfixed as the stadium filled up with all that green ‘n’ color. Who didn’t? There was something about seeing it live, everybody wanted to be there. Of course, as a teen I fantasized about actually attending, but I never made that kind of green. And that’s just for the hobbyists, anyway – experiencing it in the V-Room is just as good.

Call me crazy, but thinking about it now I may actually join the hobbyists this year. Start a garden or something, who knows? Or at least see the local flowers. It’s not like it only happens at the Super Bloom. There’s a park in every city, not to mention the gardens in every Big Dollar. Maybe I’ll join one of the pure season parks so I actually have to wait for the flowers. I kinda like the sound of that, somehow. Must be a thrill when they come up. Though I hear, sometimes, they don’t. Even in the Super Bloom, mistakes are made now and again. That’s part of the fun of it, I guess.

I’m decided, my mind’s made up! I’m going to celebrate Spring this year. Not just the Super Bloom – the whole dang season. Find a plot somewhere and plant something. With my own hands. Maybe one of those yellow guys.

The park’s only a few blocks ride from me. I’m blessed. There’s a couple of bonsai in our foyer. Still, I wonder what it was like, back in the days when Spring happened everywhere, and trees bloomed on every street corner in some towns.

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(Sermon) “How to Do UU”

(While I wrote this sermon explicitly for my fellow Unitarian Universalists, I think it may speak equally well to all people who try to join with others to seek meaning and make a better world.)

How to Do UU”

I always appreciate it when restaurants have a daily special. I don’t always choose the special, but I often do. It just makes the decision a little bit easier: rather than wade through hundreds of possible sandwiches and platters and meal combinations, I just have to think: “do I want lasagna today? Yep. Good Enough!” And then I’m done. Call me an intellectual coward if you want to, but sometimes I don’t like to have to think too much about what I’m going to eat.

I mention this because there’s some disturbing research coming out about choice and living a Unitarian Universalist life. We Unitarian Universalists pride ourselves on being a free faith – we can choose what we believe, we can choose how we live our lives. Surprisingly, though, more choices don’t always correlate with greater happiness. Recently, a professor at Columbia Business School interviewed people of different religions as they left their weekly services. Unfortunately for us, she found that Unitarian Universalists – as well as other faiths that give people the most choice about what to believe – scored the lowest on the surveys when it comes to happiness and optimism. By contrast, those from more orthodox or fundamentalist faiths – those religions that tell you in no certain terms what to think, what to do, when to do it – these people, on average, were happier and more hopeful than we were. This Columbia professor, Sheena Iyengar, has spent her professional life studying choice, and she theorized that religions with too much choice in them tend to make people pessimistic because the participants are overwhelmed and not given enough direction. 1 Continue reading

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Hamlet in Haiku – nifty new cover!

My book, “Hamlet in Haiku: the Bard’s Masterpiece Retold in five-seven-five”, now has a cool new cover. The art is by the great Katsushika Hokusai (1760-1849).

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Your Monday blessing: snow day!

May blessings come into your life like snow,
Drawing eyes to wonder,
Melting on various tongues,
Urging warmth and comfort to turn inward, to the heart.
May the drops of heaven connect you to the living and the dead,
Burying the earth in mercy,
Carelessly bringing beauty to the face of the world.
May all normal business be constrained
By the sky’s love for the earth.
May the blessings in your life come freely,
And last for a time,
Enshrining footsteps,
Then abandon you, until the remembering ground sees fit
To give new life to old kisses.

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Your Monday blessing: for Martin Luther King day

It is easy to see a threat
or a statistic
or a shadow
or a foreigner
or a project
or a failure
or the help
or a demon
we see these things as easily
as breathing
we can see them without seeing
any color in the world whatsoever

but to see a person
to really see a person
as we were seen
as we were known
as we were loved
from the balcony
from the hill
in Jerusalem
and even in Memphis
to see a person
as a person
takes the songs that sing freedom to sheriffs
and the love that carries hate on its back
and the no, the great no-nevers that are plagues
for the bus schedule souls that run this Auschwitz world
to see a person takes thousands of years
it takes the very lives of those who live unto their deaths
it takes a little faith
that would grow in the wounded cracks of our violent heart
it takes a little faith
that is why people find it so hard

imagine
just once
seeing a person’s
color
and their expression
and the size and content
of their life
which is as big as everything
you’ve ever known
and stretches far beyond the corners
of your control
imagine really seeing a person
as a person
and every ounce of their pain

imagine getting to see all that
imagine choosing to see all that

this is why the ages sing
so loud
as we stumble about with the eyes
we were born with

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Your Monday blessing: The Pact

I’ll make a pact with you:
Today we make the world more beautiful.

Let us compose epics from the diner straws,
And draw breath as our gang sign.
The sky is full of pictures that can teach us Monday afternoon.
Someone has to define the mountains,
Or they will just stand there forever, unsaid.
Let us cast our bodies in any production
That is unfinished, and averse to the past perfect.

Today we take up the work
Of giving away our hearts
While they are still laughing.
The soul is an able farmer
Who would not be spoon-fed aphorisms;
Get up and milk the sacred cows.
Mouths talk tongue-sized truths,
While servant hands reap the harvest.

Let us be a little too kind
To the conmen and the saints
Who linger on Eighth, waiting for a singe.

Today we bake bread
From the flours the soldiers in the square
Have always carried in their secret compartments,
For a moment such as this.

Let us buss our ears with high pronouncements:
You must have passed the exit back there dearie,
Because half-assed was yesterday
And the wars have all gone home for their naps,
And it’s grown-up time now, children,
Time for the wise ones to play.

Let us be willing
To be mid-level managers of everything glorious.
You need to be pulling double shifts
At the assembly line of the numinous,
For it’s not a hobby, it’s a job;
It’s not a job, it’s a calling;
It’s not a calling, it’s the whole world gathering
In the interstellar space of your lungs.

I’ll make a pact with you:
Today we make the world more beautiful.
Today we look each other in the almost eye,
And feel the inward beating,
And say
I’m in.

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Deal with God

Deal with God

Sometimes I offer to make a deal with God.
“I’ll tell you about my resistance to prayer,” I say,
“If you’ll explain the Holocaust.”
God declines to comment, and the lawyers
make their prepared statements on his behalf.

I kind of hate when he does that.

I love God best, I confess,
when I catch him slumped over the bar,
his tongue soaked in whisky,
the past and present oceans dribbling uselessly
onto his shirt collar.

I can forgive a God like that, and there is every chance
he might do the same for me.
There is much that has happened, there is much,
much to be forgiven,
but nothing to be said.

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How to Be Spiritual

A link to another essay of mine…a simple essay with the rather grandiose title “How to be Spiritual”…

https://medium.com/@bobjanisdillon/how-to-be-spiritual-ebd8686ecffb

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Moderation is so Sexy Right Now

I posted this essay on moderation several months ago, but it’s a great one to re-post around the new year, when we reflect on how to live a good life. I wish each of you a (moderately) wonderful year!

https://medium.com/@bobjanisdillon/moderation-is-so-sexy-right-now-3377f07ad279

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