Love Is All We Need...

The other day I was reading a blog post about love that someone had shared. It compared the songs “All You Need Is Love” by John Lennon and Paul McCartney (who was left out of the article) and “Love Is Not Enough” by Trent Reznor.  I won’t go into the whole blog post; I’m sure you can find it and read it for yourself if you like. The author of the post is entitled to his perspective on Love. However, it prompted me to express my own thoughts on love, because I take issue with some of his assumptions. The reason I want to address it at all is because I think they are assumptions that many people make about “people like me” (my own quotes), who do find value in the words All You Need Is Love, just not in the way people might assume.

I don’t know anyone who thinks that love alone will solve all the world’s problems. Love is not meant to be a fairy tale idea of little bunnies helping you straighten up your kitchen (though that would be nice), while you await Prince/Princess Charming. Love is a verb. Love is an action. Love is not just an ideal, or words in a song.

For me the important part is that love is a starting place. Only starting from there can I change anything or solve a problem in a lasting way. Love is a place that I return to (as often as I can I remember), before I speak or act, and I wish more often before I drive. I don’t expect love to magically fix or change anything. I do expect actions done with and from love to change things for the better.

I don’t think love is the solution to all our problems, but I do believe love is the beginning of the solution to all our problems.  To me “All You Need Is Love” is about where I am living from, not about some idealized notion of how love or relationships will be. It’s not an excuse to not do the difficult work in life or relationships, but rather the internal strength that allows me to do just that. Love gives me strength to speak difficult truths, to peacefully stand up for what I believe in, to love my neighbor whether or not I agree with him, to admit when I’m wrong. Love allows me to recognize and let go of what isn’t life giving or loving in my life. Love helps me to forgive and be forgiven. Love allows me to help create a better world, because it will be a world that begins from love.

From my perspective, actions great or small done from and with love, are all we need.  

Acorn Meditation

Here’s how the following insights from an acorn came about.

I set the intention this morning that our focus for meditation group tonight would come from some inspiration that happened during my day. Then I went about my day. I left work with about 30 minutes left before meditation and I was driving along thinking, "Hmmm, no inspiration so far. I wonder what we will do during meditation." A little further down the road I found that the image of an acorn popped into my mind. “Oh,” I thought to myself. “We will focus on acorns! Seeds! How lovely.”

I changed my course and headed to a park where I knew I would find acorns. I picked up a handful, some with their caps and some without. I was filled with gratitude for the oak tree. I reached down and picked up a small acorn with its cap on and found that there was a second cap attached to it, but no acorn in that one.  I had a moment of hesitation, hoping that the missing acorn wouldn’t make someone at meditation feel sad. Yes, that is how my heart works. :-)

Before I had gotten out of my car at the park I realized that my phone was nowhere to be found, meaning that I would have to run back to work to get it. So once I had found my acorns I thought I was going to have to rush to work to get my phone, which we use as our meditation ending chime. As I opened my car door I noticed my phone on the floor. Yay! So now I had a few more minutes. The park was so lovely that I got back out of the car and went to sit under a sycamore tree that I like. I sat for a few minutes with my eyes closed and soon felt an urge to open my eyes and look around me on the ground. When I looked down I saw what looked like a beautifully carved bead.  Upon closer inspection, much to my surprise and delight, I found that it was a seed!  There were several of them around. I picked up a few and went happily off to meditation.

At the space we use for meditation I looked around for a CD we might use and came across one called Liquid Silk by Marina Raye. I tried it out and found that it was gorgeous Native American flute music accompanied by sounds of nature, including an owl! On the cover of the CD it said, “Journey to the Heart of Peace.” It felt and sounded perfect!

When it came time for our sit, I found myself called to the twin acorn caps. As I sat with them in my hand, I smiled. I discovered not only didn’t the empty cap make me feel sad; it wasn’t really empty at all. I was shown that the empty cap was actually filled with the possibilities of seeds already planted. Seeds that I had sown along the way, as well as seeds that had been planted within me by circumstances or by others. What seemed like emptiness was truly limitless potential, was life taking root and growing, flowering and bearing fruit. The other cap with its tiny acorn still intact was a reminder to be conscious of the seeds I sow each moment. It was a reminder to think of what is within me that I want to share and plant, nurture and grow; a reminder to sow seeds of loving kindness and peace.

So much wisdom in something so small, the perfect balance of emptiness and fullness. I am grateful.

Somehow beyond my understanding, this is for my friend Molly. 

Half and Half

Half and Half

Lynda Allen

Half daylight, half darkness.

Upon this equinox even the moon offered only half of herself to reflect the light,

leaving half lost to sight in shadow.

Like her, my halves are not separate,

there is simply a portion that is turned toward the light,

and a portion that is temporarily in shadow.

It feels right to enter autumn this way.

There on the border between light and dark, I can pause, and like the trees,

allow to fall away what is no longer life giving,

what can no longer provide nourishment.

When there has been a shift in the balance of light and dark,

the tree releases the leaf and it simply falls away,

and even in falling away yet creates energy and nourishment in a new way

for the tree that was its home.

Quietly then, I surrender into the stillness of half and half

in preparation for the fall.



 Copyright 2015 Lynda Allen

Wild Divinity

I was at Water Street Studio for writing time yesterday and only got as far as one sentence in the middle of Beauty: The Invisible Embrace by John O'Donohue, before his words sparked a journey within me. The words that launched the journey were "wild Divinity." He used them to describe the ocean, but they took me far and wide. I'm forever grateful to him for the constant source of inspiration his words provide. 

Mr. O'Donohue, I know whatever form you have taken now,  you are enjoying your own journey of wild Divinity! 

Wild Divinity 
Lynda Allen

I want to live with wild Divinity.

I want the secrets of the night
to glow on my moonlit lips.

I want the scent of lavender on a warm breeze
to be my companion for a picnic in the summer meadow.

I want to hold the hand of God,
feeling the beat of Her all-knowing heart in Her fingertips.

I want to immerse myself in the mighty ocean
and celebrate each drop of water within her.

I want to be the perch for the hummingbird,
as he catches his breath for a moment between jousts.

I want to melt with the rocks in the heat in the Earth’s belly,
quietly awaiting my chance to soar, flow and transform.

I want to live knowing each moment is one I’ve never seen before,
nor will ever see again, filled with sweetness and sorrow, light and dark.

I want to be the ray of the sun breaking through the clouds
taking my own breath away with hope, possibility, warmth and light.

I want to be love,
unfettered and free,
tumbling and cartwheeling through the stone gray sky,
like an acrobatic snowflake,
only to land gently upon your outstretched tongue,
and melt slowly into you.

The Change

The Change 
Lynda Allen

Why do we not call it what it is?
Grief.
Is it a loss too deep, too fundamental to who we are,
to call it by name, to look directly at it?
Instead we try to mitigate it,
we try to medicate it,
we try to moderate it.
Why do we not simply mourn it?
Why do we not wail, and weep, and gnash our teeth?
They hid us in the red tent when first the process began.
We learned the hiding so well,
that we hide ourselves again as it comes to a close.
We speak of it only in whispers and with dread.
Let us instead honor the passing
and celebrate the gifts that came into being through us.
Let us mourn the loss of our ability to bring forth life,
deep, heartrending mourning,
for the loss is profound.

Let us also dance and rejoice in reflection upon the life we gave birth to,
the glorious miraculous movements of the Universe
that created a womb of life within our sacred vessels.
Let us celebrate the girl, who bloomed into woman,
who transforms now into elder.

Let us sing our ceremony of celebration and loss into the loving arms of the wind
that it may be carried like a prayer of gratitude to the heavens.

As I grieve and release, let my loss now create a new womb within.
Let the Universe continue its glorious dance within this vessel,
transforming my heart, my body, my Spirit,
until my very being becomes
the womb of wisdom,
the womb of compassion,
the womb of love,
the womb of joyful creation.
New life born again through me.

Epidermis

The problem I’m having with the debate (or truly, lack thereof) about racism is that no one is really talking about the underlying issue, the faulty logic behind the whole thing. At the core of racism is the idea that one person is superior to another person because of the color of their skin. Let’s really look at that.

Here’s some information about skin color from the Smithsonian Institute National Museum of Natural History.*

“Variations in human skin color are adaptive traits that correlate closely with geography and the sun’s ultraviolet (UV) radiation.

As early humans moved into hot, open environments in search of food and water, one big challenge was keeping cool. The adaptation that was favored involved an increase in the number of sweat glands on the skin while at the same time reducing the amount of body hair. With less hair, perspiration could evaporate more easily and cool the body more efficiently. But this less-hairy skin was a problem because it was exposed to a very strong sun, especially in lands near the equator. Since strong sun exposure damages the body, the solution was to evolve skin that was permanently dark so as to protect against the sun’s more damaging rays.

Melanin, the skin's brown pigment, is a natural sunscreen that protects tropical peoples from the many harmful effects of ultraviolet (UV) rays. UV rays can, for example, strip away folic acid, a nutrient essential to the development of healthy fetuses. Yet when a certain amount of UV rays penetrates the skin, it helps the human body use vitamin D to absorb the calcium necessary for strong bones. This delicate balancing act explains why the peoples that migrated to colder geographic zones with less sunlight developed lighter skin color…

There is also a third factor which affects skin color: coastal peoples who eat diets rich in seafood enjoy this alternate source of vitamin D. That means that some Arctic peoples, such as native peoples of Alaska and Canada, can afford to remain dark-skinned even in low UV areas. In the summer they get high levels of UV rays reflected from the surface of snow and ice, and their dark skin protects them from this reflected light.”

So human beings evolved different skin colors based on where they lived on the surface of the earth. Period.  

But you know what human beings have in common? We all have the same stuff under our skin. We have the same internal organs (of course there are some obvious differences between the sexes), the same miraculous systems that somehow keep us alive, allow us to feel joy, and to think, and to learn, and grow, and grieve, and love.  We all have a heart whose beat enlivens us and whose feelings can be hurt by harsh words, judgements, and actions. All these wonderful, miraculous things are held together by our beautiful, multicolored epidermis.

Within we are the same; heart, soul, emotions, mind, and spirit, on the surface we are different colors. Let’s celebrate both our similarities and our differences. 

Grace Endures

Grace Endures.

That’s what the band around my wrist says. It is in honor of Grace Rebecca Mann, a young woman from our community who was murdered last week. She was a student at the University of Mary Washington, where I work. I did not have the privilege to know her, and a privilege it would have been indeed. The impact she had on those around her was brilliantly clear yesterday at a celebration of her life held on campus.

I attended the celebration not because I knew her, but in support of those I know who were touched by her life and her passing. It is safe to say that even though I didn’t know her, Grace has now touched my life as well.

A portion of the celebration was left open for those who knew her to share stories of Grace. It was breathtaking. The things said of her again and again from each speaker were that it was impossible for her not to be completely herself, she was passionate, she always spoke out for what she knew was right (despite any fears she might have had), she saw the best in people, she was caring and she was loud! The one quality underlying all these aspects of Grace was love. She was love personified. That love lifted up all those around her as it radiated through her smile, through her words of support and encouragement, and most of all through her actions.

That is one of the things that struck me the most, her actions. At one point in my life I spent a lot of time pondering the idea of grace and what it means. The definition that I came to for myself was that grace is love in action, love in motion. So as I sit looking at the words Grace Endures wrapped around my wrist, I am struck by the clear demonstration of that definition through Grace Mann’s life. She was aptly named. She did not ponder the idea of grace, she lived it.

She was with us for only 20 years, which I feel is a great loss to our present and our future, but her life in those years is now an inspiration to me, as it is to countless others. I will be forever grateful to her for the beauty, love, and grace she brought to so many in our community, and now into my own life as well.

Truly, Grace Endures.