Ask yourself a question – What is meaning?

leafless tree on grass field
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Now-a-days we are taught that only the physical level exists. If someone mentions heaven or angels or (God forbid!) God – Himself or Herself, they are met with a condescending smile and a bit of a smirk (poor thing, they obviously have no education at all – imagine believing in all those silly things!)

There are still some Christians and some other believers of one sort and another (and some of those too are fairly toxic in their condescension and definitely to be avoided).

There are even a few people who talk about “the Universe” – as something vague and amorphous, rather like God – but one wouldn’t want to get caught actually talking to this Universe – after all that would be childish.

This transformation in society – which is particularly overwhelming in western society – has become really much more apparent within the last twenty years or so. It was there before – especially among those “well-educated” – even among those from other parts of the world – especially those who traveled to the west – to Europe or the U.S. — to become the beneficiaries of “Western Education.”

This atheism goes along with the rise of science and modern technology.  Instead of worshipping the moon – as our very distant ancestors used to do, we build great spaceships that travel to the moon. This is considered a tremendous advance – astounding progress.

Instead of worshipping trees, mountains, hills, rivers – as our distant ancestors used to do – we “manage the wilderness” trying (some of us) ever so painfully to preserve something of the natural world, even as we, as a society, poison the earth with carbon dioxide and all manner of pollution.  We carefully measure our carbon dioxide footprint and calculate our honorable intentions.  Meanwhile governments, armies, and big tech industries pollute to their heart’s content – smiling and proclaiming to all who would listen, their very, very sincere efforts to  protect the earth and all its “resources.”

This state of affairs goes hand in hand with this being the age of science and technology.

Scientists and other very, very wise people discuss at length the meaning of “consciousness.”  Psychiatrists diagnose and prescribe drugs for all manner of human behavior. A pill will change your child’s behavior – and it does – never mind the long-term cost.

But look at how very far advanced we are. Now we are civilized. We torture people quietly, only beyond closed doors. We are so very humane. We destroy cities, quietly – beyond the headlines. Our warfare isn’t brutal at all – not like those long-ago atrocious times of our ancestors. Now we kill and maim people quietly – we pay for other people to do our torture for us. We complain that they are too cruel and inhumane – as we finance their armies.

But back to the point. We now, as a society, see only the physical level of existence – nothing more. We see no heaven, no hell, no spirits, no angels, no God, no Divine Presence, no Eternity, no karma, no dharma, no purpose – no spiritual level or awareness of other levels beyond the purely physical.

Now ask yourself a question:  Have you ever seen a miracle? – maybe an illness, declared irreversible by a doctor—simply disappear with no apparent explanation? Have you ever heard the phone ring and known who was calling you? Have you ever had a premonition of something about to happen? Have you ever felt a presence in the room with you – maybe your grandmother who passed away?  Have you ever been visited in a dream by a beloved pet who died and felt that you were really and truly visited and blessed by their presence? Have you ever been saved, inexplicably, from a very dangerous situation – or had a prayer answered?

Have you ever felt an invisible presence guiding you, protecting you, inspiring you?

Science, of course, would tell us, that all those things are simply our imagination – nothing more.

What about the beauty of nature?  Have you ever looked at a sunset and found it so overpoweringly beautiful that it took your breath away? Was that just a meaningless coincidence – a trick of light and shadow – and colors appearing by chance – devoid of any meaning?

What about the meaning of meaning? Does your life have a meaning? Do events have a meaning? Does the beauty of a flower have a meaning? Or the distant hills in the sunrise? Or the life of a butterfly? Or the kind words of a friend?

What does meaning mean? Some of us struggle dutifully, in obedience to some apparently required unwritten law to try to efface all meaning altogether.  After all, we must adhere conscientiously to the principle that only the physical reality exists. And if only the physical exists, then what can meaning mean? We are left trying to accept the principle of a meaningless universe – improbable though it seems.

And if there is actually a meaning, then what? Then there is more than purely physical reality. That is just simply logical, since a meaning is just not a physical thing. It just isn’t – you can’t stretch or twist or turn it into a physical thing – it just isn’t.

Meaning is meaning – and whatever the meaning may be – it transcends the physical.  It is on another level, and that means – uncomfortable as it may be – that there is more than just the physical level. There is more than the material plane.

This opens the door to the universes of ancient knowledge taught and perceived by our distant ancestors – by ancient peoples – even shamans and wise people – healers and seers – those ancient ones who taught wisdom that we have long forgotten.

It opens the door to magic, to miracles, to wisdom, love, perception – to truth, to knowledge – to worlds upon worlds of beauty, of the divine, of the mysterious and the magnificent – the doors of perception – to the infinite perception of beauty – to art, to poetry, to mystical realities and awareness – to levels and universes we can scarcely imagine.

We are called from quite near and from quite far beyond. We can listen and respond if we wish.

© Copyright, Sharon St Joan 2023

When did the rains start?

photo of mountain with ice covered with black and gray cloud
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When did the rains start

Far up in the mountains of nevermore?

There where blue moths fly

In the diminishing light,

In the mists beyond the dappled hills.

Where then was the beginning?

With no

Beginning,

How could the soft trills

Of chickadees

Arrive at last at the end?

If they had flown forever

From an infinity inclining

Deep and deeper into the past,

They would never have arrived at all –

Would they –

In the juniper trees

In the mists of early winter?

How did the ancient cart

Roll over the ruts of Malta

And down into the sea

By the lingering shore?

And so,

You see,

It’s as clear as it can be

That time itself is impossible,

An illusion,

That cannot be –

A smoke before the dawn, curling in the valleys.

Why look for a mist-bearded authority

To explain the inexplicable?

It seems we have misunderstood the nature of reality.

It is only a dream,

Not a thing.

Just an ancient scheme,

A vision,

Only a shining gleam

Flickering on the outstretched wing

Of the young raven,

Maybe a statement,

An intent,

A strange or misbegotten level,

A stilted

Statue placed high up on a pedestal,

Or just a phantom fading in the shifting shadows of the night.

Well, long ago,

Once upon a time, a drifting fellow,

An odd king of sorts,

Stumbled through pale courts,

His lies

Stemming from cowardice and a banality of weakness –

He walked with his hat askew atop his head – tilted.

Then in a blink, all of time–that illusion,

Like the seared leaves of autumn – wilted

And fell apart.

Now look beyond the shifting dust,

Beyond the rust

Of nevermore –

There gleams ahead – past the tumbled gates of time that used to be –

A mystery,

In the God-given arc of awareness,

At the owl-bright break

Of day,

The white-crowned sparrow

Dips his gold beak into the swift-running creek.

The tree trunks are black in the dripping rain of dawn.

The snow has come and gone,

All gone away

In the skies

Now can you hear the call, the cries

Of the loons

From the quiet, clear, listening lake,

Just below the meandering moon’s

Journey,

Just quite near

The startling canyons of the sunrise?

© Copyright, Sharon St Joan, 2023

The dance of Shiva

black and yellow bird perched on tree branch
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Within the snow

See

The raven-winged worlds of wonder

Become the beginnings and the endings,

The souls who are the one

Soul –

The re-awakening beginning

And the ultimate ending, broken asunder.

The soul of the snow goes

Drifting by on the many rivulets,

You

Who

Are no one and everyone,

The soft-spoken spirit

Of the call of the night heron,

Floating over the waters

Of the black lake

Of eternity,

Where the boatman

Dips his pole

Toward the far shoal,

Awake

Now, with all the children of the stars,

Sons and daughters

Of heaven,

Who are dancing –

Dancing

The dance of Shiva,

The one Soul.

© Copyright, Sharon St Joan, 2023

Only the white owl

bird white owl feather
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It is only the white owl

From her tall

Pine

Spire

Who

Might see the pinecone grow

And who

Still remembers

Even now, the snow

Drifting across the misted moon

After the embers

Of centuries

Of dark fire.

It was only

A while ago

Among the gold cliffs

That black ravens sounded their raucous calls

Of wisdom-woven prophecies,

They who brought the end of time, at last,

This time that has drawn to its close,

And now the single petal of the rose

Falls.

There glimmer

Within the universe of beings, the silent

Springing feet of the herd of deer

Bounding ever higher,

Ever fast,

On their journey

Across the snow.

Soon,

In the beginning,

The gold face of the setting sun

Will appear

Through silver sheets of rain that shimmer,

While, in the wandering whiffs

Of bitter smoke, will sound the cries

Of yesteryear,

That linger, still heard, echoing among the far cliffs,

The spirit of days

Gone

By.

Now hills swept with snow

Travel farther back to

The land of mists and magic, flown.

There

The wings of butterflies

Unfold in the dawn,

In the beginning

That knows still the ancient ways

And there along the shore that goes to nowhere

The brave one

Walks on alone

In the far country,

The soul of courage,

Portender of knowledge.

The howl

Of the wolf, ascendant,

Will mark

The moment

When the moon

Rises over fields of stars, when Hanuman, hero

Of the earth and the skies,

In the beginning and the ending,

Brings clouds of peace that shine

Transcendent

Through the living fire of the distant dark.

© Copyright Sharon St Joan, 2023

The Beauty of sleet

dry grass covered with ice in sunny day
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Sleet falls in a sharp angle across the sky. The ground in just a few moments is covered in white – white that highlights the deep shadows of mystery within the waving sage brush.

The sleet turns to snow and rain. There is thunder too, deep, far away. Huge snowflakes billow down. The sage brush bounces, buffeted by the wind. This is the beauty of the universe.

If I were outside repairing the electric lines, or even just trying to get my car going — I would be saying, “Oh, what nasty weather!”

Somewhere the electricity repair person is hard at work, and for him or her, it is truly very nasty weather.

Inside, I am grateful for electricity and warmth and for the freedom to watch the beauty of the earth – where all is One – the falling snow, the rhythm of the seasons. And all is eternity – each snowflake and the ravens that fly bravely in the wind.

© Copyright Sharon St Joan, 2022

From thisveryworld.wordpress.com

By Kristine Crandall

The yellow-breasted chat was teasing me, enticing me to follow and try and see him. I felt so close, the whistle echoing against the wall of cliffs. Thirty seconds later I heard him way up the Santa Clara River. I walked along the trail for a few minutes, getting closer, even closer…It was briefly quiet before I realized he was up beyond the next bend. Worn out, but not disappointed, I turned around and hiked out. This same pattern has repeated across many summer hikes here. They merge into one.

Photo:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Yellow-Breasted-Chat-Oregon.jpg Attribution: Jim Conrad, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Yoho~ —

Muted fall colors, (click to enlarge) and pale powder rivers. Canada is gorgeous, in every season, but fall’s, subtle splendor, takes your breath away, as does a gregarious gray jay! Cheers to you from Yoho National Park in the fall~ The post Yoho~ appeared first on .

Yoho~ —