Down the road from my house, in a peaceful meadow in the hollow of our hill, lies a small Catholic cemetery. It is set between our tiny golf course, pocked with granite boulders, and a track of houses. Many mornings, I walk our little dog along that road and pass the cemetery. Every time, I pause and think about the lives of the men, women and children buried there. I think of the complexity of their emotions and relationships, their efforts to find good work, make a home, and raise their children. I'm reminded of the shortness of their lives and of mine. I wonder about the mystery of it all and feel the bittersweet awareness of lives so engaged with the struggle to be, cut short by the inevitability of death. But my visit with them is always a happy one. I feel a conviviality there, a community with a history and a personality, people who laughed and enjoyed life. I talk to them and ask their help and offer my thanks for the generosity of their lives. It's a short meditation, yet for me it is a genuine spiritual practice. Do they hear me? Am I talking to myself? Does it make any sense? These questions don't come to my mind. I feel an invitation to open my heart, and I respond.--Thomas Moore, CareoftheSoul.net
~*~
Instant Karma - John Lennon
PS--I need to pause for a decidedly unspiritual question: Is that a sanitary-pad wrapped around Yoko's head? (Hey, not that there's anything wrong with that, Yoko can do what she wants, I am just asking.)
