Seeking a Simple Heart of Gold

My therapist recently asked me where I get inspiration. I had to think for a minute about that. I don’t attend church anymore. I have this ongoing struggle with institutional religion. I know there are wonderful congregations out there, mostly small ones, that do good work, where worship is not an hour of entertainment and hype and shallow platitudes, but rather, quiet and reverent worship, where the people gather to learn and to grow and to find ways to be better human beings.

But, for me, the institution of religion is mostly fraudulent and trivial and self-centered. I’m speaking primarily of institutional Christianity.

Retired minister and prolific author, John Shelby Spong, has said that religion today “is a division between the shouters and the disinterested.” He has written, “Jesus becomes the captive of the hysterically religious, the chronically fearful, the insecure and even the neurotic among us, or he becomes little more than a fading memory, the symbol of an age that is no more and a nostalgic reminder of our believing past. To me neither option is worth pursuing.”

I agree. And, in spite of all of that, I am still captivated by this Jesus of history.

So, church is not my place of inspiration, although as I have mentioned here before, I do enjoy walking into the Cathedral de Guadalupe in downtown Dallas to dip my finger in the holy water and cross myself, to sit in a pew, to take in the quiet, to be in the presences of transcendence, and to light a candle for the living and the dead. There is insight and affirmation in that for me.

Another source is music. I have told you how much I love the songs of Leonard Cohen. What a poet and a mind he was. Not to mention his great expanding heart. Real. Authentic. A man of deep thoughts and beautiful lyrics, of intellect, of humanity. I love his music. It inspires me. There are others.

Books inspire me. Fiction or non-fiction, poetry or biography, it all mesmerizes me. Pat Conroy, Mary Oliver, Tana French, John Updike, Carl Rogers, Jung, John Shelby Spong, Anne Lamott, Elaine Pagels, Maslow, Erickson, From, Dostoyevsky, Mark Twain, Gabriel García Márquez, Margaret Atwood, and so many others. These writers have instructed me in the deeper issues of life. They have provoked feelings of grace, love, courage and joy. They have immersed me in my own humanity and in the humanity of all of us. They have shown me what love looks like. They have taught me that pain and suffering, though often useless, can still at times, incredibly, heal us. They have brought me to tears and have left me laughing out loud. Great writing truly inspires me.

Here are some other things.

Babies. I love holding a baby. They smell like God to me, like the freshness of love, like life in all of its purity.

Children. Their silliness. Their contagious laughter. Their little curious questions. Their peaceful sleep. Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me and do not forbid them. For such is the kingdom of God.” I don’t know what the kingdom of God is, whether it’s heaven, or what the church is supposed to be, or the best life we can know. But whatever it is, children represent it. And I want to be there.

Art. What a gift this is to our human journey. I told my therapist I want to visit more art galleries. I want to look into the mystery and the genius of great art and feel the inspiration of transcendence. Paintings, sculptures, murals, all have the power of transporting us to places beyond the mean, tawdry, arrogance of life and leave us enveloped in excellence, in romance, in beauty. Picasso said as children we are all artists and the challenge is to remain one once we grow up. I love that. How easy it is to lose our creativity when we enter adulthood. How wonderful, that stunning art can stir it within us again.

Neil Young sings, “I’m getting old / keep me searching for a heart of gold.” Yes, that, too, is my inspiration. I want one of those; a simple heart of gold.

If I had five minutes to evacuate--what would I take with me?

If I was told there was a bomb in my building and I had five minutes to evacuate my apartment I’d grab a grocery bag and quickly toss these items into it: 1. A photo of my grandparents, Mom and Pop and me, when I was 15 years old. I learned what love is made of from them. I learned what it is to be kissed on and hugged in arms so tender they felt like God’s arms. I discovered self worth from those two angels in human flesh. Of all the people in my life, they were the ones who made me feel I counted. Honestly, whatever capacity I have to love others came from them. 2. A sentimental, dog-eared, stars in the margin copy of Pat Conroy’s, “The Prince of Tides.” It is a book I have read three times and often return to for its wisdom. It is a harsh, profoundly tragic novel, the story of a family so broken and tortured by such flawed and wounded people that it is sometimes difficult to turn the next page. And yet it is the story of such Herculean courage and endurance that you want...

I Saw the Delicacy of Life

I was flying Across the deep And I saw the delicacy Of life Wrinkles on the faces Of the old So pure they glistened Like awards The joy of children Running with abandon Their laughter ringing Like chimes in the wind I saw the soft moving waves Across the sea And the trees releasing Their rainbow leaves Birds joined me on my flight And I saw the surface of their wings Adorned with patterns Glorious and unfurled I saw the tears of the sad And the smiles of the glad The suffering in mourning And the celebration of birth As I descended toward the ground Slowly, slowly, softly I saw the gentle grass of the field And smelled the fresh earth It was a perfect landing © 2018 Timothy Moody

Actions Make a Difference

“We make progress in society only if we stop cursing and complaining about its shortcomings and have the courage to do something about them.” ~ Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, Physician/Author Pictured here is Kikuko Shinjo, 89 years old, a survivor of the Hiroshima atomic bomb blast. As a 17-year old nursing student she helped nurse victims of the carnage back to health. Many of them died in her care. She says she holds no grudge against America and encourages interaction between the Japanese and Americans. She has devoted her life to peace, saying, “I want all the people around the world to be friends, and I want to make my country peaceful without fighting.” Today she makes colorful paper cranes and donates them to the Children’s Peace Monument at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park.

The Unclad Soul

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