The Unclad Soul

I have asked this before, but I still want to know. What does any of it mean? Why are we here? Why do we so easily give in to hate and resist giving in to love? Why is aggression okay but the way of peace is not?   Why are we all so afraid? And of what? Are we, as religion teaches, just evil at heart? Are we already ruined at birth? Is it in our DNA to make wrong choices, so that we require an outside force, God or Karma or Allah or whomever, to coerce us to do good, through threats of punishment, suffering, damnation, and hell? Are we not able to do that on our own without being forced? I believe we are. I know too many good, decent people who are not driven by evil and selfishness. But unfortunately, they are always overshadowed, especially today, by an ugly, arrogant, mean-spirited crowd of self-aggrandizers, who are bitter, angry people. People obsessed with fears and prejudices and resentments. These people are all around us. In the government. In the media. ...

The poet, Tyler Kent White has written, “I promise if you keep searching for everything beautiful in this world You will eventually become it.” It is a promise I cling to. When I lived in Hamilton, Texas, a small town in the central part of the state, I often took to the countryside. When small-town life got to me—yes, there are political divides and social conflicts and elitism there, too--; when the strain of ministry seemed overwhelming to me because of unexpected deaths and divorces and fixed old beliefs and my own inner questions; I would hit the walking trail East of town. Or, I would drive through groves of trees along dirt roads out North across rickety bridges and the sight of grazing cattle on the other side. I would bird hunt with friends and fish in the tanks on their property. I never killed anything I didn’t eat. But it wasn’t the hunting and the fishing that refreshed me, though I did enjoy it. It was simply being in the country, in natu...

The burning of the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, France this week captured the attention of the world. Immediately afterward, billionaires came forward to donate millions of dollars to restore the historic church. Stunned crowds formed near the Cathedral for days. People wept. They looked on in alarm, broken-hearted by the scene. What was it about that event that created so much emotional sorrow and distress? Some have criticized the news coverage, the horror of people, and even the billionaire donors, saying it was after all just a building. And a building in disrepair, vulnerable to just such a tragedy. No one’s faith was destroyed in the fire. No one, thankfully, was injured. Most of the historic pieces of art were saved. The basic structure remains. Why then were so many so upset? For me, it was the desecration of beauty. Though the fire seems to have been accidental, it still destroyed significant parts of a masterpiece of architecture, genius, and skill. ...

I want to run along the ocean and feel the waves wash over my feet erasing my footprints in the sand I want to skydive and sense myself falling watching the landscape below me seeing everything so clearly so cleanly until I love it all more than ever before I want to play guitar in an old bar and sing on a wooden stage with a drink at my feet making music that turns the crowd toward their dreams until all the hurts in the room melt in tears I want to write beautiful lines and put them in a book where the pages burn with longing and the reader sighs and blinks and walks toward a lost love until all of self is whole again I want to stand on a mountain ridge where the sun spreads light on slow moving cattle below where the Alfalfa smells sweet and the sky is a cloudless blue I want to ride a galloping horse in an open field until the air stings my eyes and I hear the pounding of the horse’s hooves and feel that floating that comes when you’re carried by forces beyond y...

The rare and provocative poet and novelist, Charles Bukowski, once wrote, “If something burns your soul with purpose and desire, it’s your duty to be reduced to ashes by it. Any other form of existence will be yet another dull book in the library of life.” That is a challenge I take for the New Year. I want my soul burning with purpose and desire. I want to be to be crispy by the end of 2019. I want to be the ashes of my longings fulfilled, my passions spent. I want to know my efforts were all out, that I left nothing in the pursuit of what I love that was not exhausted. I want to find ways to love new people and I want to find ways to better love the people I already know and cherish. I want my horizons expanded, stretched to new sights, beyond old borders of comfort and ease. Let there be places in my journey, where, like the ocean, on a clear day you can see forever, and the end of the water’s edge disappears in the blue sky of wonder. I want that. Let there be ...

One of the ancient mystics wrote, “Into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.” I need that journey. It is time, in this tumult of meanness, to absorb the beauty of autumn. I must leave the hollow vulgarity of politics and get lost in the trees with their tumbling treasures of color. Across this vast country, through open grasslands and the upland passes, over deeply textured mountains and along stone path streams, there lies before us nature’s unbiased beauty. There is something spiritual about nature, something wise and instructive. Yes, it has its turbulent side, which is simply a part of the mystery of the universe. But even with its blasts of snow and desert heat, even with the ferocity of hurricanes and the damaging winds of tornados, the pounding of hail and lightning’s deadly strikes, the earth is still filled with a luminous glow that stirs our deepest longings and leaves us motionless, breathless, awed. There are experiences waiting for us far...

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

I wonder now, in these agitated, often berserk times, if we have lost something precious in ourselves. Maybe we never had it. Maybe I have an image of our humanness in my mind that does not exist outside my mind. If so, then where did I get the idea that we are mostly good, and kind, and know how to behave in decent ways? I got it from people in my life who demonstrated those beautiful characteristics to me. Real people. Family. Teachers. Neighbors. Coaches. Friends. I know we can be caring people because I still see people caring all the time. And because I want to be caring, too. Where does that come from if we are basically just selfish, coarse, vulgar people? Who in our culture today champions good manners, courtesy, appropriateness? Where are we to look for people who value intelligence, learning, curiosity; who demonstrate kindness and generosity? It was blistering hot this past weekend. I was running errands and saw an elderly woman walking on the sidewalk. She was ...

Novelist Lisa See has written, “All women on earth-- and men, too for that matter-- hope for the kind of love that transforms us, raises us up out of the everyday, and gives us the courage to survive our little deaths—the heartache of unfulfilled dreams, of career and personal disappointments, of broken love affairs.” Transformative love. It is possible to know, to experience, and to share. We often look for it in romantic relationships. We all want that. A relationship with someone we truly connect with. Someone we grow to respect and cherish. Someone gentle and kind, affectionate and loving. Someone who makes us laugh out loud, whose joy in life we share, whose depths we understand. Transformative love gives us access to something undeniable, something solid and foundational. In the person we find this with, we find what we have always wanted to be true about human beings. They meet our longings, our desires, our needs—with intelligence, wittiness, humor, passion, tende...

There is this from Lewis Carroll’s “Alice in Wonderland,” Mad Hatter: “Why is a raven like a writing-desk?” (There is a long pause.) “Have you guessed the riddle yet?” the Hatter said, turning to Alice again. “No, I give up,” Alice replied: “What’s the answer?” “I haven’t the slightest idea,” said the Hatter . And so, there you have it. My dilemma. I’m trying to figure out what happened to us as a nation. It’s a riddle I can’t answer. I haven’t the slightest idea. There are possible answers, I suppose. We got too big. We overachieved. We mixed religion with politics and politics took over religion. We became insanely selfish. We forgot our neighbors. We learned to hate more than we learned to love. We confined ourselves to our own kind and decided “others” were our enemies. We stopped thinking. We stopped caring. We stopped growing. The list is pretty much endless. So here we are. A nation in crisis. We’re surrounded by the greatest gadgets and devices and pla...

I saw a child in a grocery basket Singing in the produce section And I smiled at the cheerfulness Of children. I saw a white crane perched on a dead tree At peace in a pond at the golf course And I wanted to stand with it In the sunshine. I saw an old man with a cane Hunched over and walking wearily And I thought how nice if I could Carry him to his destination. I saw a woman sitting at the bus stop In the cold, her face covered with a scarf And I thought how selfish when I complain My car heater takes so long to get warm. I saw a couple kissing in the parking lot With shopping bags resting beside them And I reveled in how love often ignores Its surroundings and blooms fearlessly. I saw teens volunteering at an SPCA stand Outside the mall, warmly holding and petting Dogs and cats and chatting with customers And I thought we don’t give teens enough credit. I saw the sun setting gloriously as I left work The colors stunning a...

Playwright and screenwriter, Robert Ardrey, once wrote, “We are known among the stars by our poems, not our corpses.” Which is to say, our acts of benevolence, kindness, love and generosity transcend our acts of terror, barbarity, murder, and mayhem. The unimaginable carnage, cowardly and beyond any possible reason, carried out Sunday by Devin Kelley, takes us to our knees. We collapse under the weight of such a beastly crime. How does anyone human carry out such an inhuman atrocity? Details are murky. The answers we need and want, and what will finally be revealed, if any at all, will not be sufficient. Whatever the motive or mental defect may have been, all we will be left with is that the depths of our individual capacity for evil and harm know no limits. Monstrous crimes are not new. But what seems to be dramatically different these days is the frequency of them, so that they are becoming not an aberration but a common reality. There is without question a poiso...

This is one of my favorite poems by writer Jorge Luis Borges: “Writings of light assault the darkness, more prodigious than meteors. The tall unknowable city takes over the countryside. Sure of my life and death, I observe the ambitious and would like to understand them. Their day is greedy as a lariat in the air. Their night is a rest from the rage within steel, quick to attack. They speak of humanity. My humanity is in feeling we are all voices of that same poverty. They speak of homeland. My homeland is the rhythm of a guitar, a few portraits, an old sword, the willow grove's visible prayer as evening falls. Time is living me. More silent than my shadow, I pass through the loftily covetous multitude. They are indispensable, singular, worthy of tomorrow. My name is someone and anyone. I walk slowly, like one who comes from so far away he doesn't expect to arrive.”  There is so much yearning in these words. Such honest beauty. Borges expresses hope ...

"The trail is the thing, not the end of the trail. Travel too fast,   and you miss all you are traveling for."  ~ Louis L’Amour, Novelist

Novelist and poet, Heather Sellers has written, "I think everyone has one day like this, and some people have more than one. It's the day of the accident, the midlife crisis, the breakdown, the meltdown, the walkout, the sellout, the giving up, giving away, or giving in. The day you stop drinking, or the day you start. The day you know things will never be the same again."  The death of my brother Jim became one of those days for me. I knew his situation was deteriorating. I knew his body was shutting down. But when his daughter Natalie called and said he had just passed away, I suddenly felt I was floating off in some moment of bewilderment. Could he really be gone? The past months had been difficult, watching his rapid decline. And yet, I had somehow become attached to that scene of him in his room in the nursing home. His big screen TV. The stack of videos on the counter beside it. The small serving tray at his side that held his reading glasses, the ever read...

I visited with my brother Jim yesterday and, as always when I see him, I left deeply reflecting on life. “The world,” Helen Keller once said, “is full of suffering; but also, the overcoming of it.” It is difficult to watch the news and see the horror in the Middle East. There is so much suffering and death there. And yet, people somehow survive it. Refugees walk hundreds of miles, pile their families and a few belongings into small boats to cross treacherous waters in hope of finding safety. They enter strange countries where now they are often unwelcome, mistreated, harmed or sent back to the nightmare they fled. How do they do it? How do they go on? The human spirit, though fragile, often shocks us with its undeterred courage. And here, in our country, minorities still struggle to be free. Free of discrimination, injustice, abuse, and hate. That our black friends still, after all these years, have to fight for basic rights is a stain on our democracy. Yet, they carry on,...