The Unclad Soul

I don’t know if there is a heaven or  if there is a hell; but I know where paradise is.  Out in the country where the cattle graze, where the dogs play,  where the trees hang low  and the pace is slow.  Out along the old dirt roads where the fields are plowed and the wheat is sowed; and up on the hills, where the big bucks hide, and down below where the field mice crawl and the chicken hawks fly.  Paradise is where the fire pit burns and the beers are consumed,  where the laughs are shared and the city’s lampooned.  It’s cold nights in the warm house where the TV lights the dark, and the recliner welcomes with a comfortable embrace and the journey of sleep starts.  It’s morning dew  when the air is clean and the grass shimmers in the sun. It’s daily chores and work well done; it’s the flutter of birds over the trees, down in the low spots where the creeks run. It’s the end of d...

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue,” sings Judy Garland in The Wizard of Oz. “And the dreams that you dare to dream, really do come true.” If only it were that simple, to fly above the chaos, past the rainbow, where the sky is clear blue, so rich in color it almost burns your eyes. A place where “troubles melt like lemon drops, way above the chimney tops.” We can go there, perhaps in meditation, in prayer, in deeper thought in some place of quiet and calm. A seashore. A park bench. A library. A garden of flowers. A walk through lush trees. A church sanctuary. Those can be times of healing, restoration, invigoration, insight, and learning. It was the brilliant naturalist, Thoreau, who wrote, “Pursue some path, however narrow and crooked, in which you can walk in love and reverence.” That’s an idea worthy of practice. Whatever religion you follow has a similar viewpoint. Judaism calls for an intelligent mind. Buddhism asks us to honor Karma and seek rebi...

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 recently spent a week house sitting  and caring for my son’s dogs while he and his bride were on their honeymoon. They live on a ranch in southeastern Oklahoma. Luke (my son) manages the property there and the livestock. It’s a beautiful, peaceful area surrounded by thick trees and steep hills with a vast set of trails Luke has restored or created inside the brush and timber. There are deer, and turkeys, wild hogs, and fish in several ponds. Tawna (my new daughter-in-law) owns a barbershop a few miles away with customers from all around. Luke and Tawna are amazing. I spent over a week there looking over things, mostly just playing with the dogs and watching the rain. A ranch hand did all the chores that needed doing. I watched the news and a movie or two, read some, did a little writing, ate like a king, and enjoyed the quiet, the fresh air, the sounds of rustling leaves in the breeze, and the soft pelting of rain on the roof. The dogs—Gus, Maggie, and Trapper—were ...

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 ...

I recently spent the weekend with my son, Luke, in southwest Oklahoma. He manages a large ranch there set in the hills of vast trees and rugged trails. I love going there because, for one thing, I get to spend time with him and his dogs, Maggie and Gus. And for another, I get to get out of the city and enjoy the peace and quiet of the country. The ranch is a majestic spot set on nearly 3,000 acres and Luke has transformed it into a real paradise. The grounds around the ranch house, the barn, the shed, and the corral are immaculate. Big trees stand by the house and shade the nearby fire pit. It’s a perfect spot for morning coffee or friends around a fire at night. There are cattle and horses that Luke tends to and across the rolling hills deer graze and raise their heads to stare if Luke and I pull up in the gator. Then they take off, running elegantly into the woods. There are various tanks on the ranch, both large and small ponds. In the largest one Luke and I have fished...

"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

Historian Will Durant wrote in one of his books about “the few” who he said delight in thinking and understanding, “who yearn not for goods, nor for victory, but for knowledge; who leave both market and battlefield to lose themselves in the quiet clarity of secluded thought; whose will is a light rather than a fire, whose haven is not power but truth.” “These are the   people” he wrote, “who stand aside unused by the world.” How perplexing that so often it is thinking people, gentle souls,   soft spoken   individuals, people of spiritual depth, unprofaned, compassionate to a fault, who “stand aside unused by the world.” I know these people. I have met them over the years. I have worked with them. They have been neighbors. They have been amazing friends. They live in quiet, modest homes, warm with welcome, blanketed with love. They are not famous. They have no massive assets. They do not run big companies. Their impact is not in power, or financial resources...

“If you can risk getting lost somewhere along the day you might stumble upon openings that link you to your depths.” ~ The Ancient Mystics

“We need to walk to know sacred places, those around us and those within. We need to walk to remember the songs.” ~ Joseph Bruchac,  Poet/Novelist

“Every man, every woman, carries in heart and mind the image of the ideal place, the right place, the one true home, known or unknown, actual or visionary.   A houseboat in Kashmir, a view down Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn, a gray gothic farmhouse two stories high at the end of a red dog road in the Allegheny Mountains, a cabin on the shore of a blue lake in spruce and fir country, a greasy alley near the Hoboken waterfront, or even, possibly, for those of a less demanding sensibility, the world to be seen from a comfortable apartment high in the tender, velvety smog of Manhattan, Chicago, Paris, Tokyo, Rio, or Rome —   there's no limit to the human capacity for the homing sentiment.” ~ Edward Abbey, Environmentalist/Author

The unhinged politics of the day, the messy presidential campaign, the total ruin of Congress, has created a lot anger, recrimination, insults and division in the country. We see it every day on Facebook and Twitter. The comments to one another have gotten more intense, more contentious. As novelist Michael Cunningham once said, “You get tired, sometimes, of wit and intellect; everybody’s little display of genius.” I’m guilty of that myself. And I don’t like it when I find myself feeling defensive, trying to convince others of viewpoints I hold, or attempting to counter theirs. The political atmosphere in the nation has made us smaller, less. It has reduced us to quarrelsomeness and discord. My friends are courteous in their disagreements with me. And I honestly try to be the same with them. But I do see now and then on other posts some really nasty stuff, horrible ugly comments that are sneering and demeaning. This past Father’s Day weekend was a nice and needed respite from a...

  “Close your mouth, block off your senses, blunt your sharpness, untie your knots, soften your glare, settle your dust." ~ Lao Tzu

  “The sea answers all questions.”  – E.B. White, Writer/Linguist 

“When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy.”  ~ Rumi, Persian Poet/Mystic

“If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happened better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb." ~ Mary Oliver, Poet/Writer

“A balanced life has a rhythm. But we live in a time, and in a culture, that encourages everyone to just move faster. I'm learning that if I don't take the time to tune in to my own more deliberate pace, I end up moving to someone else's, the speed of events around me setting a tempo that leaves me feeling scattered and out of touch with myself.” ~ Katrina Kenison, The Gift of an Ordinary Day: A Mother's Memoir

Fear is a paralyzing, crippling emotion.  It takes all of the joy of spontaneous living out of us.  It keeps us off the paths of adventure and exploration.  It turns us sour on life and people.  It makes cowards of us. I was a very fearful boy.  I was afraid of the water and didn’t learn to swim until I took a beginning swim class in college.  I was determined to conquer that fear that had kept me out of so many fun and happy moments growing up.  And in spite of the embarrassment and terror of facing three mornings a week an Olympic size pool with a 15 foot deep end, I did learn to swim.  I was the only non-swimmer in a class of 50 guys.  I couldn’t even dog paddle.  But in the last week of class I had to dive into the deep end, tread water for 2 minutes, and then swim to the other end.  I did all of it and that class of guys lined the pool and watched and applauded when I finished and stood up out of the shallow end.  I ...

While looking out my office window the other day a Cardinal landed very gracefully on my window sill. Dressed in its flaming red feathers with its black mask around its face it just sat there staring at me. I waited for it to say something. Most birds bob their heads around in a kind of jerky way looking up and down and around. But this one kept its head very still and just looked right at me. It seemed very intent as though it was bringing me a message. I couldn’t help thinking: what a majestic creature. I said hello and it flew away. Only the male Cardinal is covered in brilliant red. The female wears a very fashionable tan and gray and they are beautiful, too. Cardinals are considered songbirds because they love to sing. They are very social, too, and are often found in groups of other birds different from their own species. I guess that striking color gives them a sense of presence. Like one of those people who always seems to fit in any crowd. I suppose it would...