The Unclad Soul

Oh, America Oh, America. You lay wounded in the blood of your democracy. Beaten by the hands of your own government. Choked by the lawlessness of those sworn to protect your dignity and your existence. Sirens wail in the streets. The emergency is real. The time is critical. But no one comes to carry you to healing. Nothing is done to repair your injuries.  Your citizens. Your people. They cry out. They weep. They protest. They walk in the hot sun holding handmade signs for your support. But their protectors, the men and women with badges, they wield clubs, they unload tear gas and shoot rubber bullets. They push citizens back. They shove them to the ground. They walk over them, left unattended as rubbish in the streets. Justice is trampled with them.  Judges, Administration officials, Congressmen, even the President, talk endlessly about the crisis. They pretend to care. They hold up the Bible. They say we are all in their prayers. They stand beside the Fl...

Ingrid and her cousin Hannah and I walked the entire March For Your Lives in Dallas last Saturday. Ingrid was a bit hesitant when I invited her to join me. She was afraid there might be problems. Maybe a bomb. Or violent protestors. Or a shooter. I told her there would be plenty of police and security, though I knew in my own mind there are always risks at these kinds of events. She decided to go and Hannah came with us as well. I wanted the girls to have a sense of social conscience, to be a part of something historic and hopefully, a catalyst for change in our violent weary nation. The crowd was energetic, diverse, and respectful. There were chants and tons of creative signs and posters. There were ongoing conversations in the crowd. I sensed that people are genuinely worried about our nation. And they want change. Now. I never saw one protestor. There were no hecklers or angry people pushing back against the march. That says to me that most people realize something ...

President Trump has not yet made the transition from Real Estate mogul to a political world leader. And it’s not certain he will ever be able to do that. A man his age is usually settled into the person he is from here on out and it’s all but impossible to make drastic changes. And drastic changes are needed. The world of high-end real estate, huge commercial building construction, casinos, hotels, and whatever other kinds of structures Mr. Trump can add his name to, is a far cry from the arena of world politics. There are at odd times glimpses that president Trump might actually have serious thoughts about how people should be treated and helped. But those get lost in his notoriously checkered history and in his perplexing persona. In the cut-throat universe of gigantic real estate projects, Mr. Trump established himself as a player. The massive buildings with his name emblazoned on them have successfully hidden the many failed and, as many have suggested, corrupt business de...

There are secrets that are frozen In the deepest places of our soul. They cannot be unearthed, Yet they cannot be unknown. We have dreams that are lost In the recesses of our sleep. We have longings too deep to reach Across anxieties we cannot breach. There are spaces for love We hold for future opportunities. They are kept in the privacy Of our simple soulful duties. We have a heavy broken burden That we carry through the years. It’s a wistful painful memory Of our losses soaked in tears. There are questions we still can’t answer, Things we wearily want to know. But life is not an easy equation One can quickly solve and own. There are journeys alone to take And experiences with others to share. There are changes we have to make And realities we have to bear. And finally accept the mystery of things We cannot ever know. And find the hard fought truce within That if we honor lets us grow. © 2017 Timothy Moody

There is no question that Donald Trump is outmatched by Hillary Clinton. And why not? She’s been at this her entire adult life. She knows every political trick in the book and she masterfully applies them against him. He blunders along, in his street fighting mode, and he ends up being crude and bullying. Just what Hillary wants. She baits him and eggs him on and when he unloads his amateurish remarks she retaliates with polished, clever, adroit come backs. She has teams of writers and advisers, and of course Bill, who love this whole thing. They salivate over this stuff. It’s a game, a fun, exhilarating game to them. It’s a challenge for them to see just how ingenious they can be in turning Trump into a complete fool. And so far, it has worked perfectly. He of course plays along, having apparently no idea just how stupid they make him look, and how stupid he actually may be. He has no self-awareness. No understanding of what is actually going on. No game plan. No insight. No bigg...

I saw a bumper sticker the other day: “Siri for president.” I laughed out loud. Who wouldn’t want a truly smart person to lead us who could provide direction, information, and assistance on nearly anything, in a pleasant voice, even-tempered , polite, professional and unbiased? I suppose it would, after all, take a skillfully programmed, artificial intelligence to do that. Which is sad, when you think about it. Why can’t humans be as intelligent and as nice? Singer-songwriter, Julie Gold, who gave us the Bette Midler song, “From a Distance,” was interviewed a few years ago and was asked what she might have been if she had not been a musician. She said, “I've never had any other loving heartfelt  desire . From the minute I heard  music  I knew why I was  born .  To make music to play, to listen to music; and for some reason I have been lucky enough to live this beautiful life as a musician. I don't know. I don't know what else I would have done, beca...

There is a large element of Democratic and Republican voters in this country who feel betrayed by their parties. Trump and Hillary and their handlers and the establishment big shots in both parties seem oblivious to this fact.  Yes, this is a great country and all of that. But folks, our political system is tragically, disastrously broken. It does not represent the majority of our citizens. Anyone who cannot see that is simply living in some kind of unyielding denial. I don’t know what will happen in the Republican Party. Their convention this summer will likely be a hot mess. But I can assure you, with all of the condescending calls from Hillary’s cheerleaders to dismiss Bernie supporters, the Democratic convention will be no less chaotic. All the pundits have declared her the nominee and many even the president. To discount so many with that kind of disdainfulness may very well create shocking consequences at the convention. There are groups of people in America who ...

“Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever”, he told the boy. “You might want to think about that.” “You forget some things, don’t you?” the boy said. “Yes. You forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget.”  ― From The Road , by Cormac McCarthy 

"In my own life, as winters turn into spring, I find it not only hard to cope with mud but also hard to credit the small harbingers of larger life to come, hard to hope until the outcome is secure. Spring teaches me to look more carefully for the green stems of possibility; for the intuitive hunch that may turn into a larger insight, for the glance or touch that may thaw a frozen relationship, for the stranger's act of kindness that makes the world seem hospitable again."  ~ Parker Palmer, Author/Educator

“To journey without being changed is to be a nomad. To change without journeying is to be a chameleon. To journey and be transformed by the journey is to be a pilgrim.” – The Mystic Writers

“Everything in your life is there  as a vehicle for transformation.”  ~ Ram Dass, Mystic/LifeCoach/Author

“For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn't understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.” ― Cynthia Occelli, Author/Attorney/Blogger

“I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pockets full of lichens and seeds. I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed, nothing between me and the white fire of the stars but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths among the branches of the perfect trees. All night I heard the small kingdoms breathing around me, the insects, and the birds who do their work in the darkness. All night I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling with a luminous doom. By morning I had vanished at least a dozen times into something better.”  ―  Mary Oliver , American Poet

The gifted “New York Times” columnist, novelist, and writer, Pete Hamill, battled alcoholism for years. It dramatically influenced every aspect of his life and nearly destroyed him. In one his books he tells how he would senselessly sit in a bar for hours and drink himself into a stupor. He writes, “The world was a grand confusion. Finally, when I was drunk, and my mind couldn't do what I wanted it to do, I went home. I would lie alone in the dark, feeling that I was a character in a story that had lost its plot.” I know that feeling, literally. Many of us do. But figuratively, it has great meaning, too. For me, it is such a profound description of where we are in this broken country of ours. A beautiful and gracious nation, we are nevertheless floundering in our own “grand confusion.” We are drunk with some powerful inebriating fury and dysfunction that leaves us incapacitated, unable to do what we really want and need to do as a people. From our highest leaders to th...

Autumn is starting its annual transformation.  It seems late this year where I live.   Here, however, in the plum colors of this foliage a lone red leaf pokes its head out into the open.  It is ready to be seen and to declare that the season has changed. I welcome its small presence.  We are never far from nature's stunning sights.  Always nearby are the clear indications of our beautiful world.  And its endless gifts offer armistice to our warring spirits.  Be calm, they say.  Find a place of inner rest.  Stop all ungenerous assaults on one another.  Bend low, the gifts suggest, and listen to the music of the earth's changing scene.  Its voice is soft and carries no harm.   Winter soon approaches.  Until then I celebrate autumn's cozy metamorphosis. © 2012 Timothy Moody   

We live in a divided and divisive country. In spite of the many advances that minorities have gained in America, racism is still a vicious and unyielding presence among us. Our political system wobbles feebly almost uselessly from the influences of corruption, bullheadedness, favoritism, malaise, haughtiness and indifference. Churches and the religious community once such a force for good and spiritual guidance are now often caught up in partisan political campaigning, serving politicians and clearly ignoring Jesus, not to mention the dispossessed, the sick, the young and the old, the hurting, the addicted, and the lonely. All across the country there hovers in the air a spirit of nastiness, wrangling, antagonism, and bitter discord and discourse. The story is told of a father and son sitting outside their house one summer evening talking and sipping iced tea. The night sky was a bit hazy but brilliant with stars and the son suddenly commented how beautiful the moons were abo...

The Layers By Stanley Kunitz I have walked through many lives, some of them my own, and I am not who I was, though some principle of being abides, from which I struggle not to stray. When I look behind, as I am compelled to look before I can gather strength to proceed on my journey, I see the milestones dwindling toward the horizon and the slow fires trailing from the abandoned camp-sites, over which scavenger angels wheel on heavy wings. Oh, I have made myself a tribe out of my true affections, and my tribe is scattered! How shall the heart be reconciled to its feast of losses? .... Yet I turn, I turn, exulting somewhat, with my will intact to go wherever I need to go, and every stone on the road precious to me. In my darkest night, when the moon was covered and I roamed through wreckage, a nimbus-clouded voice directed me: "Live in the layers, not on the litter." Though I lack the art to decipher it, no doubt the next chapter in my...