The Unclad Soul

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...

There is a moving scene in Season 2, Episode 12, of The Handmaid's Tale. And there aren't a lot of them in this series. Two young people in the camp--a girl, in a loveless marriage to Commander Waterford's driver, and a young man, a worker within the Republic of Gilead-- attempt to run off and experience love as best they can. But they are found and brought back to face execution, the punishment in the totalitarian state for both adultery and escape. They are taken to an Olympic size swimming pool on the grounds. All the Handmaids, the "Aunts," staff and others fill the bleachers inside as though it's some kind of sporting event. The couple each have their hands shackled and each is linked to their own heavy steel ball and chain. As often happens in The Handmaid's Tale, scripture is dramatically read and misused to justify their deaths. They are then thrown into the deep end of the pool and drowned. The camera pans the bleachers where ...

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 ...

In the wild and violent HBO series, Deadwood, the Reverend H.W. Smith (Raymond McKinnon) seems oddly out of place. In the midst of Gold Rush outlaws and moral misfits, he is a tall, gentle man, with a kind heart. Deadwood is a savagely unmanageable town in the Black Hills of South Dakota. And Reverend Smith, an upright mystic, and a man of the Bible, struggles to extend the goodness of God to the ruthless and the wicked. A smallpox plague strikes the town and “Preacher” Smith works tirelessly to aid the sick and the dying ignoring the risks of contagion. He somehow escapes the plague but then is afflicted with epilepsy and eventually insanity. In his illness, he finds comfort in the piano playing at the Gem Saloon and Brothel. He is seen there hugging his weathered Bible, his eyes glassy and bleak, smiling broadly with his head raised to heaven and his body weaving to the music. The bar owner, the incorrigible Al Swearengen (Ian McShane), tells the preacher he can’t be...

I have not been to church in a long while. For someone who spent so many years in the church it sometimes surprises me that it is no longer a vital part of my life. A few years ago I would sometimes slip into the Cathedral Santuario de la Virgen de Guadalupe in downtown Dallas. It’s a beautiful, sacred space. There are daily masses both in English and Spanish. Inside the sanctuary is a large, life-like crucifix of Jesus and other smaller but elaborate sculptures of biblical scenes. The Cathedral was built in 1902 and has been through various renovations and is today a vibrant and popular place of worship for Catholics. I have many issues with the Roman Catholic Church, and the institutional Church in general. And I have no interest whatsoever in the giant mega evangelical churches that remind me of convention centers or entertainment venues. But there, in the quiet of the Cathedral, I have often felt something deeply spiritual stir within me. For some time now, church...

"Where are you? Where are you, little girl with broken wings but full of hope? Where are you, wise women covered in wounds? Where are you?" "The world is missing what I am ready to give: My Wisdom, My Sweetness, My Love and My hunger for Peace." Please click below: A Beautiful Message on Women

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. There it is plain and clear: the earth ultimately belongs to the meek. Which doesn’t mean the pushover, or the timid, or the spineless; the coward or the weak-kneed. Jesus cared about those frightened souls but here he’s talking about the humble, the tolerant, the thoughtful; about people who think before they act; people with a gentle spirit and a kind heart; people of intellect, soul, and substance. The earth is theirs. They know how to care for it, how to cherish and appreciate it, and how to live responsibly in it. Carl Sandburg, the remarkable poet, philosopher and biographer of Abraham Lincoln, described the 16 th president in these words: “Not often in the story of mankind does a man arrive on earth who is both steel and velvet, who is hard as a rock and soft as a drifting fog, who holds in his heart and mind the paradox of terrible storm and peace unspeakable and perfect.” That’s the meekness Jesus was talking abo...

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Spirituality requires humility. The kingdom of heaven is intended to be a place within us where arrogance, superiority is put aside. To be truly spiritual is to let go of the need to control life, people, fate, circumstances. It’s not about religion or going to church. It is about seeking an attitude in life that transcends selfishness, greed, power. Poverty of spirit is really healthy self-awareness, the longing and the ability to see and accept others without exceptions. ~ TM

  “When I am among the trees, Especially the willows and the honey locust, Equally the beech, the oaks and the pines, They give off such hints of gladness. I would almost say that they save me, and daily. I am so distant from the hope of myself, In which I have goodness, and discernment, And never hurry through the world But walk slowly and bow often. Around me the trees stir in their leaves And call out, ‘Stay awhile.’ The light flows from their branches. And they call again, ‘It’s simple,” they say, ‘and you too have come Into this world to do this, to go easy, to be filled With light, and to shine.” ~ Mary Oliver

It was one of those really cold dreary days recently and Ingrid and I were on our way to the Half Price Book store to browse, mingle among the shelves, look for a good book, and get something hot to drink in the Black Forest Coffee Shop. On our way we stopped at a traffic light and there on the corner, his face against the wind, a not nearly warm enough jacket on, was a small Latino man selling candy apples on a long wooden pole he held in front of him. I looked at him and thought of all the mean things that are said about immigrants these days, documented or not; how so many in this country have no interest in giving them a fair chance at making a good life here; how they supposedly steal our jobs. I wondered if he had a wife and children at home he was trying to care for. How many men would brave the cold on a Saturday afternoon to sell apples? The pole was full. I couldn’t tell he’d sold a single thing and I suspected he might have been there for some time. I commented ...

As I get older Christmas changes. For one thing, the cheeriness of the season seems to get more and more lost in the annoyance of the shopping frenzy. Every year brings a new disgrace from the conduct of those shoppers who turn Christmas into a battle zone of mall derangement. And there’s Black Friday. And retail stores with 18 hour schedules. And sale’s wars. These things make Christmas preposterous. Why not make it a rule that everyone gets $100 of Christmas shopping money per year and no more. And nothing goes on sale. No bargain bins or price cuts. Everything stays the same as always. The stores all keep their usual hours. People might then decide to only get one nice gift for someone and then perhaps make the rest of their gifts. People might actually think about what gift or gifts they give. People might even get creative and shop in remote little places where there are items no one has and people have not endlessly handled. People might stay home more and enjoy the pre ...

Standing in front of one of the German death camps while filming a documentary for British television several years ago, Polish/British philosopher Jacob Bronowski said: “This is the concentration camp and crematorium at Auschwitz. This is where people were turned into numbers. Into this pond were flushed the ashes of some four million people. And that was not done by gas. It was done by arrogance, it was done by dogma, it was done by ignorance. When people believe that they have absolute knowledge, with no test in reality, this is how they behave. This is what men do when they aspire to the knowledge of gods.” Conformity, everyone believing the same things, doing what you’re told to do no matter if it doesn’t make sense or is immoral or inhuman; believing you alone have all the truth; learning to hate others, to do violence even when you know it isn’t right—these are the trademarks of people who have lost their freedom and their heart; who have become duped into believin...

I am a huge fan of Downton Abbey, the Masterpiece Theater series on PBS.  Downton Abbey is a fictional countryside estate populated by the very privileged Crawley family and their servants set in the early 1900s. The writing is so good and the cast of characters so engaging that I sometimes forget the time period.  Even though they are all living a hundred years ago in England, the family conflicts, the infighting among the servants, the class prejudices, and the human struggles and tragedies they face are relevant for all times.  Everything the Crawley family and their staff are wrestling with reflects our own daily battles in life and our joys and triumphs as well. In the last episode an amazing series of events unfolded.  If you don’t watch the program these names won’t mean anything to you but you might still get something out of their experiences. Isobel fights to defend Ethel’s damaged character.  Ethel is a young single mother who had to...

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   

There is innocence in life that exists not simply within the confines of childhood. It is a spirit within all of us, an impelling urge for something that rings so true within us and within life, something exemplary and authentic, something that feels like goodness, something fragile and tender and loving that we long for it, often and sincerely, and sometimes desperately. The world can be hard and harsh with its obsessive competitiveness and its isolating values that pit people against one another.  This is done in politics and in religion, in school and in work, in neighborhoods and in suburbs everywhere. And what happens is we lose our innocence because we tell ourselves we have to fight to survive.  We have to slug it out and push our way through and not care.  We have to play games of cruel prejudice and of disengaging from those different from us, those not in our social status, those not of our faith, those of a race not our own. Our dislikes begin...

“Truly powerful people have great humility. They do not try to impress, they do not try to be influential. They simply are. People are magnetically drawn to them. They are most often very silent and focused, aware of their core selves. ... They never persuade, nor do they use manipulation or aggressiveness to get their way. They listen. If there is anything they can offer to assist you, they offer it; if not, they are silent.” ~ Sanaya Roman, Author/Mystic