Rocks to Clouds

Reading a why-haven’t I heard-about-this book called “Tying Rocks to Clouds: Meetings and Conversations With Wise and Spiritual People” (1996). The Dalai Lama. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross. Mother Teresa. A dozen more. Rather than reading, I feel I’m listening to these people in a virtual room sit in a circle and talk to the traveling interviewer William Elliott about what it means to not just love but *be* love. To toss out everything else—what Kubler-Ross called “hate, rage and impotent rage” —to make room for more love. What would happen today if I stayed sheltered in and practiced one practice of just one of these wise people? Probably not too much. They all say the same thing in effect: practices aren’t the thing, eating right and chanting right aren’t the way to the spiritual apex. It’s being love in the world. This means often bending at the knees to see the world—I remember a begging child in a park in Dublin, Ireland, I remember my dad being seen by the night nurse as nothing more than another dying patient as she roughly changed the sheets under him and changed his hospital gown (but he glowed in his new white garments in his last hour here), I’ve seen my trusting dog in pain, I notice soap bubbles floating off from my pots and pans, I always wave to a lonely old man standing on my street corner every morning with nothing to do and I feel blessed with connection when he waves back— suddenly clearly, as a photographer bends to first study a flowering plant or sea star in the wild and ends up melting into creation.
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