May 23, 2025
Dear Friends-
My work in Hawai’i is crossing a threshold as my final cohort- Cohort IX just finished our capstone retreat. Filled with gratitude, filled with deep affection. Opening my hand to both let go and be prepared to accept what is coming next.
Oliver Burkeman-Ram Dass- Flanery O’Connor-
Three brilliant individuals who touch on the truth of impermanence.
“True security lies in the unrestrained embrace of insecurity- in the recognition that we never really stand on solid ground, and never can…”
Oliver Burkeman
“Where you come from is gone, Where you thought you were going to never was there, and where you are is no goal, unless you can get away from it”
Flannery O’Conor
In most of our human relationships we spend most of our time reassuring one another that our costumes of identity are on straight”
Ram Dass
What do you see in your own identity and your own impermanence? What costume do you wish to shed? What makes the gratitude you hold available to you?
What does it mean to pray? How does one create a relationship with whatever God means to you?
May we be happy. May we be free. May we comfort. May we heal.
Bill
Roberta Bondi — What is Prayer and How to Begin
On Being with Krista Tippett
Buried treasure from the On Being archive! Krista writes of this conversation from the earliest pre-history of On Being: In the years in which I was on a whole new spiritual and intellectual adventure that changed the direction of my life — years which led to the creation of this show — I befriended a delightful, brilliant, straight-talking theologian named Roberta Bondi. She’s now retired. Her wisdom about what it means to be a person who prays, in conversation and relationship with God, whoever God is and whatever God means, has formed me ever after. I am so delighted to share it now with you. Listen on Apple Podcasts:
Oh Honey- practicing self-compassion. Thank you, James Crew,
Self-Compassion
My friend and I snickered the first time
we heard the meditation teacher, a grown man,
call himself honey, with a hand placed
over his heart to illustrate how we too
might become more gentle with ourselves
and our runaway minds. It’s been years
since we sat with legs twisted on cushions,
holding back our laughter, but today
I found myself crouched on the floor again,
not meditating exactly, just agreeing
to be still, saying honey to myself each time
I thought about my husband splayed
on the couch with aching joints and fever
from a tick bite—what if he never gets better?—
or considered the threat of more wildfires,
the possible collapse of the Gulf Stream,
then remembered that in a few more minutes,
I’d have to climb down to the cellar and empty
the bucket I placed beneath a leaky pipe
that can’t be fixed until next week. How long
do any of us really have before the body
begins to break down and empty its mysteries
into the air? Oh honey, I said—for once
without a trace of irony or blush of shame—
the touch of my own hand on my chest
like that of a stranger, oddly comforting
in spite of the facts.
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