“There is something insane about a lack of doubt. Doubt, to me anyway, is what makes you human, and without doubt even the righteous lose their grip not only on reality but also on their humanity.”

Tilda Swinton, actress, born on this day in 1960

“We must find sources of strength and renewal for our own spirits, lest we perish…. It is very much in order to make certain concrete suggestions in this regard. First, we must learn to be quiet, to settle down in one spot for a spell. Sometime during each day, everything should stop and the art of being still must be practiced. For some temperaments, it will not be easy because the entire nervous system and body have been geared over the years to activity, to overt and tense functions. Nevertheless, the art of being still must be practiced until development and habit are sure.

If possible, find a comfortable chair or quiet spot where one may engage in nothing. There is no reading of a book or a paper, no thinking of the next course of action, no rejecting of remote or immediate mistakes of the past, no talk. One is engaged in doing nothing at all except being still. At first one may get drowsy and actually go to sleep. The time will come, however, when one may be quiet for a spell without drowsiness, but with a quality of creative lassitude that makes for renewal of mind and body. Such periods may be snatched from the greedy demands of one’s day’s work; they may be islanded in a sea of other human beings; they may come only at the end of the day, or in the quiet hush of the early morning. We must, each one of us, find our own time and develop our own peculiar art of being quiet.”

From Deep Is the Hunger: Meditations for Apostles of Sensitiveness by Howard Thurman (1899 – 1981)

“My bare feet walk the earth reverently
for everything keeps crying,
Take off your shoes.
The ground you stand on is holy
The ground of your being is holy.
When the wind sings through the pines
like a breath of God
awakening you to the sacred present
calling your soul to new insights
Take off your shoes!
When the sun rises above your rooftop
coloring your world with dawn
Be receptive to this awesome beauty
Put on your garment of adoration
Take off your shoes!
When the Red Maple drops its last leaf of summer
wearing it’s “burning bush” robes no longer
read between its barren branches, and
Take off your shoes!
When sorrow presses close to your heart
begging you to put your trust in God alone
filling you with a quiet knowing
that God‘s hand is not too short to heal you
Take off your shoes!
When a new person comes into your life
like a mystery about to unfold
and you find yourself marveling over
the frailty and splendor of every human being
Take off your shoes!
When, during the wee hours of the night
you drive slowly into the new day
and the morning’s fog, like angel wings
hovers mysteriously above you
Take off your shoes!
Take off your shoes of distraction
Take off your shoes of ignorance and blindness
Take off your shoes of hurry and worry
Take off anything that prevents you
from being a child of wonder.
Take off your shoes;
The ground you stand on is holy.
The ground you are is holy.”

Child of Wonder by Macrina Wiederkehr (1939 – 2020)

All Souls’ Day

“When Mexican villagers celebrate Los Dios de los Muertos (the Days of the Dead), the celebrants customarily scatter finely decorated skulls made of sugar amid the feast. Kids, of course, will eat anything. But it’s striking to consider that adults, too, partake of these cranial confections. The sugar skull symbolically reminds us that it is death than gives life its sweetness. As much as we may long for immortality, without death our lives would lack flavor. Too much sugar makes sugar itself meaningless, but the sweet moments that we can snatch away from death are precious because they are limited.”

From Earth Bound: Daily Meditations For All Seasons by Brian Nelson

All Saints’ Day

“Mother Spirit, Father Spirit, where are you?
In the skysong, in the forest, sounds your cry.
What to give you, what to call you, what am I?

Many drops are in the ocean, deep and wide.
Sunlight bounces off the ripples to the sky.
What to give you, what to call you, who am I?

I am empty, time flies from me, what is time?
Dreams eternal, fears infernal haunt my heart.
What to give you, what to call you, O, my God?

Mother Spirit, Father Spirit, take our hearts.
Take our breath and let our voices sing our parts.
Take our hands and let us work to shape our art.”

Norbert Fabián Čapek, founder of the Prague Unitarian Church, gassed by the Nazis at Dachau in 1942

Samhain

“Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring’s honied cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness – to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.”

The Human Seasons by John Keats (1795 – 1821), born on this day

“No need to wonder what heron-haunted lake
lay in the other valley,
or regret the songs in the forest
I chose not to traverse.
No need to ask where other roads might have led,
since they led elsewhere;
for nowhere but this here and now
is my true destination.
The river is gentle in the soft evening,
and all the steps of my life have brought me home.”

Roads by Ruth Bidgood

“We are staring at the moon
and I think for a second we become
wolves again.
Screaming at the stars,
growling at the idea
that this night might end
and we will forget this moment,
as in turn we will be forgotten.
Our wild souls captured.

We become wolves,
and for once we are running
for something.
Instead of running from it.”

Wolves by Ruth Awolola

“How to stop time: kiss.

How to travel in time: read.

How to escape time: music.

How to feel time: write.

How to release time: breathe.”

Matt Haig

“I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow, the million moving shapes and cul-de-sacs of shadow. There was shadow in bureau drawers and closets and suitcases, and shadow under houses and trees and stones, and shadow at the back of people’s eyes and smiles, and shadow, miles and miles and miles of it, on the night side of the earth.”

From The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath (1932 – 1963), poet, novelist and Unitarian, born on this day