“Notice the inner places where you’re holding your breath, walking on eggshells around the living room of your self. Notice the contraction of your muscles, the hump of your shoulders, the pitch of your pelvis, the way you sip air instead of taking it in freely and fully as a gift of divine grace. Notice the quality of your being when you scrunch down to be less than the radiant, miraculous, multidimensional human that you are. How do you feel? Now, ask yourself this question: Who profits from my diminution? Who – in my life, in my circle of family and friends, in my work, my ancestry, in the historical, political, cultural, social, economic life of my world – profits, when I act from this diminished self? When I become less than all that I am? Ask yourself a further question: In what ways do I benefit, from this stance? Are the costs of truncating myself in these ways worth the benefits? Be truthful, with your responses. Take your time. There’s no shame or blame involved here, just playful curiosity and willingness to know your truth. Now, choose. Choose to stand up tall. Choose to open your chest, widen your shoulders, let the weight of your torso rest in the bowl of your pelvis. Choose to entrust the upright wand of your body to the miraculous stability of the soles of your feet. Declare your sovereignty. Banish the profiteers from your kingdom. Bring those of your inner selves who have grown accustomed to a hunched-over life, back into your heart, back into the safety of your love and belonging, back into a clear-eyed orientation to your world. Choose your power. Choose the power of your full presence. Choose to be the light of your world. Be radiant. Then, radiate.”
“In the first reading of the Eucharist today I heard: “I am offering you life or death. . . . Choose life, then, so that you and your descendants may live in the love of Yahweh, your God, obeying his voice, holding fast to him” (Deuteronomy 30:19–20).
How do I choose life? I am becoming aware that there are few moments without the opportunity to choose, since death and life are always before me. One aspect of choosing life is choosing joy. Joy is life-giving but sadness brings death. A sad heart is a heart in which something is dying. A joyful heart is a heart in which something new is being born.
I think that joy is much more than a mood. A mood invades us. We do not choose a mood. We often find ourselves in a happy or depressed mood without knowing where it comes from. The spiritual life is a life beyond moods. It is a life in which we choose joy and do not allow ourselves to become victims of passing feelings of happiness or depression.”
“He was born of the ocean and the earth; his father was Poseidon and his mother was Gaia. He was unrivalled in strength as long as he maintained contact with the earth, his mother. But when a challenger had the wit to lift him off the ground and crush his ribs in mid air, he finally met his death.
He was Antaeus, a little-remembered figure from the story of Hercules. How distanced are you from the planet, and how does that distance weaken you? Like Antaeus, you were born at the intersection of water and earth, and you draw your strength from the land.
If you feel you’re at less than your prime, what can you do to reconnect with your roots?”
“Unless you believe that the future can be better, you are unlikely to step up and take responsibility for making it so. If you assume that there is no hope, you guarantee that there will be no hope. If you assume that there is an instinct for freedom, that there are opportunities to change things, then there is a possibility that you can contribute to making a better world. The choice is yours.”
“As I have said, the first thing is to be honest with yourself. You can never have an impact on society if you have not changed yourself… Great peacemakers are all people of integrity, of honesty, and humility.”
“This year I do not want the dark to leave me. I need its wrap of silent stillness, its cloak of long-lasting embrace. Too much light has pulled me away from the chamber of gestation.
Let the dawns come late, let the sunsets arrive early, let the evenings extend themselves while I lean into the abyss of my being.
Let me lie in the cave of my soul, for too much light blinds me, steals the source of revelation.
Let me seek solace in the empty places of winter’s passage, those vast dark nights that never fail to shelter me.”