Daily Signet

As I was driving home, I decided to turn on my iPod not for any purpose but simply to listen to some music. When I hit the play button, I heard a voice distinctly say, “Here is what I want you to play at service.” The first piece, Psalm 117 by Arvo Part, was like taking a hot bath. The aches and pains of the week were beginning to lessen. The second piece, Part’s Magnificat, was nothing short of a raging fire—it was alchemical….As the piece moved from forte to triple forte, I began reaching for the volume switch to back it down. In a voice that could easily be heard over the triple forte sound of the chorus, “I offer you grace and you want to turn it down? There can be no grace until you are cleansed. Let it burn!” And it did. And as it did, the pain began to be transformed into the most profound feeling of love I have ever experienced.  

Earl J. Behnke

On This Day…

Elizabeth Bishop born 1911 in Worcester, Maine, died 1979: Poet Laureate of the United States, Pulitzer Prize recipient. Works: Questions of Travel, Exchanging Hails, One Art
Quotes: “All my life I have lived and behaved very much like the sandpiper – just running down the edges of different countries and continents, looking for something.” “The armored cars of dreams, contrived to let us do so many a dangerous thing.”

Lisel Mueller born 1924 in Hamburg, Germany: poet, recipient of National Book Award and a Pulitzer Prize. Works: Alive Together, The Need to Hold Still, Waving From Shore
Quotes: “Memory and poetry go together, absolutely. It is a matter of preserving and of remembering things.” “Well, language seems to be something that obsesses me. I’m always writing about it.”

Daily Signet

O Beloved Spirit,
Do not despair of me,
though it seems
I am so long in breaking through.

Do not despair of me,
though this snarl of flesh
seems to constrict my own I Am.

Do not despair of me,
though I seem to shape what I see
with what I expect
always seeing two where there is only one.

Do not despair of me
though I seem to take pride in my trying—
stubbed off from my becoming.

I cannot roll away the stone
or widen the aperture for Your light.
I look to You for grace
that it may give me an opening
into new vision, new eyes.

Do not despair of me
Your grace, my only hope.
Amen.                                                                                    

Benjamin Martin

On This Day…

St. Colette: 14C reformer and founder of Colletine Poor Clare Order and organizer of 17 convents

Charles Dickens born 1812 in Portsmouth, England, died 1870: novelist, social critic. Works: Oliver Twist, The Pickwick Papers, Great Expectations
Quotes: “Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.” “No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of another.” “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

Daily Signet

We lined up a rickshaw driver to take us to the Taj Mahal the next day and insisted that he pick us up at 5:45 am to get us there extra early. We may have missed the sunset but we were not going to miss the sunrise. We arrived at the Taj before it was open and were the first in line for tickets and the first people through the gate. We had the Taj Mahal to ourselves for less than five minutes but it felt longer.  The building is inlaid with mother-of-pearl and other gems making it sparkle and causing the character of the building to change with the position of the sun.  The sunrise was amazing. The Taj Mahal basked in the sun, showing off in the light—knowing how spectacular she is. We saw the building come alive as the sun spread across the pearl white of the structure, giving it breath and life.  You want to stand, never moving, and stare.  At the same time, you ache to run around without stopping in order to catch it from every angle. We had seen a lot of incredible structures, but they were built for military purposes, religious reasons or for self-glorification.  They were grand and imposing and masculine. There is something very feminine about the Taj Mahal. There are larger monuments in the world. The Taj is not a skyscraper or a towering cathedral. It is not the architectural audacity of the design that is overwhelming; it is the personality of this monument to love. We had three hours of peace and rest from India and from everything else. That alone is a testament to the Taj. Try to stare at an inanimate structure for three hours without becoming mind-numbingly bored. Maybe it was not inanimate after all and that would explain everything.                                                                                                    

Zach Martin, 2008

Daily Signet

How do I leave my daily doings, the quotidian, and enter the place of the sacred?  How do I die to my busy, rushing, harried, frantic, white rabbit of a mind?  I prepare myself; I cleanse myself; I purify myself.

There is a wonderful Chassidic story as told by David Wolper, about “…the child of a Rabbi, hundreds of years ago in the old country, who used to wander in the woods all day.  At first his father let him wander, but over time he became concerned.  The woods were dangerous.  The father did not know what lurked there.  He decided to discuss the matter with his child.  One day he took him aside and said, ‘You know, I have noticed that each day you walk into the woods.  I wonder, why do you go there?’  The boy said to his father, ‘I go there to find God.’  ‘That is a good thing,’ the father replied gently.  ‘I am glad you are searching for God.  But, my child, don’t you know that God is the same everywhere?’  ‘Yes,’ the boy answered, ‘but I’m not.’ 

Again, the ritual preparation begins anew—the kids get into their pajamas, they brush their teeth, they go to that special place, we read and recite to them, and the ritual of celebrating a great story of Spirit begins again….I wash my hands and face, and put on clean clothes, the chimes sound, I enter the Holy Atrium, the music starts and the ritual of celebrating a great story begins – and I become a carrier of the Great Spirit….I pass under the torii gate; I pass under the sacred rope; I step over the hushed threshold; the Muezzin calls and I spread my magic carpet and kneel down where I am; I enter the garden of paradise for prayer, thanksgiving and service.

Again, I prepare myself; I cleanse myself; I purify myself; I focus my intent, with all my heart, and with all my soul, and with all my strength, and with all my mind.  I stop, take off my shoes, take off my mental shoes – behold, be aware, beware – a sacred place; I enter.  I die; I cease being rocky soil; I become fertile soil; open, again and again, to receive Grace and Love.        

Ben Leichtling

On This Day…

An anonymous portrait believed to show Christopher Marlowe

Christopher (“Kit”) Marlowe born 1564 in Canterbury, England, died 1593: Elizabethan playwright. Works: Tamburlaine, The Jew of Malta, Massacre at Paris
Quotes: “Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the tops and towers of Ileum?” “Whoever loved that loved not at first sight?”

Daily Signet

Three mornings a week, Kika’s daughter brought her to the Alzheimer’s Day Program. When she arrived, the feeling in the room changed. Nearly a hundred years old, Kika was a tiny person made of love. Her face was a rosy brown, generously wrinkled—she looked like rich earth which held the sun’s warmth. Her white hair was pulled into a skinny braid that wandered down her back. Her first act, before even taking off her coat, was to go around to each person, reaching up her small hands to illicit us to bend down for her hug. If a new person were there, Kika did not hang back for an introduction—they too were hugged. Murmuring Spanish in her growly little voice, she patted our cheeks and looked into our eyes, loving us quite thoroughly. When all had been tended, she could remove her wraps and sit down for coffee. I began to notice that after morning snack, when people were moving about the room to whatever activities they might join, Kika would always go over to the kitchen sink and, standing on tip-toe, fill her empty cup with water. Setting it down on the counter, she would put her hand in her pocket and take out a small, white pill. This she held in her left hand, and closing her eyes, crossed herself, murmuring a brief blessing. Then she would take the medicine for her blood pressure. This astounded me each time I saw it. I was shamed for my usual attitude of wishing I didn’t have to take pills, or just mindlessly swallowing them down. Now as I stand at my sink, blessing the pills in my hand, I also bless the spirit of dear Kika who has now left this earth, for such a lesson of grace.      

Donna Piper Leichtling