To the Glory

Just a tribute to the glory of May. The month dedicated to the mother of Jesus. When the cloak of blue adorns the corners of the wooded wilds, and fondly lays a royal carpet at the foot of every standing tree.

The month is almost over, and the bluebells will fade from view; but their beauty is eternal, and there is a blessing in the knowing that they will return again next year. And hopefully, I will return again next month. Until then, remember every day to shut out the raging cacophony as often you can. Truly there is peace to be found in silence.

Do you see yourself, abiding within yourself, in pure solitude? Does nothing now remain to shatter that interior unity, nor anything cling to your authentic self? Are you entirely that sole true light which is not contained by space, not confined to any circumscribed form, not diffused as something without term, but ever immeasurable as something greater than all measure and something more than all quantity?

Plotinus.

 

Photography ©Amanda Moloney.

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Reminders

 

Greetings, and top of the day to everyone. The above pics are reminders of a truly great summer, just passed. All too soon the land must sleep, as though dead – and all will dream of spring. The first eight pics were taken in our garden by me. Amanda took the others whilst out and about. All these pics were taken in July, except the sun seen shining through leaves; which belongs to the next paragraph. Please enjoy.

The beauty of the natural world soothes the soul, and calms the mind. When I stand beneath our tallest leafy tree, in silence, and warm Autumnal sunbeams dance merrily across my face – then, above all else, I know that I am standing in the light of our Creator’s love for all. I hope you feel this way too.

Until next time, peace – and may you enjoy many more days of warmest sunshine.

 

‘Tis hard for man to rouse his spirit up–

It is the human creative agony,

Though but to hold the heart an empty cup,

Or tighten on the team the rigid rein.

Many will rather lie among the slain

Than creep through narrow ways the light to gain–

Than wake the will, and be born bitterly.

But he who would be born again indeed,

Must wake his soul unnumbered times a day,

And urge himself to life with holy greed;

Now ope his bosom to the Wind’s free play;

And now, with patience forceful, hard, lie still,

Submiss and ready to the making will,

Athirst and empty, for God’s breath to fill.

~ George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul.

Long Clusters

“In memory of the spring now passing, I drew the long clusters of wisteria that move like waves.” 

(Masaoka Shiki)

I hope you are finding peace within today. When recovering slowly from painful health issues, I find many things quite difficult to do. These include writing. So, please bear with me, and I will publish two sister posts to this one in short order. Meanwhile, here are a few words from a fellow countryman: May your neighbours respect you, troubles neglect you, the angels protect you, and heaven accept you.

Photography ©Francis Moloney.

Wings and Water

 

Greetings from a place of good expectations, where we cheerily anticipate the coming warm weather. Amanda took these pics during her most recent visit to our sons home in Weybridge, which is close to London. And what a beautiful day that was for April. The little white flowers, and butterfly, were taken in our garden, but they begged to be included. I hope you agree.

Because I lack sufficient stamina to continue writing, I will rest for now, but not before saying thank you to all of our readers and followers, with our gratitude for the support you bring to this, our peace-loving blog.

And with that, it’s Peace again, and out from me

“If you feel like you don’t fit in this world, it’s because you are here to help build another.” (Unknown.)

                                                                                                                                Photography©Amanda Moloney.

 

Let’s Hear it For The Good

Rumours of spring are in the air, the winds have changed direction, crocuses grow unafraid in the garden, and my fellow bloggers are giving voice to seasonal optimism.

So, with all that in mind, and all things being equal, I decided to post more pics of winter.

Actually, these are the remaining pics from Scotland which I promised to post, and they’re of Luke’s riparian ramblings at Loch Ness.

While my computer has survived for another month, (though not for want of daily attention,) my health has demanded even more scrutiny than usual, and pain has slowed me down more these past weeks. Nevertheless, I hope sincerely that all my readers are happy, and faring physically as well as they may.

Anyways, I thought it would be a good time to make this declaration:

“Let’s hear it for the good”

Because we are, along with our peaceful sisters and brothers, the world over, coerced daily to hear it from the bad.

Wickedness notwithstanding, nothing lasts forever. Waves dip before they rise, and because all things must pass, it’s well to remember that *“For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave.”

Until next time, (speaking optimistically, as always) I wish all readers peace, and hope to return soon with more to share.

Namaste.

 

*From Robert Browning’s affecting poem “Prospice,”  which follows:

 

FEAR death?—to feel the fog in my throat,

  The mist in my face,

When the snows begin, and the blasts denote

  I am nearing the place,

The power of the night, the press of the storm,

  The post of the foe;

Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,

  Yet the strong man must go:

For the journey is done and the summit attain’d,

  And the barriers fall,

Though a battle’s to fight ere the guerdon be gain’d,

  The reward of it all.

I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more,

  The best and the last!

I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore,

  And bade me creep past.

No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers

  The heroes of old,

Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life’s arrears

  Of pain, darkness and cold.

For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,

  The black minute’s at end,

And the elements’ rage, the fiend-voices that rave,

  Shall dwindle, shall blend,

Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain.

  Then a light, then thy breast,

O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,

  And with God be the rest!