The Way It Is

 The Way It Is

by

Lynn Unger

One morning you might wake up

to realize that the knot in your stomach 

had loosened itself and slipped away,

and that the pit of unfulfilled longing in your heart

had gradually, and without your really noticing, 

been filled in - patched like a pothole, not quite

the same as it was, but good enough.

And in that moment it might occur to you 

that your life, though not the way

you planned it, and maybe not entirely 

the way you wanted it, is nonetheless -

persistently, abundantly, miraculously -

exactly what it is.

And that's the way it is, Sunday May 31, 2026!

 

Poetry of Presence: An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems, edited by Phyllis Cole-Dai and Ruby R. Wilson (Grayson Books, 2017), p. 31. 

Celebrating Life

 

Grace Mae Wartgow
(May 28, 1925 - August 25, 2010)

Today I send a birthday greeting to my beloved Mom.  Grace Wartgow (it feels good to simply write her name again) would be 101 years old. 

Your spiritual presence, Mom, still influences my life.  You were a wonderful Mom! 

I love you!

Peace

 On this Memorial Day weekend I'm remembering a song that, for many years, closed every worship service at a church I was attending.  Our rendition adjusted the lyrics so as to be as inclusive to as many people as possible in that setting.  It was also abbreviated because we sent one another from that experience together, some even arm-in-arm.  

Let there be peace on earth
and let it begin with me.
With every step I take
let this be my joyous creed:
To take each moment 
and live each moment
in peace, eternally.
Let there be peace on earth
and let it begin with me. 

Regardless of the specific words used, the enduring legacy of the song remains its simple, beautiful premise: peace cannot be forced from the top down; it must be cultivated quietly, starting with oneself.

How I long for peace among nations this Memorial Day weekend and how I wish I had a community of peace loving people to again sing it with.  May your day be special.  

One Letter At A Time

 

(image credit: Natalie Lynn Kindergarten)

As I began writing a journal entry today I wondered what words lay beneath the nib of my pen? I honestly didn't know, but didn't worry over it or over think it.  Words seem to always find their way onto a page.  I believe that, while sometimes elusive, words have purpose and my purpose at that moment was not to decide for them what their purpose at that moment in time would be.  Here's an example of what I mean:  some new words just notified me they want to be read on my phone in the form of a text message.  Should I stop paying attention, I wondered, to the words on my journal page so I can attend to the words in the text?  In fact, even newer words just flashed on my wrist watch which, thanks to words has become more than simply a watch. They're alerting me to the fact that it's time for me to take a couple of my medications.  I’ll pay attention to those words first, follow up with the words in the text message, and then—if those words allow it—return to assisting the words seeking expression in my journal. Aren’t words wonderful?

After ten minutes some new words did, in fact, return me to my journaling.  I must mention, though, that while taking my meds a few additional words showed up as an email that was "undeliverable."  The address had three "o's" instead of the required two "o's" in the word "outlook." I was struck by how easily even a word can get itself wrong, accentuating the importance of the individual letters that form it. 

Life, it seems to me, is like that.  One "letter" in life can altar reality just enough to make it feel "undeliverable."  The little things are a big deal.  As ink flows from the tip of the nib of my pen onto the page forming letters that form words that form sentences that form paragraphs that form chapters, so is the book of our life added to, one letter at a time, each and every minute of each and every hour of each and every day of each and every month of each and every year of every life.  Life is wonder-full, in both little and large ways.  

The photo above from Natalie Lynn Kindergarten along with the conclusion I've drawn about the importance of little things reminds me of Robert Fulghum's wonderful 1986 book: All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.       

The Gift of Haze

 

I again ventured to the Jacoby Meadows third floor deck on a beautiful afternoon.  My music choice is Native American meditation.  My visual mediation is Long's Peak obscured by a deep haze seeking balance with the cool air at elevation and the full sunshine warmth I feel sitting here.  I've often thought of this marvel as a battle between opposing elements.  Yet, no struggle is visible. "Battle" is the the wrong term. This hazy mountain skyline seems more like a sign of nature cooperating with itself, creating beauty within turbulence.  

How I wish we could find similar balance in the atmosphere of human turbulence, meaning more cooperation and fewer "battles."  I choose to believe that even a cold heart neighboring a warm heart can find it's center and foster balance within the haze of uncertainty through cooperation.  

I hope your day has been a cooperative one with both nature and neighbor.