Washing the breakfast dishes, wiping the kitchen counter clean, I miss my mom so much. I watched her keep house for years. She brought care and respect to the repetitive activities that made up much of her life, and she had a good life; not without heartbreak and loss, but full of love. Every counter I wipe down connects me to her. Every word I write, to my dad. And behind them both, all the ancestors whose struggles and ordinary days made my life possible.

I feel both the fragility and the preciousness of the life we share here. Our country has never been perfect, and there is much that calls for our attention and care. Yet I don’t want to lose sight of what is also true: the delight of gathering with friends and family, listening deeply, speaking our minds, following our own true paths, and caring for one another. These ordinary freedoms are woven into the promise of this country. Much of the world reminds us, they are not ordinary at all.

So this morning I washed the breakfast dishes. I wiped the counter clean, just as my mother did thousands of times before me. The same hands, the same movements, the same ordinary devotion passed from one life to another.

May we cherish this very place. May we protect the freedoms that allow us to live these simple days. And may we never forget what we love.

~Trudy Goodman

simple goodness to carry me home…

inquiry for today~ and will you know this too?

fill me up….

Our practice asks us to cultivate what one rabbi called a dangerous heart- a heart willing to listen deeply, to bear pain without becoming bitter, and to offer love without first deciding who deserves it. Your heartfelt attention is an amazing thing. It has a mysterious power. It doesn’t always fix what is broken, but it opens the possibility that something new can emerge.

Howard Zinn wrote that to be hopeful in difficult times is not foolishly romantic. It is based on the truth that human history is not only a history of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, and kindness. Which stories we choose to remember matters. They shape the world we believe is possible. So when sadness comes, remember Wade Davis’ words, “Despair is an insult to the imagination.” The earth itself teaches renewal. Seeds become forests. Winter becomes spring. The body replaces itself again and again. Every moment offers the chance to begin anew.

Rumi reminds us:

Come, come, whoever you are.
Though you have broken your vows a hundred times,
Come, come again.

This is the invitation of the Dharma. Become citizens of love. Trust that the light has never left you. Beneath all that has been wounded, beneath all that has been forgotten, there remains an untouchable goodness- a noble heart that can begin again. This world is full of second chances. No matter what has happened, we can always begin again. When you need to, may you do so gracefully.

~Jack Kornfield