Dear Friends,

We pray you are safe and well. In the spirit of our philosophy of co-creating community and our awareness that the Spirit speaks through each of us, we invite you to share your meditations with us as well. We truly believe that in God’s economy of abundance, when we share our blessings, our thoughts, our feelings, we are all made richer. 

Today’s meditation is written by the Nobel Prize-winning Chilean poet Pablo Neruda (July 12, 1904–September 23, 1973) — “one of humanity’s furthest-seeing and lushest-minded artists wrote this love-letter to earth’s forests.”

We hope and pray that you and your loved ones experience genuine peace of mind and heart, and remain in good health during this challenging time. 

May the Easter Season be a time of peace, of healing and hope, of the resurrection of joy in your life!

With our love and care,

Jean & Ron  

Meditation Twenty-nine: The Chilean Forest

Under the volcanoes, beside the snow-capped mountains, among the huge lakes,                                                                                                                                                     the fragrant, the silent, the tangled Chilean forest…                                                                                                                                                                                              My feet sink down into the dead leaves, a fragile twig crackles,                                                                                                                                                                              the giant rauli trees rise in all their bristling height, a bird from the cold jungle passes over, flaps its wings, and stops in the sunless branches.                                                          And then, from its hideaway, it sings like an oboe…                                                                                                                                                                                                 The wild scent of the laurel, the dark scent of the boldo herb, enter my nostrils and flood my whole being…                                                                                                      The cypress of the Guaitecas blocks my way… This is a vertical world: a nation of birds, a plenitude of leaves…                                                                                              I stumble over a rock, dig up the uncovered hollow, an enormous spider covered with red hair stares up at me, motionless, as huge as a crab…                                                   A golden carabus beetle blows its mephitic breath at me, as its brilliant rainbow disappears like lightning…                                                                                                         Going on, I pass through a forest of ferns much taller than I am: from their cold green eyes sixty tears splash down on my face and,                                                              behind me, their fans go on quivering for a long time… A decaying tree trunk: what a treasure!…                                                                                                                      Black and blue mushrooms have given it ears, red parasite plants have covered it with rubies,                                                                                                                             other lazy plants have let it borrow their beards,                                                                                                                                                                                                         and a snake springs out of the rotted body like a sudden breath, as if the spirit of the dead trunk were slipping away from it…                                                                     Farther along, each tree stands away from its fellows…                                                                                                                                                                                                 They soar up over the carpet of the secretive forest, and the foliage of each has its own style, linear, bristling, ramulose, lanceolate,                                                              as if cut by shears moving in infinite ways…                                                                                                                                                                                                             A gorge; below, the crystal water slides over granite and jasper…                                                                                                                                                                              A butterfly goes past, bright as a lemon, dancing between the water and the sunlight…                                                                                                                                       Close by, innumerable calceolarias nod their little yellow heads in greeting…                                                                                                                                                      High up, red copihues (Lapageria rosea) dangle like drops from the magic forest’s arteries…                                                                                                                                                 A fox cuts through the silence like a flash, sending a shiver through the leaves, but silence is the law of the plant kingdom…                                                                         The barely audible cry of some bewildered animal far off…                                                                                                                                                                               The piercing interruption of a hidden bird…                                                                                                                                                                                                           The vegetable world keeps up its low rustle until a storm chums up all the music of the earth.

Anyone who hasn’t been in the Chilean forest doesn’t know this planet.

I have come out of that landscape,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                that mud,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 that silence,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 to roam,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            to go singing through the world.

A Golden Compass

Forget every idea of right and wrong
Any classroom ever taught you

An empty heart, a tormented mind,
Unkindness, jealousy and fear

Are always the testimony
You have been completely fooled!

Turn your back on those
Who would imprison your wondrous spirit
With deceit and lies.

Come, join the honest company
Of the King's beggars -
Those gamblers, scoundrels and divine clowns
And those astonishing fair courtesans
Who need Divine Love every night.

Come, join the courageous
Who have no choice
But to bet their entire world
That indeed,
Indeed, God is Real.

I will lead you into the Circle
Of the Beloved's cunning thieves,
Those playful royal rogues -
The ones you can trust for true guidance -
Who can aid you
In this Blessed Calamity of life.

Look at the Perfect One
At the Circle's Center:


He Spins and Whirls like a Golden Compass,
Beyond all that is Rational,


To show this dear world


That Everything,
Everything in Existence
Does point to God.


~ Hafiz ~


(I Heard God Laughing - Renderings of Hafiz by Daniel Ladinsky)