mindful living

Now To Be Still and Rest ~ A Poem by P H B Lyon

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The Healing Power of Stillness: Why Rest Restores the Heart and Rekindles Purpose

What if rest isn’t an ending…but the quiet beginning of everything that matters?

Now to be Still and Rest

P H B Lyon

Now to be still and rest, while the heart remembers
All that is learned and loved in the days of long past,
To stoop and warm our hands at the fallen embers,
Glad to have come to the long way’s end at last.

Now to awake, and feel no regret at waking,
Knowing the shadowy days are white again,
To draw our curtains and watch the slow dawn breaking
Silver and grey on English field and lane.

Now to fulfil our dreams, in woods and meadows
Treading the well-loved paths – to pause and cry
‘So, even so I remember it’ – seeing the shadows
Weave on the distant hills their tapestry.

Now to rejoice in children and join their laughter,
Tuning our hearts once more to the fairy strain,
To hear our names on voices we love, and after
Turn with a smile to sleep and our dream again.

Then – with a new-born strength, the sweet rest over,
Gladly to follow the great white road once more,
To work with a song on our lips and the heart of a lover,
Building a city of peace on the wastes of war. 

Source

Reflection

P. H. B. Lyon’s poem is a gentle reminder that rest is not idleness but a sacred pause where memory, gratitude, and renewal quietly take root. Each stanza invites us into a different dimension of rest: remembering, awakening, returning to nature, reconnecting with joy, and finally rising again with new strength.

Rest becomes a circle, not a stop. We step back, breathe, reflect — and only then are we ready to step forward with clarity and love. The poem shows that true rest is not just physical; it is emotional alignment, spiritual re-centering, and an honoring of all we’ve lived through.

Perhaps the most powerful idea here is that rest allows us to remember who we are before the world told us to hurry.

Where in your life do you most need stillness right now — and what might it restore in you if you allowed it space?

Dance With Life Instead of Fighting It

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What if the secret to more happiness isn’t control—but rhythm?

Life is a lot more fun when we dance with it. There is a music to it and you have to feel it in order to enjoy it. It’s the same way with dancing. When you feel the music the dancing comes natural. Just as there are different kinds of music and dances that respond to the music the same is true with life. There are different events and circumstances and when we allow ourselves to blend with them that we feel a greater sense of peace and happiness. Many of the eastern traditions teach about the path of non-resistance. That’s something to think about.

When was the last time you stopped resisting life and simply flowed with it? What changed for you when you did?

“Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.” — Vivian Greene

Light for the Journey: How Happiness Finds Us When We Stop Chasing It

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What if happiness isn’t a destination we reach — but a quiet companion that arrives when we’re focused on kindness, not ourselves?

“The happiest people I know are people who don’t even think about being happy. They just think about being good neighbors, good people. And then happiness sort of sneaks in the back window while they are busy doing good. ~ Harold S. Kushner

We spend so much time trying to feel happy — measuring it, chasing it, wondering why it slips away. But Harold Kushner offers a gentle shift: the happiest people are those too busy being good to notice whether they’re happy or not. They show up. They help. They listen. They live outward instead of inward — and happiness enters like sunlight through an unlocked window.

Maybe happiness was never something to grab, but something that grows in us when we’re planting goodness in the world.

When we stop asking, “Am I happy?” and start asking, “Am I helping?” — we discover joy is already in the room, smiling quietly, waiting to be recognized.

Water ~ A Poem by Pablo Neruda

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When Water Becomes a Teacher: What Pablo Neruda Shows Us About Letting Life Flow

What if the quiet movement of water is one of the greatest instructors in how to live, adapt, and become who we are meant to be?

Water

Pablo Neruda

Everything on the earth bristled, the bramble
pricked and the green thread
nibbled away, the petal fell, falling
until the only flower was the falling itself.
Water is another matter,
has no direction but its own bright grace,
runs through all imaginable colors,
takes limpid lessons
from stone,
and in those functionings plays out
the unrealized ambitions of the foam.

Source

Pablo Neruda reminds us that water does what most of us struggle to do — it moves forward without resisting its nature. While flowers fall, thorns pierce, and time erodes what seems permanent, water remains in motion, shaping the world not by force, but by presence. It takes “lessons from stone,” not to become stone, but to understand how to move around it.

Water never apologizes for changing forms — rain, river, mist, ocean — yet it is always water. How often do we resist the natural changes in our own lives, clinging to identities that no longer fit? What if, instead, we flowed? What if we allowed grief, joy, transition, renewal to move through us instead of hardening against them?

Maybe the real power of water isn’t strength, but surrender — a surrender that still shapes mountains.

Where in your life do you feel called to stop resisting and start flowing, like water? Share a moment when “letting go” led to growth.

The Sky ~ A Poem by Elizabeth Madox Roberts

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Elizabeth Madox Roberts reminds us that wonder isn’t lost — it just waits for us to look up again.

Elizabeth Madox Roberts

I saw a shadow on the ground 
                        And heard a bluejay going by; 
                        A shadow went across the ground, 
                        And I looked up and saw the sky. 

                        It hung up on the poplar tree, 
                        But while I looked it did not stay; 
                        It gave a tiny sort of jerk 
                        And moved a little bit away. 

                        And farther on and farther on 
                        It moved and never seemed to stop. 
                        I think it must be tied with chains 
                        And something pulls it from the top. 

                        It never has come down again, 
                        And every time I look to see, 
                        The sky is always slipping back 
                        And getting far away from me.

Source

Reflection:

Elizabeth Madox Roberts’ “The Sky” captures that moment when a child’s curiosity touches infinity. What begins as a passing shadow becomes an awakening — a simple act of looking up. The poem unfolds in pure wonder, noticing the movement of the sky as if it were alive, chained, and gently tugged from above.

Through a child’s eyes, Roberts reveals something adults often forget: the world is always moving, breathing, and beckoning us to notice. The sky doesn’t actually slip away — we drift from it, buried in busyness. The poem invites us back into the mystery, reminding us that awe isn’t naïve — it’s sacred awareness.

Each time we pause to look at the sky, we reawaken the part of ourselves that still believes in wonder, movement, and unseen hands that keep the universe in motion.

Question for Readers:

When was the last time you stopped, looked up, and simply felt wonder? What did the sky say to you in that moment?

Cooking for One: How My Air Fryer Became My Best Friend in the Kitchen

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After loss, I had to learn how to cook — fast, healthy, and without the fuss. What I discovered wasn’t just food…it was freedom in an air fryer.

I do all my cooking. I cook healthy. I learned a lot by watching my wife, but I never cooked until after she died I had to learn to cook, buy healthy foods, and figure a way to make it all taste good . I’m not one to work in the kitchen for two hours preparing a meal. I’d like to get the meal cooked without creating a big hassle. So how did I resolve this? I bought an air fryer. That is a single person’s gold. Here’s a typical meal. Last night I began by preparing a small sweet potato. I washed it, stuck the knife in it about six times, and rubbed it in olive oil. I set the air fryer on preheat to 420 and after four minutes I popped my sweet potato in and set the time for 38 minutes. When the 26 minute mark came around, I put in a piece of frozen salmon. I flipped the salmon over every five minutes. Halfway through I turn the sweet potato over. At 15 minutes to go I put mushroom and Chito pepper in. My air fryer is filling up but I’m not done yet. With five minutes to go I tossed in some asparagus. When the bell rings there’s my meal is done, all I have to do is to plate it. My air fryer is my BFF.,

Learning to cook for one can feel like learning to live all over again. It’s not just about food — it’s about rebuilding routine, dignity, and even joy. Standing at the counter, I realized each meal could be a small act of love, a promise to keep living well. My air fryer may not speak, but it reminds me daily that nourishment doesn’t have to be complicated to be meaningful. Every sizzle, every bite, is a whisper that life continues — that we can care for ourselves with the same kindness we once gave to others.

What’s your go-to quick meal that brings comfort and joy without spending hours in the kitchen?

Light for the Journey: A Heart Without Words: The True Meaning of Prayer

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Mahatma Gandhi reminds us that prayer is not about asking for more—it’s about becoming more. It’s the soul’s quiet language of longing and surrender.

“Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one’s weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart.” ― Mahatma Gandhi

Reflection:

Prayer is not a request—it’s a return. Gandhi’s words remind us that to pray is to stand bare before the divine with nothing to prove and everything to feel. When we let go of words, we enter the silence where humility and connection live.

Each prayer, spoken or unspoken, is an admission of our shared fragility and a celebration of our shared strength. It’s the heart’s way of whispering, “I am here, and I am listening.”

True prayer doesn’t ask—it awakens. It calls us to live from the quiet space between thought and breath, where love, hope, and gratitude rise naturally.

When words fail, what helps you connect to that quiet space where your soul feels most alive?

Who’s in Your Living Room—And Why Are They Yelling?

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You wouldn’t invite an angry guest to dinner—so why let them into your ears and your mind? Be careful who you give emotional real estate to.

Would you invite someone into your home for dinner if you knew they would make you angry? Everyone I know would not send an RSVP to someone like that. Why ruin a good dinner party with someone who is going to come in and make everyone angry. The crazy thing about this is that many of us do this every single day without even knowing it. I go for a walk every evening after dinner. Last night after dinner when I went on my walk there was a car parked next to the mailboxes. A woman was outside the car, checking her mail. Her door was open and her radio was loud enough for me to hear what was playing. She was listening to a talk show with a talk. Show host was filled with anger. A talkshow host was conveying an angry message, both and words and in tone. It struck me that she invited this person into her home. All he could do was upset her and make her angry. I wondered how many people popped their AirPods in and listen to similar garbage. They let other people make them angry. They let other people make them frightened. They let other people take control of their emotions. What we consciously would not accept in our homes, we unconsciously invite in and tell them to make themselves comfortable. How do the things you listen to affect you? Do they uplift you and inspire you? Do they turn you inside out and upside down? Think about who you’re letting into your home before you let them in.

❓ Reflective Questions:

  1. What voices or messages have you subconsciously allowed into your “emotional living room”?
  2. Do the media or shows you listen to nourish your peace—or stir up unnecessary fear and anger?
  3. What boundaries can you create to protect your mental and emotional space from toxic influences?

Light for the Journey: When Life’s a Mystery Buffet, Grab a Fork: The Power of Embracing Uncertainty

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What if the thing you’re most afraid of—uncertainty—is actually your golden ticket to a fuller, more vibrant life?

When you become comfortable with uncertainty, infinite possibilities open up in your life. ~ Eckhart Tolle

🌱 Reflection:

We spend so much of our lives chasing clarity, trying to plan every moment, dodge every detour, and outwit every surprise. But what if uncertainty isn’t the enemy? Eckhart Tolle reminds us that when we grow comfortable with the unknown, life expands. The rigid doors of control quietly creak open to reveal wide windows of opportunity, creativity, and joy. Think about it: the most meaningful turns in life—falling in love, starting a new journey, discovering a hidden strength—often emerge from the fog of not knowing. When we stop resisting the ambiguity, we start dancing with possibility. Maybe today’s chaos is tomorrow’s clarity in disguise. Maybe the question marks are just commas in a sentence that’s still being written. So loosen your grip. Trust the unfolding. And let life surprise you.

Light for the Journey: When Even the Empty Cup Shines: Finding Promise in the Quiet Mornings

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Some mornings don’t need noise or caffeine to wake us up. Sometimes, it’s the stillness—the light through the window, the hush before the rush—that whispers, “Today can be beautiful.”

There are mornings when everything brims with promise, even my empty cup. ~ Ted Kooser

There are mornings when the world doesn’t hand us answers—just light. And somehow, that’s enough. The empty cup, still warm from yesterday’s rituals, becomes a symbol of what might be. Not what we’ve lost, but what’s waiting to be filled again.

Hope isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s just a quiet yes in the middle of nothing, reminding us we’re still here, still able, still beginning.

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