[People] go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering. ~St. Augustine This quote by St. Augustine brought to mind the idiom “The grass is always greener on the other side.” This idiom reminds us that what is beyond our view is not necessarily better than what we currently have. The grass might indeed be greener on the other side of a hill. It could just as easily be dry, browned, and prickly. Or there may be no grass at all. Both the quote and idiom captures: (1) the discontent many people have with the things they are familiar with, and (2) the longing and hope we often have that we can escape those things by crossing a horizon of some kind. It is not uncommon for people to think their life, their family, where they live, where they work… is somehow inferior to other options. I am confident we have all heard and expressed sentiments such as: “There is not enough to do here,” “This town is too small,” “My brother is impossible,” “My boss is a jerk,” and so on. As I’ve shared before, I struggled with living in the Deep South and moving away was a good change for me. There are times we may indeed be unhappy enough with our circumstances that some

I trust everyone is familiar with the nursery rhyme of Humpty Dumpty from 17^th-century England. It is among the most common nursery rhymes in the English-speaking world. Like Humpty Dumpty, we too sometimes feel shattered. Thankfully, however, we’re not eggpeople with a fragile exoskeleton. Once an egg is broken it cannot go back together again. While sometimes it may feel as though all our interior essence has run out, and we’ll never get back together again, unlike Humpty Dumpty, we can get put together again. We don’t need to assume the exact same shape after the break as before. Our structure can be changed into countless new shapes. For Humpty Dumpty, a crack is the beginning of the end. But for us, a crack can be a beginning. Mark Nepo, author of The One Life We’re Given, encourages us to think of a crack as an opening. Part of the human condition is that we will face some kind of harm in our lives that may have us feeling broken. But we need not remain broken. Wallowing in our suffering, even when our grievances are entirely justified, keeps us stuck in that broken place. If we instead see our cracks as an opening we can move out of the brokenness to a new place and form. That journey from a cracked shape into a new reformed one may grant us life wisdom about ourselves. Many authors (so many there is no need to cite a particular one) remind us to trust in

I suspect that the idea of blessing may be one that some UUs struggle with theologically. As Unitarian Universalists, we have in some ways moved very far away from our Christian heritage and in some others we have not. For instance, our model of religious education, our polity, and our order of service are little different from the Universalism or Unitarianism from which we inherited them. Yet in other ways we have significantly redefined some of our inheritance. For example, while we inherited the concept of worship from Christianity, we have redirected it and changed its connotation, bringing it closer to its original meaning. The word worship comes from the Old English word weorþscipe (or worth-ship), meaning worthiness, or the honor shown to an object. At its most basic, then, worship simply means giving worth to something. In Christianity that object is obviously god. That association is what causes some UUs to struggle with use of the word. However, in Unitarian Universalism we have collectively redirected that which has worthiness to humanity, our community, and our congregations. We believe in the inherent worth and dignity of every person, as our First Principle articulates. Individual UUs may wish to honor additional things or beings that suit their own theology. But together we have returned worship more to its original meaning to honor something, without necessarily any supernatural connotations. Similarly, we have redefined theology, church, hymn, covenant, and our approach to religious writings to better fit Unitarian Universalism and our plural theology. The same is true for the

Dictionaries usually define a risk in one of three ways: (1) dangers to our bodies or life, (2) the chance an investment may lose value, (3) or the perils within the terms of an insurance contract. When you think of the word risk, what do you think of? The first definition is what came to my mind first. I am guessing that one of these notions of a risk is what came to your mind too. After all, language reinforces culture and vice versa. The dictionary is reflecting what we culturally think and believe. But more than that, the dictionary definitions of risk also conveys what we value. We stand in awe of those people who embrace the risks associated with the first two definitions of risk. People who face physical risks to themselves to aid others, like first responders, certainly deserve our admiration and gratitude for their selflessness and public service. Our capitalist culture encourages us to stand in awe of venture capitalists who place their wealth at risk in emergent companies and somehow manage to turn it into greater wealth. In these public cases of risk, part of what makes the behavior admirable to us is not just the assumption of risk by these individuals. What also makes it admirable is their conquering of fear to embrace the risk. Many of us probably appreciate that not everyone can conquer their fear sufficiently to fight a fire or invest their life savings. And even if we did, we appreciate

The phoenix of Greek and Roman mythology is a long-living bird that is born from the remains of its predecessor. Accounts of how long it lived, what size it was, its coloration, and the like, are all varied. That variation includes the way in which the phoenix was reborn. According to some accounts the phoenix decomposed before being born again. In other accounts, the phoenix dies amid combustion and flames and rises from the ashes. Regardless of which account we are to give greatest credence to, the phoenix remains an enduring symbol of renewal and emergence in Western culture. The phoenix appears widely in literature, art, music, film, and television. While a mythical creature, the life of the phoenix can serve as a useful metaphor for us. Its emergence, or re-emergence, into the world comes as a result of the death of its predecessor. New life emerges from the passing of the old, and the new cannot arrive until the death of the old. There is surely nothing wrong with us pursuing growth and emergence from nothing. Trying something new, bringing out a new behavior, or creating a new way of thinking about something are often great moments of transformation for our lives and something we should often strive for. But what if there are times when something new is unable to emerge? What if something old is holding up the arrival of something new? For example, if we’re holding onto an old pain, perhaps playing memories over and over again, it

The March 19^th, 1945 edition of Life magazine contains an article written by Annalee Jacoby titled “Eggs stand on end in Chungking: The mystery of the upright eggs dissolves war tension in China.” In the article, Jacoby tells the story of several Chinese individuals competitively balancing eggs on the spring equinox. According to Chinese legends, for an hour before and after the seasons change on Li Chun (Spring Begins), it becomes possible to balance things that would otherwise not be possible. In the city of Chungking (now rendered into English as Chongqing) inhabitants balanced eggs on Li Chun. The celebration of Li Chun in 1945 happened to draw the attention of a journalist with the United Press. His story was published in many English-language newspapers. Apparently, Albert Einstein read the story and doubted its truthfulness. A series of egg-standings with witnesses followed in Chongqing to prove it was done without trickery. And there was no trickery. With the right egg and surface, you can stand an egg any day of the year. While the spring equinox does not bring about a perfect balance in gravity, it does bring other kinds of balance. Daytime and nighttime are balanced. The time of each is roughly equal, and this is true no matter where you are on the planet. The path of the sun is also in balance. The sun rises exactly due east and sets exactly due west; the two equinoxes are the only days this happens. The seasons are also balanced. At

In my Unigram article last month, I wrote about the application of intention to everyday tasks to transform them to spiritual practices. In that piece I noted how through intention I could transform some walks in Nature into spiritual experiences, raising them above the everyday and ordinary. Yet applying intention to everyday things to gain a spiritual practice is not a strategy that will be equally rewarding to everyone. It may also work better with some tasks than others. As a result, you may wish to seek out a spiritual practice that requires the application of perseverance. Some authorities on spiritual practices maintain that the most transformational potentials come from those spiritual practices that are nothing other than a spiritual practice for us. Take meditation, for instance. Meditation is something we purposefully do as a spiritual practice that we generally do not otherwise do in the course of our everyday lives. By being inherently spiritual, it becomes easier to distinguish it from everyday activities and emphasize its spiritual value. For example, taking a walk in Nature can have more than one meaning for me. As a result, it may be more difficult to stay focused on the spiritual. I could potentially, then, complete it sometimes with a sense of spiritual pride, but really have been focused on exercise or covering a lot of ground. Something like meditation, on the other hand, cannot be completed in any way other than spiritually. When we use everyday things as a spiritual practice, there can

For years I felt that my desire and intention for spiritual practices was greater that my familiarity with them. By this I mean that my interest was high, but my knowledge was low and limited to a handful of practices common to our culture, such as prayer, reading scripture, and meditation. Perhaps you too have felt similarly, now or in the past, and craved spiritual exercises, but could not find ones that suited you. Because Unitarian Universalism embraces religious freedom of the individual, we do not possess an obvious and widespread set of spiritual practices outside of collective worship, in the way some other religions do. What is likely the easiest path to a spiritual practice is by adding intentional mindfulness to the passions you already hold. Mindfulness is fully bringing our attention to the experience of the present moment. The opposite of mindfulness would be to engage in tasks on auto-pilot, without thought or awareness. In what has became a famous example of mindfulness and intentionality, Zen Buddhist monk and author Thich Nhat Hanh wrote in Creating True Peace (pgs. 143-44 ) about eating an orange as a spiritual exercise of mindfulness. We could simply eat an orange as a piece of food. Or, says Hanh, we could eat the orange meditatively, appreciating it as a miracle of nature that nourishes us. Peel it and focus on how it feels. Smell it. Savor it as you eat it. Imagine the sun and rain it took to nourish the fruit. Imagine