Recipes for a Sacred Life: True Stories and a Few Miracles by Rivvy Neshama (best books to read for young adults TXT) 📕

hold it up to remember: clear heart, open heart, a heart that sees my anger, envy, and fears . . . and heals them by letting in light.

“Nobody’s perfect,” Brant told us. “But we try to make ourselves better.”

And so, each day, I aim to do my best, to think of others and be kind. Sounds easy, right? Not. What helps is knowing what I strive for: a heart like a crystal. It also helps knowing that far off in the Sierra Madres, there’s a tribe of Huichol Indians, and they’re striving for that too.

Create in me a pure heart, O God.

—PSALMS 51:10

SISTER JUDY’S CALIFORNIA

MEDITATION RECIPE

My sister Judy was a wheelin’-dealin’ lawyer-screenwriter in Hollywood. Then she found God (or vice versa), and it changed her life. She moved to Playa del Rey, became a spiritual counselor, and now starts each day with meditation on the beach.

She begins by reading some inspirational writings. Then she closes her eyes or looks out at the ocean and puts all her attention on feeling God’s love, returning that love, and feeling gratitude for that love. “Breathe in the presence of God,” she says, “and breathe out love and peace and healing.”

“What if you don’t feel God’s love?” a friend asked when I told her. I answered the way I thought Judy would: Just feel God’s love in whatever form it comes to you, which could be your child, mate, friends, or pet; or the sky or mountains; or the joy you know in being alive.

“Imagination is a powerful tool,” Judy says. “I might envision golden dust falling on someone I’m thinking of in healing prayer.”

When her morning meditation is over, she spends the rest of her day “seeing the magic in everything and everywhere I go.” But she always holds a stone to keep herself grounded.

Our mother liked to keep her grounded too. She was a tad concerned with Judy’s transformation and wondered why she couldn’t just be a wheelin’-dealin’ lawyer-screenwriter who meditated. In truth, we were all a bit concerned, especially at first, when Judy just didn’t seem like Judy.

But now, it’s hard not to be touched by her sincere love of God and the radiance it brings her. And Judy’s meditation sounds radiant too: buoyant and full of light, like California or the ocean.

When I first heard her tell it, I remembered being in a Hindu temple at dusk. There was incense burning, and a smiling Swami sat at the front, leading us in kirtan, responsive chanting of the names of God. Six white-robed musicians were playing drums, bells, and harmonium, creating haunting melodies as we sang in Sanskrit,“Hari Krishna, Hari Rama, Hari, Hari, Rama, Rama.”

It’s part of a worship called Bhakti Yoga—the path of devotion, the path of the heart—that’s said to be the quickest way to reach the divine.

“Surrender . . . ,” the Swami urged us, “to something far greater . . .”

Then the music got faster and faster as we chanted louder and louder, and soon nearly everyone was standing and swaying, arms up, palms open, as we sang and danced with a love or bliss that spread and soared throughout the room.

When sister Judy meditates, she’s in that temple dancing.

GREETING THE SEASONS

One thing I like about the seasons is how they always show up on time. Just as I’m turning the calendar to September 21, sure enough, the air gets crisper, a slight frost is seen, and I can smell the ripe apples that now lie on the ground. It’s that way with each season, right on time, proving Yes, the world is turning, and as surely as winter is here, spring is coming, no worries.

Living in Boulder, home of New Age trends, I’ve become more aware of the solstice, the equinox, and ways to celebrate each. But there’s nothing New Age about these celestial events. They’ve been noted and honored for thousands of years. And, uniquely, they offer us this: a day to welcome each new season and feel more in sync with the earth and all life.

It could be enough just to keep track of these dates, to write down and know when each season begins. On those days, I decorate our home with gourds or pinecones or branches of yellow forsythia. And sometimes I do something special, in groups or with John, to celebrate the change and what the new season means.

The summer solstice comes on June 21, the first day of summer. It’s the longest, most light-filled day of the year.

On June 21, 2007, the early sunlight woke us by 6, and that’s when John suggested that we walk to the lake. I was feeling a little wistful, not as excited about Boulder, nature, or the solstice as I was when we first moved here. That was long ago, though, so I guess it could be expected. You get used to things, even glorious things, like mountains and starlight and the one you love. But then, on another day, all the glory comes back.

Besides, even feeling wistful, it was nice to take this walk. We saw redwing blackbirds, heard the meadowlark sing, and spotted our first dragonfly of the season.

When we reached the lake’s small sandy shore, we looked out at the ducks, saw jumping fish in the water, and considered what ritual to do.

Sometimes the best ritual is whatever comes to mind. On this day, we decided to simply give thanks, thanks for the gifts of summer.

“Thank you for the sunshine,” I started.

“And the long days,” John said. “And warmth.”

“Thank you for the return of the dragonfly.”

“For corn and peaches.”

“And swimming in warm water.”

“Thank you for summer.”

Low-key, but nice.

The next day, in our local paper, there was a picture of Aymara Indians near La Paz, Bolivia. They were holding up their hands to catch the first rays of dawn as they celebrated the Southern Hemisphere’s winter solstice, the beginning of the Aymara New Year.

And later, on the radio, we heard that hundreds of New Yorkers had gathered to do sun salutations all