“The eye must be something like the sun, otherwise no sunlight could be seen; God’s own power must be inside us, how else could godly things delight us?” — Goethe

I love these words of the great German philosopher, Wolfgang Goethe. They stir my body and my soul. I lived for 34 years in a spiritual community in the interior of British Columbia, and I have never forgotten one of the things my mentor said during a presentation: “There is no god external to ourselves.”

Everything changes when we begin to listen to our own divine presence.

This presence is very practical. “What is the right thing in this situation?” It is concerned with what is useful and creative in the present moment just as it is. It’s not lost in communion with the Angels –though there may be some of that going on, I’m sure.

This morning, as I was eating breakfast, I happened to look out the window and saw our neighbors across the street loading up their SUV, obviously getting ready for a trip.

“You need to go over right now and let them know about our coming move to Denver,” truth said. I put down my knife and fork, called JoAnn and we went over together to tell them.

I was a young man of 23 working as a reporter on a large daily newspaper in London, when one day — out of nowhere, it seemed — the notion came to me: “You want to find the meaning of life – leave everything and go to British Columbia.”

What? Give up a promising career, say goodbye to my girlfriend, and abandon my family simply because a vague compulsion rose within me to go to Canada?

But how thankful I am that I followed that whisper within.

Sometimes people are frightened of stillness, or they think, “Why, stillness isn’t anything. God preserve me from such emptiness and boredom.”

But unless we are still we will probably miss the impulse of that divine presence that alone knows what is truly wise, what will truly bless our own life or the lives of others.

The belief that God, or Being is separate from us is a myth deeply entrenched in all of us. Perhaps it was inevitable back along the way. But truth is crying out in a loud voice these days for the myth to be ended.

I am looking at my computer. I want to write a new post but my mind is a blank. Presently JoAnn comes in and sits down, looking kind of thoughtful.

“I’m off to do the shopping,” she says. “But I’ve been thinking about something.

“I’ve been trying to do some sorting in my sewing room ready for our move, and it makes me realize there are some quilting projects I’m going to have to let go of, because we really only have another 10 to 15 years, don’t we? In 10 years we’ll be in our late 80s — in 15 years we’ll be in our 90s. We need to be realistic and think how we can make the most of the time that we do have.”

We talk a little bit about this inevitable process of aging and death and then she leaves to do her errands. After she leaves I think to myself, ‘I wonder why she brought that up now, at this particular time. Does she think it may give me an idea for a post?’ I had mentioned at breakfast that I wanted to write a post but didn’t know what to write about.

The subject of death occupies a strange place in our society. We are obviously quite fascinated with it — it’s the main theme of so many of our movies and books and plays after all. And yet paradoxically for the most part we don’t like to talk about it too much. We love welcoming new babies into this world, but when someone leaves the world it brings up feelings of sadness and grief.

Personally, I’m looking forward to the coming years. Obviously none of us knows how many years we have, or even how many days we have come to that.

But every day I do have left will be an opportunity not only to savor life in an external sense as best I may, but to experience more fully and more consciously the timeless beauty of my own being that is already happy and already free.

Perhaps I’m being naïve here. But I truly believe that just as this truth welcomed the birth of my physical form – that brought so much joy to my mother’s and father’s hearts — so it will welcome its passing when that time  comes.

“In an instant of recognizing the silence that is always here, you recognize your true face. You recognize the presence of God,” writes Gangaji in The Diamond In Your Pocket.

We have the privilege, you and I, to be alive in human form in this extraordinary time — with the opportunity to know the truth while we are still here.

“Out of clutter, find simplicity.” — Albert Einstein.

When you realize it is time to downsize and physically move from one location to another — as JoAnn and I recently realized — a number of challenges appear. One of these challenges is dealing with all the clutter that you have accumulated over the years.

Perhaps this is a fringe benefit of moving — you have no choice but to face the accumulation of stuff that has been going on in your life in recent years and in years long, long gone.

As difficult as it can be to do this, I am becoming aware that doing so brings many, many rewards.

JoAnn and I have a saying, “one step at a time.” When it comes to dealing with clutter, I find there is no other option. I not only have to take one step at a time, but one room at a time – and indeed one object at a time. Fortunately, there are only three possibilities. Keep it. Give it away. Or throw it away.

For example, as I sit at my computer in my little office, I see a small blue canvas bag lying on the desk in front of me. The bag is empty. A dozen or so seashells are sitting on top of this empty bag, which incidentally is covered with a thick coat of dust.

As I look at this particular object I realize I’ve never given it any thought at all. It has been sitting in front of my nose for a number of years — and yet though I love the sea with a passion I’ve never even glanced at these pretty little seashells.

So one reward of “de-cluttering” is that I pick up one of these shells and hold it in my hand and admire it. It is beautiful. At last, this shell from some faraway beach is receiving some attention and love. It means something to me. It is not hard to decide that I would like to keep these seashells and the connection that they provide for me with the sea.

Then there is my bookcase. Actually there are four of them. Books of various sizes and shapes abound in riotous profusion like wildflowers in the spring. They overflow from the shelves, some of them lined up vertically — some of them lying in horizontal piles here and there.

Books have been coming in, year by year, month by month — but no books have been going out. So I have been looking over my books with the same eagle eye that I bestowed upon my seashells. If a book has meaning to me, I keep it. If it doesn’t have meaning to me, out it goes.

Of course, there is much more to “clutter” than mere material possessions. There is the clutter that we accumulate over the years in our minds and our hearts, for example.

There is the clutter of thoughts that may have served us back along the way but do not serve us any longer. There is the clutter of thoughts that are not our own thoughts at all. Someone else — perhaps society itself – perhaps an enterprising columnist or TV host — has stuffed them into our mind for us.

“Out of clutter, comes simplicity,” said Albert Einstein, and how true that is. But I would say that there is another reward that comes when we face up to our clutter at every level of our being, and that is truth.

We are free to become increasingly conscious of what is not clutter — the stillness and peace of our own being that is always present with us no matter what may transpire in our lives.

“You can search throughout the entire universe for someone who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and that person is not to be found anywhere. You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe deserve your love and affection.” – Buddha

We live in challenging times. Perhaps the challenges are greater for some than for others — or so it might seem — but the challenges are there, no matter who we are.

As the pace of life intensifies and the demands and challenges that we all face rush towards us like waves on a beach, the words of the Buddha are more relevant than ever.

But how do we do it? How do I show love and affection for myself? I suppose there are many answers that could be given to this question, but for me, the most important aspect of all would read something like this:

No matter what is going on in the world or in my own life, it is up to me to stay true to a place of calm and assurance within myself so that my mind and body have a “refuge” upon which they can depend.

This does not mean that fear will not arise in me. It doesn’t mean that I will not become impatient or resentful at times. It means that when such currents do come up I will remember what it is that is most important — and be true to that.

It’s a mundane example, I suppose. But I have to admit that as I begin preparing for the move JoAnn and I will be making to Denver this spring, feelings of anxiety and stress have definitely been coming up. For example, both of us have accumulated a lot of stuff over the years. Since one of the reasons for this move is to downsize, there’s the question of what to keep — and what not to keep.

Then again, there is the tricky little balancing act that will be required to sell our house successfully within a certain time frame while at the same time finding a suitable townhome that we can afford.

There’s also the fact that with all the will in the world, we are not getting any younger. We run out of steam, as JoAnn puts it, a bit sooner than we once did. So in this new cycle we have to watch we don’t make unreasonable demands upon ourselves — but as the Buddha said, show love and affection for ourselves.

I am thankful for the Buddha’s timeless words. But most of all, I am thankful for the timeless truth within us all that in the midst of a changing, violent world, is forever unchanged, untroubled, and at peace — a source of love that never fails.

JoAnn and I will be moving to Denver fairly soon, partly to downsize, and partly to be closer to her family. We have enjoyed the last eight years in a small Colorado town called Loveland, but a “nudge” within says this is what we need to do.

I’ve been thinking about this business of movement, external movement. Humans spend quite a bit energy and time moving from here to there on the surface of the planet. There is the morning commute, for instance. There is our love of travel.

But while most of us will be on the move one way or another in the months to come, the truth of who I am and the truth of who you are won’t be going anywhere.

Truth is a beautiful word that for me describes true character, the divine dimension within us all.

Truth is the silent presence from whence comes strength and courage and wisdom. It’s the reason you and I are alive in human form, in position to make a difference in this world. It’s the cause of all that exists, but is forever untouched and untroubled and unchanged by the turmoil of human existence.

Most of all, truth is a comforter, just as the Bible says — the only true comforter in the entire world. As I think of the busy schedule that lies ahead for JoAnn and me I am very thankful for this timeless presence that is going nowhere.

Storms and troubles and catastrophes of all kinds may erupt in our lives, but truth is unmoved by any of it.

How can we know this truth? How can we be at peace even in difficult, or hectic times? What price does truth ask to bless us? It asks that we be willing to let go of our busy thoughts and preoccupations for a moment and be still. Immediately, there is space for the comforter to make itself known.

Putting all this another way, truth is what remains when I lose my preoccupation and fascination with my own personal life story — the notion, for example, that in three or four months time I will be moving from Loveland to Denver.

As Gangaji puts it in her great book, A Diamond in your Pocket: “Telling the personal story is the primary religion of most people on the planet. The personal story gets located in a body, a tribe, a nation, a religion, an ‘us.’ This is why the planet is constantly at war, and why you may be constantly at war with yourself. If you can recognize what your story is, then the story is conscious rather than unconscious. You can see what the story is, and you can choose to stop following it as if it were reality.

“The possibility is to recognize that all our stories, however complex and multilayered, however deeply implanted in our genetic structure, our only stories. The truth of who you are is not a story. The vastness and the closeness of that truth precedes all stories.”