The two men I know of named Eckhardt are definitely both Maestros. The other would be his namesake Eckhardt Tolle.
In this world of disasters, from wars to floods to overcrowding and poverty, I would be blind and selfish indeed if not grateful for food and shelter and peace and the opportunity for a life that has and continues to unfold in a predictable and rewarding way. Thanks to who- or whatever has made this possible for me. Don't know why I'm so blessed, but I'll take it.
Grateful for a long nap after a restless night, and for the opportunity to take one. Grateful for the moderately warm sunny day, albeit a bit concerned about the recent lack of rain. Grateful that the Great Lakes don't have hurricanes.
I don't acknowledge enough how grateful I am for this site, for the way it works, for the scope of topics and responses, and most of all for the supportive and interesting community. Grateful to have electricity and food and all the features of modern life. Grateful to still be here, in this incarnation (whether it's the only one is really anyone's guess).
As I prepare to head out for an echocardiogram of my heart, I find myself grateful to have access to sound medical care (if it turns out I need it) and the resources to pay for it (within reason); I'm also grateful for the privilege of waking up today sound and content; and am so grateful that I don't have to worry about where the next meal is coming from, or whether I need to eat or pay for medications.
Went for a nice long walk in the woods, watched the sunrise, came home and had a nice breakfast. All feels as it should be. Grateful that I was here for it.
Struggling with chapter 3 of my ninth book. But grateful that, after many years of struggling with finding work, I'm finally financially secure enough that I can take the time to write.
Kind of a backward form of gratitude, but . . . My now-adult son was born with some unidentified syndrome that has resulted in various physical and cognitive issues, which has meant contact for us with numerous specialists and clinics over the years, but, besides being grateful for the resources we have found, I have also experienced this, regarding every clinic we have visited: there have always been many patients with far more complex and serious variants of the conditions he has. So every visit has resulted in the feeling, "it could have been much worse." I thought again of this the other day when I picked up his shoes after they'd had a lift put into one, and I saw, among others, a young woman on a gurney being brought in for rehab services, and saw the empty smile on her face, and the tentative, tired, sad, and still hopeful expression on her mother's face. I felt great empathy for them, but also a selfish gratitude for my son and I, that we are not dealing with the worst that could be.
Your experience speaks to mine with my husband. He faced a lot of challenges with his MS, but he never lost his gratitude for what he had. He never complained, no matter what latest ability he lost, no matter the pain and frustration. He used to say, 'There are a lot of people worse off than me." His grace and sense of peace with the conditions in his life inspire me still. I feel so incredibly grateful that I had him in my life.
I'm sure he felt the same about you. Many years ago, a friend told be about being grateful everyday. I never really understood what they meant yet as time passed and life taught me harsh lessons, I began to see. I am very grateful to have writing, having a medium to find solace and visit characters who be calms me. Writing makes me be a better person. My writing journey has been quite torturous with many disappointments and hurt but I find this lonely walk not so alone. There are some wonderful people who have stayed in touch, supporting me with kind words so I can try and fulfill this ridiculous dream of mine. And I'll get there. For I do not wish to let them down.
Grateful for my health, for sunshine and rain. For old friends and new ones. And for re-discovering my joy within.
Grateful for the mellow focus music coming through my earphones, and for the gentle background tumult of coffee-shop voices my earphones are masking. And for the opportunity and ability to have spent an hour at the gym without undue strain or pain but simply a useful workout. For yesterday's seasonal snow spatters and for the warmer temps that melted it away. For the little girl standing there with her mother awaiting a cookie, and even for the twinges of remorse and loss that my own little girls are long grown and no longer needing to hold my hand. Grateful for the flow of time and for memories.
@GrahamLewis that was beautiful. Grateful for a glass of water, the liquid of life. And for the health I still keep. Grateful for the inside warmth of a winter day.
As my day winds down (yes, my day winds down around 5 pm) – I am thankful for another wonderful day. I went to our community pool this morning and kept my arms and legs moving in my usual exercises in the heated water and there is always someone there to talk to. This morning, I conversed with Eileen. She was born in the UK and she’s into healthy living. She gave me quite a lot of information this morning about the dangers of titanium dioxide as a food additive. After that, I stopped in on my late husband’s mother to check up on her. She doesn’t really get around anymore. Can’t cook, nothing. But she is always so happy to see me. I reminded her, if you ever need anything, do not hesitate to call me. Then I went to see my mother. She goes for a wash and set to the hairdresser’s every Friday. But the hairdresser was closed yesterday! So, I told her, “I’ll do your hair, Ma.” So that’s what I did, and then she, I, and my brother had lunch together. A super-delicious soup my brother made. Gosh, I love that rosemary flavour. Got home around 2:30 and then my other brother came over with his two dogs and we sat on the patio and played Scrabble. I love the chillier temperatures. And winning at Scrabble, which I did. For some reason, my brother always gets a rack of vowels. Simple days, simple pleasures.
What a lovely read @Louanne Learning Your mention of food and the addictive reminds me of my cooking days and the nastiness of processed food. To all, never buy frozen cooked meats... they are not good for you. They contain E numbers which makes the meat last longer stay 'fresher' and people view this as a sign of 'quality.' It's not. I have no idea what these stuff do to the body but I know their use is prevalent in these meats. Buy fresh. Your words tickle's memories for me Louanne. Maybe it is the mention of your UK born friend, food or the story of visiting your mother-in-law, it sparkled memories of mine. Every Thursday I would drive to my grandma's house. She had lost granddad and she couldn't drive and spent a lot of time walking around her village, a lot of times by herself. Dad would cook her some really lovely food; lobsters, pork bellies in rich sauces, beef stew... packed into small portions every week for me to take over. I would sit and we'd talk a little bit, Dad telling me not to rush back to work, even though it was open time and I know the shop could get really busy, but I sat with grandma and let her talk. She passed away many years now, she passed away in her sleep, suffered no pain the doctor told my uncle and I sad but happy to have had some time with her. A little time after, my uncle came to me to say thank you. They sold my grandparent's house and obviously collected and sold some of their belongings, but they found a diary she had kept. He said that she wrote a lot about my very brief visits to her, that I brought food (which she never ate but stored in the freezers) and that she enjoyed them. It made me very proud of myself for once. So thank you for reminding me of this story, Louanne. It's a little past 6am here in England, and it's a nice way to start the day.
In my Instagram feed this morning was a comparison of Fruit Loops in the US vs. Canada. Apparently, in the US they use artificial food dyes, but in Canada they use fruit juices. You're welcome, and thank you for sharing yours!
A bit of Captain Obvious to express gratitude on Thanksgiving Day, but then sometimes the obvious is important. Today I realized -- and am grateful for -- the fact that I have been blessed with a comfortable and safe life in a world filled with tumult and deprivation, and for the fact that someone or something somewhere, or perhaps dumb luck, has supported me throughout my lifetime of bad choices, scorned opportunities, and all sorts of possibly bad consequences. I've had some challenges, many self-imposed, but have nonetheless lived out a life that, for so many people in the world, would be an impossible dream. The hardest part is realizing that all of this is temporal and temporary, so I want to do my best to appreciate what I have when I have it, and, when the time comes, to let it go with my blessing. And blessings to all of you.
"Here is an unspeakable secret: paradise is all around us and we do not understand. It is wide open. . . . 'Wisdom,' cries the dawn deacon, but we do not attend." Thomas Merton.
Grateful to walk down the hallway through the dark dawn to the thermostat and turn it up from 64 to 68 (that's Fahrenheit to my "foreign" friends) to take off the chill, while the outside is snow-skiffed and well below freezing. Then to open the 'frig' and figure out what to choose for breakfast, not merely hoping there will be something there. Then going to the relatively warm garage to get into the so-far reliable Subaru and driving through the waking city as the sun rises, the sky filled with wispy clouds and clouds of steam from heating plants that let the city work. Minor miracles and blessings all, luxuries so many people lack. thank you.
Grateful that I can sit cross-legged in meditation (with a bolster and cushion), grateful that I have the time and place to meditate, grateful for what life has been, the "good," the "bad" and the equanimity to handle both.
Grateful to be a comfortable 68 degrees F inside, while it's -1 F outside. To be up and around under my own power. To still be young enough to learn.
