Daily Meditation: Bliss

Antonia Blumberg

We all need help maintaining our personal spiritual practice. We hope that these Daily Meditations, prayers and mindful awareness exercises can be part of bringing spirituality alive in your life.

Today’s meditation features a song by composer Silvia Nakkach. “Bliss” is a hypnotic invocation that beckons us into a relaxing meditation. Defined as a state of perfect and utter happiness, bliss might seem almost unattainable. But in a deep meditation, perhaps, we can glimpse its sparkling shores.

Also on HuffPost

Living Without Fear

Where The Mind Is Without Fear by Rabindranath Tagore Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high Where knowledge is free Where the world has not been broken up into fragments By narrow domestic walls Where words come out from the depth of truth Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit Where the mind is led forward by thee Into ever-widening thought and action Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Awakening The Heart

by Hildegard of Bingen Holy Spirit, Giving life to all life, Moving all creatures, Root of all things, Washing them clean, Wiping out their mistakes, Healing their wounds, You are our true life, Luminous, wonderful, Awakening the heart from its ancient sleep.
by Hildegard of Bingen Holy Spirit, Giving life to all life, Moving all creatures, Root of all things, Washing them clean, Wiping out their mistakes, Healing their wounds, You are our true life, Luminous, wonderful, Awakening the heart from its ancient sleep.

Dare To Be Happy

<strong>Morning Poem by Mary Oliver</strong> Every morning the world is created. Under the orange sticks of the sun the heaped ashes of the night turn into leaves again and fasten themselves to the high branches --- and the ponds appear like black cloth on which are painted islands of summer lilies. If it is your nature to be happy you will swim away along the soft trails for hours, your imagination alighting everywhere. And if your spirit carries within it the thorn that is heavier than lead --- if it's all you can do to keep on trudging --- there is still somewhere deep within you a beast shouting that the earth is exactly what it wanted --- each pond with its blazing lilies is a prayer heard and answered lavishly, every morning, whether or not you have ever dared to be happy, whether or not you have ever dared to pray.

Make Your Own Road

There Is No Road by Antonio Machado Traveler, your footprints are the only road, nothing else. Traveler, there is no road; you make your own path as you walk. As you walk, you make your own road, and when you look back you see the path you will never travel again. Traveler, there is no road only a ship's wake on the sea.
There Is No Road by Antonio Machado Traveler, your footprints are the only road, nothing else. Traveler, there is no road; you make your own path as you walk. As you walk, you make your own road, and when you look back you see the path you will never travel again. Traveler, there is no road only a ship's wake on the sea.

Praying For Peace

May there be peace in the higher regions; May there be peace in the firmament; May there be peace on earth. May the waters flow peacefully; May the herbs and plants grow peacefully; May all the divine powers bring unto us peace. The supreme Lord is peace. May we all be in peace, peace, and only peace; And may that peace come unto each of us. Shanti, shanti, shanti! --From The Little Book of Prayers

The Road Goes On And On

The Old Walking Song by J.R.R. Tolkien The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way, Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say.
The Old Walking Song by J.R.R. Tolkien The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way, Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say.

Blessed Are The Meek

<strong>The Beatitudes (Matthew 5:3-12) </strong> Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the land. Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the clean of heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you [falsely] because of me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven. Thus they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

The True Wonder Of This World

A Brave and Startling Truth by Maya Angelou We, this people, on a small and lonely planet Traveling through casual space Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns To a destination where all signs tell us It is possible and imperative that we learn A brave and startling truth And when we come to it To the day of peacemaking When we release our fingers From fists of hostility And allow the pure air to cool our palms When we come to it When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean When battlefields and coliseum No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters Up with the bruised and bloody grass To lie in identical plots in foreign soil When the rapacious storming of the churches The screaming racket in the temples have ceased When the pennants are waving gaily When the banners of the world tremble Stoutly in the good, clean breeze When we come to it When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders And children dress their dolls in flags of truce When land mines of death have been removed And the aged can walk into evenings of peace When religious ritual is not perfumed By the incense of burning flesh And childhood dreams are not kicked awake By nightmares of abuse When we come to it Then we will confess that not the Pyramids With their stones set in mysterious perfection Nor the Gardens of Babylon Hanging as eternal beauty In our collective memory Not the Grand Canyon Kindled into delicious color By Western sunsets Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji Stretching to the Rising Sun Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor, Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores These are not the only wonders of the world When we come to it We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace We, this people on this mote of matter In whose mouths abide cankerous words Which challenge our very existence Yet out of those same mouths Come songs of such exquisite sweetness That the heart falters in its labor And the body is quieted into awe We, this people, on this small and drifting planet Whose hands can strike with such abandon That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness That the haughty neck is happy to bow And the proud back is glad to bend Out of such chaos, of such contradiction We learn that we are neither devils nor divines When we come to it We, this people, on this wayward, floating body Created on this earth, of this earth Have the power to fashion for this earth A climate where every man and every woman Can live freely without sanctimonious piety Without crippling fear When we come to it We must confess that we are the possible We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world That is when, and only when We come to it.

Opening Our Eyes

The Opening of Eyes by David Whyte That day I saw beneath dark clouds the passing light over the water and I heard the voice of the world speak out, I knew then, as I had before life is no passing memory of what has been nor the remaining pages in a great book waiting to be read. It is the opening of eyes long closed. It is the vision of far off things seen for the silence they hold. It is the heart after years of secret conversing speaking out loud in the clear air. It is Moses in the desert fallen to his knees before the lit bush. It is the man throwing away his shoes as if to enter heaven and finding himself astonished, opened at last, fallen in love with solid ground.

Blessing Our Food

The food which we are about to eat Is Earth, Water, and Sun, compounded through the alchemy of many plants. Therefore Earth, Water and Sun will become part of us. This food is also the fruit of the labor of many. We are grateful for it. May it give us strength, health, joy. And may it increase our love. -Unitarian prayer
The food which we are about to eat Is Earth, Water, and Sun, compounded through the alchemy of many plants. Therefore Earth, Water and Sun will become part of us. This food is also the fruit of the labor of many. We are grateful for it. May it give us strength, health, joy. And may it increase our love. -Unitarian prayer

Rest Awhile

<strong>Come, Rest Awhile by Lucy Maud Montgomery </strong> Come, rest awhile, and let us idly stray In glimmering valleys, cool and far away. Come from the greedy mart, the troubled street, And listen to the music, faint and sweet, That echoes ever to a listening ear, Unheard by those who will not pause to hear– The wayward chimes of memory's pensive bells, Wind-blown o'er misty hills and curtained dells. One step aside and dewy buds unclose The sweetness of the violet and the rose; Song and romance still linger in the green, Emblossomed ways by you so seldom seen, And near at hand, would you but see them, lie All lovely things beloved in days gone by. You have forgotten what it is to smile In your too busy life–come, rest awhile.

The Captain of Your Soul

<strong>Invictus by William Ernest Henley </strong> Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.

Play In The Rain

<strong>During Wind and Rain by Thomas Hardy </strong> They sing their dearest songs— He, she, all of them—yea, Treble and tenor and bass, And one to play; With the candles mooning each face. . . . Ah, no; the years O! How the sick leaves reel down in throngs! They clear the creeping moss— Elders and juniors—aye, Making the pathways neat And the garden gay; And they build a shady seat. . . . Ah, no; the years, the years, See, the white storm-birds wing across. They are blithely breakfasting all— Men and maidens—yea, Under the summer tree, With a glimpse of the bay, While pet fowl come to the knee. . . . Ah, no; the years O! And the rotten rose is ript from the wall. They change to a high new house, He, she, all of them—aye, Clocks and carpets and chairs On the lawn all day, And brightest things that are theirs. . . . Ah, no; the years, the years Down their carved names the rain-drop ploughs.

I Am Eternal

<strong>Behind Me — dips Eternity by Emily Dickinson </strong> Behind Me — dips Eternity – Before Me — Immortality – Myself — the Term between – Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray, Dissolving into Dawn away, Before the West begin – ‘Tis Kingdoms — afterward — they say – In perfect — pauseless Monarchy – Whose Prince — is Son of None – Himself — His Dateless Dynasty – Himself — Himself diversify – In Duplicate divine – ‘Tis Miracle before Me — then – ‘Tis Miracle behind — between – A Crescent in the Sea – With Midnight to the North of Her – And Midnight to the South of Her – And Maelstrom — in the Sky –

Marching On

<strong>My Soul is Marching On! by Yogananda </strong> The shining stars are sunk in darkness deep, The weary sun is dead at night, The moon’s soft smile doth fade anon; But still my soul is marching on! The grinding wheel of time hath crushed Full many a life of moon and star, And many a brightly smiling morn; But still my soul is marching on! The flowers bloomed, then hid in gloom, The bounty of the trees did cease; Colossal men have come and gone, But still my soul is marching on! The aeons one by one are flying, My arrows one by one are gone; Dimly, slowly, life is fading, But still my soul is marching on! Darkness, death, and failures vied; To block my path they fiercely tried. My fight with jealous Nature’s strong, But still my soul is marching on!

Worshipping In Nature

The Worship of Nature by John Greenleaf Whittier The harp at Nature’s advent strung Has never ceased to play; The song the stars of morning sung Has never died away. And prayer is made, and praise is given, By all things near and far; The ocean looketh up to heaven, And mirrors every star. Its waves are kneeling on the strand, As kneels the human knee, Their white locks bowing to the sand, The priesthood of the sea! They pour their glittering treasures forth, Their gifts of pearl they bring, And all the listening hills of earth Take up the song they sing. The green earth sends its incense up From many a mountain shrine; From folded leaf and dewy cup She pours her sacred wine. The mists above the morning rills Rise white as wings of prayer; The altar-curtains of the hills Are sunset’s purple air. The winds with hymns of praise are loud, Or low with sobs of pain,— The thunder-organ of the cloud, The dropping tears of rain. With drooping head and branches crossed The twilight forest grieves, Or speaks with tongues of Pentecost From all its sunlit leaves. The blue sky is the temple’s arch, Its transept earth and air, The music of its starry march The chorus of a prayer. So Nature keeps the reverent frame With which her years began, And all her signs and voices shame The prayerless heart of man.

Serenity

The Serenity Prayer God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time; enjoying one moment at a time; accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will; that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him forever in the next. Amen.

Love HuffPost? Become a founding member of HuffPost Plus today.

This article originally appeared on HuffPost.