No Man Is An Island

It's fascinating to think that all over the world there are 'pockets' of people who devote themselves to following their own spiritual paths and sending out messages of peace and harmony. From the African, Native American Indian, and Aboriginal peoples, following the paths of their ancestors, to the monasteries of Asian Buddhists and the European communities from Taize and Lourdes to the witches of Glastonbury - people, following different routes all seem to come from the same Source and to the same experiences. The mystics of all faiths and all ages say the same thing - whether they follow Tarot, Tantra, Christianity, Hinduism, Judaism, Islam, Paganism or any other faith - the true mystics speak only of what comes from within, not without. These people are the ones, I am sure, who are far better equipped to see us through the changing times than all the politicians who come and go, spouting and speaking and saying nothing. The silent ones speak so clearly. In their silence they speak of the unity of people in way that is very different from socialism or communism or control. The noise of politicians is a cacophony. The silence of those following the paths of ancestors or their own hearts, is the music of the spheres, that unites everything. The superficiality of noisy speeches and telling other people they somehow need someone else to take control, is so meaningless, like the Tower of Babel. And yet, we all live in the same world, with the cacophony and with the beauty; with the grabbing and with the giving; with the frightened people telling us to be afraid, and the truly unafraid telling no one to do anything because they trust what we all know in our hearts anyway. And, we're all in it together, and the whole working out of it all is beautiful! In the spiritual places, it's all so obvious that no one is denied; no one is outcast and there is absolutely nothing to fear.

To quote John Donne: No Man Is An Island - and everyone, therefore, is vital to the whole works!
No man is an island, entire of itself
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main
if a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were
any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind
and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls
it tolls for thee.