I know nothing about octopuses; although I just learned it is not octopi – who knew?
Another interesting fact is that I’ve been carrying around a horoscope I clipped from a newspaper. I don’t know how long I’ve had it—probably less than a year—but I’ve kept it tucked in my purse because it made me smile. It reads:
“Octopuses have three hearts, each with a different function. Every one of their eight limbs contains a mini-brain, giving them nine in total. Is there any doubt, then, that they are the patron creature for you Pisceans?…”
Now you can pooh-pooh astrology if you want; the point isn’t the horoscope but the feeling it sparked. Something about it delighted me. It woke up a tiny spark of wonder—like the soft tap of Spirit saying, See? There’s more magic here than you remember.
In Atlas of the Heart, Brené Brown reminds us, “Awe and wonder are essential to the human experience. Both awe-inspiring events and experiences that leave us filled with wonder often make us feel small compared to our expansive universe. Small, but connected to each other and to the largeness itself.”
Life is interesting. As children, we swim in awe and wonder like fish in water. Our whole lives are one big “Wow!” The world is enormous and surprising. But somewhere along the way—between deadlines, responsibilities, appointments, and trying to appear like we have it all together—many of us slowly lose that shimmer. We trade wonder for routine. We replace awe with efficiency. Yes, every now and then something startles us back into amazement, but mostly we function from a place of “been there, done that.”
It has taken me time, intention, and a gentle softening to find my way back to looking with the eyes of a child. Now I notice things that used to slide right past me.
I’ve been alive 26,936 days. That’s 26,936 sunrises and sunsets. Granted, I live in Washington where we don’t always see them—but they happen whether we notice or not. And I wonder: How many of them did I miss simply because I didn’t stop long enough to look?
I have a friend who goes outside on her patio every single morning specifically to greet the sunrise. She treats it like a sacred appointment. Something about that devotion inspires me.
These may seem like little things, but they are FREE gifts from the Divine. No subscription. No password. No membership required. Just grace—offered new every morning.
Now I pause to watch deer grazing in the yard, or a squirrel streak across the fence carrying… well, something important to him. I notice the miracle that’s woven into the ordinary. These gifts don’t care how old we are, what we believe, or what mistakes we’ve made. They simply ask us to pay attention.
And in the grand scheme of things, does it really matter how many Facebook friends we have? Or how well our favorite team is doing? Isn’t it far more nourishing to play shuffleboard bowling (yes, it’s a thing—I’ve witnessed it!) with the friends standing right in front of you? To wander through town in search of the best ice cream? To let yourself play again?
Because here’s what I’m learning:
When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to grow up.
And now—after all these days, all these sunrises, all these missed and rediscovered moments—I’m learning to be a kid all over again.
To wonder.
To notice.
To laugh.
To be delighted for no reason at all.
To remember that the Divine hides in plain sight.
Maybe that’s the real wisdom of the octopus: nine brains, three hearts, and zero hesitation when it comes to exploring life’s mysteries.
If they can manage that, surely I can manage one more sunrise.
I'm hosting a Gratitude Circle tonight on Zoom. If you don't have plans please join us. Blessings Rev. Gayle
I had no idea what “kith” meant, so I figured I should start there—because I bet I’m not alone.
Lyanda Lynn Haupt, in Rooted: Life at the Crossroads of Science, Nature, and Spirit, writes:
“Where kin are relations of kind, kith is relationship based on knowledge of place—the close landscape, ‘one’s square mile,’ where each tree and neighbor and robin and fox and stone is known, not by map or guide but by heart. Kith is intimacy with a place, its landmarks, its fragrance, the habits of its wildlings. Kithship enlivens kinship.” ~pp. 25–26 (Kindle Edition)
It’s a fascinating concept, especially now that my life is lived between two “kiths.” I spend 10–12 days each month in the Wood River Valley of Idaho—what many people know simply as Sun Valley—and the rest of my time in my new home of Bellingham, Washington. Both are stunningly beautiful, and both offer something very different to the heart.
My Kith of Bellingham
If you’ve never been to Washington—or Bellingham, for that matter—let me share a bit of the landscape that lives inside me. Bellingham sits at sea level and yes, Western Washington earns its reputation for rain. That rain is why everything is so green, so lush, so alive. Because we are further north (only 21 miles from the Canadian border!), winter brings more snow and crisp air.
We are a land of water—lakes, rivers, streams—and the city itself opens into Bellingham Bay at the northern edge of Puget Sound. Washington has five major volcanoes, and I have always lived near one. Right now, I’m only 27 miles from Mt. Baker.
My neighborhood has deer, squirrels, and occasionally a black bear who wanders through like he owns the place. (And honestly, he probably thinks he does.)
My Kith of the Wood River Valley
My kith in the Valley is new; my first visit was in May—and yes, it snowed that weekend. The average altitude is about 5,500 feet, depending on where you stand. The Valley is made up of four towns—Bellevue, Hailey, Ketchum, and Sun Valley—each with its own charm.
I love the Aspen trees. In fall they turn brilliant reds and yellows, and when the wind moves through them, they “quack.” It’s a sound that goes straight to the soul.
And the elk—oh my goodness, the elk. Herds of them. They sit at the roadside during evening traffic, waiting patiently for cars to thin so they can cross to where they sleep for the night. The speed limit is lowered at dusk—nobody wants to meet an elk at 55 mph.
I’ve become quite enchanted with the Magpies, too. Maybe that would change if I lived there full-time, but for now they feel magical and beautiful.
And then there is Light on the Mountains. The first time I saw it, I literally stopped the car. It takes your breath away.
Kith, Kin, and Science of Mind
So what does any of this have to do with the teachings of Science of Mind?
In our Declaration of Principles, Ernest Holmes writes:
“We believe in God, the Living Spirit Almighty; one, indestructible, absolute, and self-existent Cause. This One manifests Itself in and through all creation, but is not absorbed by Its creation.
The manifest universe is the body of God; it is the logical and necessary outcome of the infinite self-knowingness of God.”
I look at my life in two sections: before discovering the Science of Mind teachings and after. One of the greatest differences is my awareness—my connection to my “kith,” the place where I stand in the moment, and my connection to my “kin,” which for me is all humanity.
It is important to remember we are all connected energetically. I’m not always fond of that idea—and yet I know it’s true, because I believe “the manifest universe is the body of God.” Which means everything—every tree, every human, every elk, every raindrop—is Divine Intelligence expressing Itself in form.
And because of that truth, it matters what I think, how I feel, what I say, how I react. We are not isolated little islands; we are dominos in a vast field of consciousness.
So I’ll leave you with these questions:
What are your predominant thoughts today?
Are you noticing the beauty of the place you inhabit—your own kith?
Or are you complaining about the weather?
Are you offering grace to the people you encounter?
Or are you judging their appearance or behavior?
We are responsible for the reality we create. I may not always notice the beauty or feel the connection, and yet every single day, I am doing my best. And that’s all any of us can do—show up awake, aware, and willing to be part of the great weaving of kith, kin, and the Divine expressing as each of us.
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We’ve all heard the phrase, “Opinions are like… noses; everybody has one.” Our opinions are shaped by our individual experiences. They are our personal beliefs about things, and our beliefs are formulated over time based on our likes, dislikes, and perceptions.
When I was in sixth grade, I had an experience where I was ostracized by all the girls who had been my “friends.” The episode may have lasted only a few weeks, but in my memory it felt like months. From that experience, I created a belief that girls - women - could not be trusted. I believed I had to guard my feelings and emotions, because others might use them against me.
That belief became an opinion about people, based on something that really happened. The fact was, those girls did exclude me. The opinion was, “women can’t be trusted.”
Facts can be tricky. A fact is something that appears to be objectively verifiable - something measurable, observable, or commonly agreed upon. And yet, facts change. What was once considered factual in science, culture, or even in our own memories can shift as new information emerges.
Over time, I came to see that my sixth-grade experience was one small event, not a universal truth. I created new experiences (new “facts”) and discovered that women could, in fact, be some of the most loyal and loving friends imaginable.
In The New Thought Dictionary, Truth is defined as:
“In its universal sense, The Truth means God, Spirit, Reality; in a lesser sense, the word truth designates anything that is true – a psychological truth, a spiritual truth, a physical truth.”
And in The Basic Ideas of Science of Mind, Ernest Holmes reminds us:
“We need to keep clearly in mind the difference between a fact, something that is evident and concrete, and a truth, that which everlastingly is, whether we can see it or not.”
So, I had a very human experience (a fact) and created opinions based on those facts. Yet the Truth remains: God is over us, around us, through us, and as us. We experience our Divinity at the level of our consciousness.
As souls ever expanding, I wonder sometimes if humanity is still learning the same lessons, over and over. History repeats itself - not because Truth changes, but because we forget to apply it.
It’s said that the average American now consumes about 34 gigabytes of information a day. That’s an extraordinary amount of data to process! With so much information coming at us, discernment becomes a spiritual practice.
Discernment helps us ask: Is this information true or merely opinion? If it’s fact, what is it based on? Will it still be a fact six months from now? And it reminds us: It’s always okay to change your mind when you receive new facts. Change is the one constant of life on this earthly plane.
In the introduction to the 1938 edition of The Science of Mind, Ernest Holmes wrote:
“We are not bound by precedent. We are not slaves to any tradition. The revelation of Truth is not closed to the human mind. We are open to the influx of new thought, to the receptive awareness of new ideas.” He later condensed that to the phrase we know so well: “Open at the top.”
This doesn’t mean our philosophy changes; it means we are willing to look at new ways to apply Ancient Wisdom. When we do, we truly embody what it means to have a New Thought.
Rev Gayle
“But the person who goes deeply into [their] own nature will find that God speaks in a language more subtle than the human language, without a tongue, in that universal language of spiritual emotion which is instinctive in humanity, and in brute, and held in common by all civilization, by all creation, by all people who have lived—the universal language of emotion, sense, feeling, intuition, instinct. Sometimes we call it conscience, sometimes we call it a hunch, sometimes we call it a vision, a dream. It makes no difference what we call it. It is a direct revelation of Omniscience through us.” ~Ernest Holmes, Can We Talk to God?, p. 11.4
I sometimes forget the sage wisdom of Ernest Holmes until I stumble upon a passage like this—something I may have read before but somehow missed. His words are both mystical and deeply practical.
Reading this again today, I realized I had no memory of the quote. And yet, it feels brand new and achingly familiar at the same time. That’s the beauty of spiritual growth: we meet truth again and again, each time with new eyes, a new heart, a new awareness.
Holmes reminds us that beneath the words, beneath the personalities and differences, there’s a shared language—the universal current of emotion, sense, feeling, intuition, and instinct. It’s the pulse of God expressing through all creation.
And maybe that’s what it means to love the unlikable—to look past the surface of behavior or belief and listen for the beneathness, that subtle divine language within every soul. When I pause long enough to hear it, judgment softens. Compassion rises. Love expands.
The practice, of course, is not always easy. It asks us to sit in discomfort, to breathe through irritation, to remember that every person—yes, even the ones who push our buttons—is an expression of the Infinite. To love the unlikable doesn’t mean to condone harm or ignore boundaries; it means we seek to understand the divine spark beneath the behavior. That’s the work of consciousness, and it’s the heart of spiritual maturity.
Today, I began a new journey of self-discovery—a 13-month mentorship program exploring multiple modalities of spirituality and healing. When asked what my intention was, I said, “To become an open channel for God; to be a safe space where others may discover their own divinity.” For me, it’s like jumping off the edge of my comfort zone and free-falling into the abyss, trusting that the universal language of the Divine will guide me as I build my net on the way down. That’s faith in action—the willingness to live from the beneathness, trusting the unseen currents of Spirit to hold and guide me.
That’s the invitation of “the beneathness”—to dwell in the depth where God still whispers, beyond words, beyond reason, beyond resistance.
Today, may we choose to listen beneath the noise and remember the universal language of Love.
