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The Path You’re Already Walking

The Path You’re Already Walking

There’s a question I’ve been asked countless times during retreats: “Where do I begin (or restart) my spiritual journey?” It usually comes from someone who appears a bit overwhelmed, as if they need to climb a mountain, learn ancient languages, or spend years in a monastery before they can even start.

My answer surprises them: “You’ve already started. In fact, you’re standing on the path right now.” They look around—sometimes literally—confused. We’re usually in an ordinary place: a retreat center dining hall, a garden path, even a parking lot. Nothing that looks particularly sacred or mystical.

“But I don’t feel spiritual,” they say. “I haven’t had a profound experience. I can barely find time to pray.”

This is exactly the problem. We’ve convinced ourselves that the spiritual life happens somewhere else—in special places, during designated times, through extraordinary experiences that most of us rarely have. We’re searching for God everywhere except the one place He’s guaranteed to be: right here, right now, in this moment that’s unfolding as we speak.

The spiritual path isn’t a destination you travel toward; it’s a way of seeing the journey you’re already on.

Consider this: You woke up this morning. That’s already a small miracle worth noticing. You breathed without thinking about it—thousands of tiny gifts of life flowing in and out of your body. You probably saw sunlight, heard birds, felt the texture of your coffee cup, and experienced the taste of your first sip. You may have touched someone you love, spoken words of care, or offered help to a neighbor. All of this—this ordinary Tuesday morning routine—is shot through with the sacred if you have eyes to see it. It is actually extraordinary.

The mystics knew this. They didn’t become holy by escaping the world but by seeing it clearly. Julian of Norwich found God in a hazelnut. Brother Lawrence discovered Christ while washing dishes. Francis of Assisi encountered the divine in a leper’s face.

What they understood is what we’ve forgotten: God doesn’t live at the end of our spiritual seeking; God lives in the middle of our actual lives.

This doesn’t mean everything that happens is pleasant or easy. Sacred noticing doesn’t eliminate suffering or struggle. But it does mean that even in difficulty, even in the mundane, even in the rush of everyday existence, there are doorways to transcendence if we slow down enough to walk through them.

The invitation isn’t always to add more spiritual practices to your already full life. It’s to discover the contemplative dimension that’s already there. To notice that your morning walk is already a pilgrimage. That your attention to a friend’s pain is already a form of prayer. That your wonder at a sunset is already mystical experience.

The path is under your feet. The sacred is in your hands. The divine is in your next breath.

What if, instead of waiting for your spiritual life to begin, you simply started paying attention to the life you’re already living? What if the journey toward God isn’t about going somewhere else but about awakening to where you are?

This is the journey I want to invite you into—not a journey away from your ordinary days but into the extraordinary heart of them. Not a path that requires you to become someone else but one that helps you see who you already are: a beloved soul walking through a world saturated with grace, if you have the eyes to see it.

The spiritual path around us isn’t hidden. We’re just moving too fast to notice it.

What would happen if you slowed down?

Reflection and photography Copyright 2025 Michael J. Cunningham OFS

This reflection captures the heart of “Awakening to the Spiritual Path Around Us“—a book about discovering the sacred journey that’s already unfolding in your everyday life. Sometimes the most profound spiritual practice is simply learning to see what’s been there all along. Contemplative Company will publish the book in the summer of 2025.

Posted on by Michael J. Cunningham

The Inward and the Outward

Meister Eckhart was a priest, mystic, and theologian in the late Thirteenth and Early Fourteenth Century. He was, as many preachers of his time, not always accepted by his peers and found himself the subject of the Church’s inquisition process. Today, many centuries later, his work is seen for the far-reaching insights which are perhaps even more relevant today. One of his many famous sermons focuses on the issue of “inward and outer work.” Here, he talks of the struggle we all can relate to, how do we resolve the conflict between the inner life and closeness to God, and our outer life and its relation to the world. 

In his own words: 

“Suppose a man should withdraw into himself with all his powers,

outward and inward, then when he is in that condition there is in him

no image or motive, and he is without any activity within or without.

Then he should well observe whether there is any inclination toward

anything. But if a man is not drawn to any work and does not want to

undertake anything, then he should force himself into some activity,

whether inward or outward (for a man should not be satisfied with

anything, however good it may seem or be) so that, when he finds

himself oppressed or constrained, it may appear rather that that man

is worked rather than that he works; thus he may learn to co-operate with

his God.”

So much of us have a segmented prayer life, times we allocate for dedicated prayer, and then the time when everything else fills the “prayer void.” What Meister Eckhart invites us to here is to remove “our agenda or our will” from the top of our activities. It is where our need for a result dominates the conversation, the work, the task, whatever that may be. This does not mean we remove our gifts and skills from the process, but instead we gradually erase a firm and thickly drawn line between our will and that of God. When Eckhart says “that man is worked, rather than he works”, we are gradually blending the two worlds of our outer and inner; then our soul becomes permeated with the will of God, as God “works us” rather than us trying to work Him. 

He also notes later in that sermon, 

“But if the outward work tends to destroy the inward, one should follow

the inward. But if both can be as one, that is best, then one is cooperating

with God.”

Following the inward also, funnily enough, is totally in line with scripture. Following the inward will always be basked in the warmth of love, and therefore leads us into the peace of Christ we all seek. Those who have it, or have felt it, know what a gift it is. 

And while Eckhart encourages us towards the inner, it is the world where our outer is most visible; at work, at home, in community, in leisure, while helping others or just being creative, we will feel the results. 

For Eckhart wants us to explore the God which we know is present in all. Eckhart invites us to ditch our ego and selfish agendas to ensure we stay in the room with Him forever. 

The Inward and the Outward 

Here I go again,

The agenda is on the billboard of my mind,

Some added in giant type, readable to all,

Others less so, needing eyeglasses to perceive. 

The dual nature of what dominates creates my to-do list for each moment,

Cluttering and countering the peace which fills the background,

Wanting to obscure and wash away my agenda.

Leaving no room for anything.

Save the work and peace which resides within. 

Reflection, image and poem Copyright 2025 Michael J. Cunningham OFS

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The Heart’s Wisdom

The Heart’s Wisdom in Difficult Moments

In the Christian contemplative tradition, a sacred space exists between reaction and response—a moment where wisdom emerges in the pause between our thoughts. This pause becomes our sanctuary of discernment when faced with persecution or intimidation.

The Dance of Grace and Truth

As spiritualbreak.com reminds us, harmony often emerges in the space between our breaths. This truth becomes especially vital when navigating challenging encounters. The key lies not in choosing between kindness and firmness, but in allowing both to flow from a heart aligned with Christ’s teachings.

The Power of Heart-Centered Response

Recent scientific discoveries have shown that the heart is more powerful than previously thought, but those of us walking in faith have always known this truth. When we respond from a heart centered in Christ’s love, we naturally find the balance between gentle strength and unwavering truth.

Consider these heart-centered approaches:

  1. Pause and Reflect
    Before responding to hostility, create that sacred space where wisdom dwells. Let your response emerge from a place of centered peace rather than reactive fear.
  2. Speak Truth with Open Hearts
    As we learn from spiritual wisdom, an opening of hearts is the only way to open a mind. When we speak truth from this place, we maintain our integrity and compassion.
  3. Leave a Positive Trace
    Every interaction leaves what we might call a spiritual trace—something that remains after our encounter with another. Choose to leave behind evidence of Christ’s love, even in difficult moments.

Living the Balance

The path of Christ-like response requires neither passive acceptance nor aggressive defense. Instead, it calls us to stand firmly in truth while remaining rooted in love. This might mean:

  • Setting clear boundaries with gentle determination
  • Speaking truth without attacking
  • Maintaining dignity without pride
  • Showing compassion without compromising principles

A Moment of Prayer

Divine Master, grant us the wisdom to recognize the space between stimulus and response as holy ground. Help us stand firm in Your truth while radiating Your love. May our responses to difficulty reflect Your perfect balance of grace and truth. Amen.

Remember: Our strength lies not in our ability to overpower others, but in our capacity to remain anchored in Christ’s love while standing firm in His truth. This is the way of transformative response—one that changes ourselves and, potentially, those who oppose us.

Posted on by Michael J. Cunningham

The Ripples of Being

The Ripples of Being

The Ripples of Being by Michael Cunningham

Here in the morning light, as traffic hums beyond the window and coffee drips into the pot, we might consider what the mystics knew: that emptiness teems with possibility. A man named Meister Eckhart once spoke of a desert within the divine, though he might just as well have been describing the space between heartbeats, between breaths, between the moment we reach for another person and the moment our fingers touch.

Sarah stands at her kitchen window, washing dishes. She doesn’t know – how could she? – that her small kindness yesterday (a dollar pressed into a homeless woman’s palm, along with a smile that said I see you) has already begun its journey through the world. The woman bought coffee and spoke to the barista with renewed dignity, who then carried that moment of grace home to her son.

We are, all of us, living in Julian of Norwich’s hazelnut. The entire universe contained in something so small you could close your fist around it. Scientists would later call this quantum entanglement, this way, everything touches everything else, but the mystics (like Julian) always knew. They understood how a prayer whispered in a desert cave might emerge as a song in a Manhattan apartment centuries later.

Look closely at your hands. Really look at them. Teresa of Avilia once said these were the only hands God had now – yours, mine, the barista’s, the homeless woman’s. Divine love wearing human skin, though we forget this most days, caught up in mortgage payments, grocery lists, and whether we remembered to feed the cat.

What would Thomas Merton say if he could see us now, each of us walking around “shining like the sun” while staring at our phones? We are more necessary than we imagine. More beautiful. Even now, as you read these words, something shifts in the universe. A quantum of consciousness changes state. A letter forms on the tongue of someone you’ll never meet in a language you don’t speak, carrying forward some essential part of you.

We live in a world of invisible threads. See how they glisten in the morning light, strung between buildings, between centuries, between hearts. Every act of kindness a stone dropped in still water, the ripples moving outward forever. Every moment of presence a seed planted in soil we cannot see.

Walk gently then, through your ordinary Tuesday. Let the mystics whisper their secrets in your ear: that nothing is truly separate, that love moves like light through the universe, that even your smallest gestures participate in the great dance of being. You’ll never know all the lives you’ve touched, all the stories you’ve entered. That’s part of the mystery too – this holy unknowing, this faithful continuing on.

Tonight, someone will dream a dream that began in the corner of your smile. Tomorrow, a child will find courage in the echo of your laughter. We are all just walking each other home, as Rumi said, though the path spirals through time and space in ways we cannot follow.

Remember this, as you finish your coffee, as you step out into the world: you are necessary. Your presence matters. The universe bends itself around your being in ways no equation can capture. Live with this awareness, if you can. Love with this generosity. Move through your days knowing that each moment ripples outward into infinity, carrying your light forward into futures you cannot imagine but somehow, mysteriously, help to create.

Copyright 2025 Michael J. Cunningham

Posted on by Michael J. Cunningham

On Becoming Love

On Becoming Love

We often use the term God is Love. Many scripture references will call this to our attention. Here is one that always touches my heart:

“We have recognized for ourselves, and put our faith in, the love God has for us. God is love, and whoever remains in love remains in God and God in him. “
1 John 4:16 – New Jerusalem Bible

This quote also points out something that always resonates with me: there is no daylight between God and Love, something which may of the Church’s doctors have pointed on their spiritual journeys.

John Duns Scotus (a Franciscan priest and theologian) made this clear in his teachings not long after the formation of the order. He preached that because of this knowledge, “God is love”, that it, therefore flows that we understand something in our own lives. “If it not of love, it is not from God.”

This straightforward phrase was revolutionary at the time. When many were preaching our faith based on fear and retribution if we did not follow the law, obscuring the primary facts and reasons for the Passion of Christ and its effect on our lives. That God (the Father) gave His Son to us as a gift. And this gift has remained with us always (Matthew 28:20). The gifts we use to make His love, expressed through us in the Body of Christ, came to us at Pentecost and we need to continue to exercise them with love always in the forefront of our thoughts, words and actions.

This is easier said than done. And so we struggle. However, the remembrance of “God is Love” and the fact that we are the instruments of His incarnation (we remain in Him as He remains in us) can keep us mindful of this love.

This coming week, I would suggest we can think of ourselves becoming love. The more we imbibe the love God gives us each day, each breath, each heartbeat, each morsel of food, each sip of water, all remind us of this love. All we need to do is exhale His love, walk His path, swallow His desires for us, and we can become aware of this love in a different way.

A way beyond gratitude, beyond requests, beyond thankfulness. It is how we exercise this love by letting it Go. Go out into the world. Go into our every thought. Go into the words we speak. Go into listening compassionately instead of judging.

Let us become love on our journey, as the love implanted grows and spills out in our lives.

On Becoming Love

I saw Him again today,

In the gratitude which I felt within,

Like a warm soup had flooded my interior,

On a cold winter day.

Peace, should not be a buzz,

But this time it was,

I could feel it in there,

Love spilling out inside me,

Uncontrollably,

I feel it in my arms,

My flushed face,

Warmly it ran down my legs,

Speechless, I say my silent thank you.

For this mystery. This grace.

So is this what it really is to love?

To feel the pain of a homeless person,

To see the smile on the face … who I smiled at for no other reason.

Than she was my sister.


To see the love in my family,

Expressed in so many unspoken ways,

And those who have become my family,

In a unity we seek but seldom talk of,

Of nations united. United as one.

One, single, state of belonging.

The Body of Christ.

So, now what to do.

This love is beyond understanding,

But I have knowledge of it now.

I don’t just feel it.

I am it.

Not because I own it.

But because it owns me.

Not because I say it,

But because I can only act through it.

Not because I preach it,

But because I carry it, carefully and humbly.

Not because.

It just is.

So, here it is.

My desire is met.

God is there.

I am there.


Waiting for more. And demanding nothing.