Jet Mariano

Tag: stillness

  • “Nobody gets too much heaven no more…”

    Autumn fire on the mountain after rain; an open doorway, wet boards, and a single chair facing the clearing light.

    Open door, lone chair, autumn mountain—proof that heaven isn’t scarce; it’s waiting to be noticed.

    Opening
    Some days heaven feels scarce—like peace is on allocation. We queue in long lines of noise and hurry, wondering if there will be any light left for us.

    The scene
    An empty chair by an open door says welcome without a word. The storm has rinsed the world clean; the mountain answers with color. See the chair—waiting in line. “Nobody gets too much heaven no more.” The Bee Gees were in my headphones when I made this image. It can feel harder to find, like we’re all waiting our turn.

    Reflection
    Their song dreams big: life that sees beyond forever, love that never dies, a warmth that turns the whole world into a summer day—and the fear that such love is only a dream that fades. I know that ache. Yet the doorway answers with abundance. Grace is already spilling through the threshold; the queue forms only in my mind. The chair is enough. The view is enough. God is not withholding; I’m just learning to notice.

    Scripture echo
    “Be still, and know that I am God.” —Psalm 46:10

    Practice
    Open one door in your day—fewer tabs, slower breath, a real chair by a real window. Sit long enough for the clouds to move.

    Final reflection
    The chorus says love is mountain-high and hard to climb. Looking out, I see the mountain—and I remember: in Christ, the climb is companionship more than conquest. Scarcity is loud; heaven is quiet. When I stop hustling for a place in line, I find I’ve been standing at an open door the whole time.

    Pocket I’m keeping
    A chair by an open door is enough. Summer arrives in the heart that makes room.

    What I hear now
    A gentle nudge: You don’t earn heaven; you notice it. Love doesn’t fade when you sit in the light.

    Credit
    Inspired by “Too Much Heaven” (Bee Gees). Brief lyric quoted; the rest paraphrased with love.

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  • Marked in Time — Be Still, and Know That I Am God

    Night photo of the Salt Lake Temple mirrored perfectly in a still reflection pool, symbolizing inner spiritual stillness and a life founded on Christ.

    Excerpt
    Be still—and know.

    Intro
    A journalist walked from a celestial room and whispered, “I didn’t know stillness like that existed.” Elder Bednar invites us past outer quiet into inner spiritual stillness—the kind that fixes our hearts on the Father and the Son, even as life stays loud.

    Notes from the Message

    • “Be still” is more than not moving; it’s remembering and relying on Jesus Christ in all times, things, and places.
    • Build on the Rock: Christ isn’t merely beneath us; we fasten our foundation to Him. Covenants and ordinances are the anchor pins and steel rods that tie our souls to bedrock.
    • Sacred time & holy places—Sabbath, temple, and home—train the soul in stillness and covenant focus.
    • As covenants deepen, virtue garnishes thought, confidence before God grows, the Holy Ghost becomes a constant companion—we become grounded, rooted, established, settled.

    Perspective (direct lines & scriptures)
    “Be still, and know that I am God.”
    “Remember, remember… build your foundation upon the rock of our Redeemer.” (Helaman 5:12)
    “Hope… maketh an anchor to the souls of men.” (Ether 12:4)

    Practice (today, not someday)

    • Give God sacred time: one unhurried Sabbath moment, one honest sacrament prayer, one temple appointment on the calendar.
    • Make home a holy place tonight: turn down the noise, turn up gratitude, read one covenant promise.
    • Re-anchor: Grounded • Rooted • Established • Settled.

    Final Reflection
    Foundations don’t hold by accident; they hold because they’re tied to the Rock. In a whirlwind world, covenant connection creates interior calm—the stillness where we know and remember: God is our Father; we are His children; Jesus is our Savior. From that stillness, we can do and overcome hard things.

    Pocket I’m Keeping
    Covenants are my anchor pins; Christ is my bedrock.

    What I Hear Now
    Be still—build on Him—do not fall.

    Link of the talk: Elder David A. Bednar — “Be Still, and Know That I Am God” (April 2024 General Conference)

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

  • Today or Tomorrow, Now or Then, Endure to the End

    I become what I will — not by gift, not by chance,
    but like this still house on the prairie, rooted by water, framed by sky —
    I endure. I reflect. Today or tomorrow, now or then.

    Intro Paragraph (Why this poem?)

    There are things I rarely speak, not because they don’t matter — but because they do. Some stories are too sacred to explain plainly. I’ve carried burdens for decades — for family, for faith, and sometimes for people who never knew. This poem is not a confession. It’s a quiet map of where I’ve been and what it cost me to endure. If you’ve ever sacrificed in silence, this is for you.

    Today or Tomorrow, Now or Then, Endure to the End

    by Jet Mariano

    I become what I will—
    not by gift,
    not by chance.

    They said it was for the dream.
    But I never dreamed of this.

    Not the hauling at midnight,
    the cold linoleum behind the receiving dock

    but never my name.

    I didn’t come with love in hand—
    I came with a debt to pay.
    To rescue a soul,
    and carry a family
    across a sea of impossibilities.

    A job at USC
    became a cure for my father,
    a lifeline for my family,
    a bridge for my siblings
    to find homes I would never live in.

    And still, I smiled.

    Though phone jobs stripped my voice,
    while I studied with red eyes and calloused faith,
    and slept beside hopelessness

    They think I’m quiet now.
    They don’t know I’ve just spoken enough pain
    for a hundred lifetimes.

    I write it in playlists
    that no one plays but me.
    I express it in photographs I create—
    where silence can finally breathe.

    I date it in the margins of scripture
    where no one else will read.

    Let them think I’ve always been composed.
    Let them think the IT job made me.
    I know what made me:

    A God who watched me
    hauling furniture in Burbank
    and still whispered,
    “You are mine.”

    Today or tomorrow,
    now or then,
    endure to the end.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

  • 10 Miles, No Words: Finding Presence in Central Park

    Ten-mile brisk walk through Central Park — where nature, stillness, and self-reflection became my true companions.

    I woke up this morning and decided to let my legs speak what words could not.

    Ten miles. No playlist. No podcasts. Just brisk steps and the sounds of the city softening into the sanctuary of trees.

    I didn’t run. I didn’t race. I just walked — steady, aware, breathing.

    The path didn’t judge me.
    The trees didn’t interrupt.

    As Eckhart Tolle once said, “If you’re not sure what presence feels like, go sit with a tree.”

    Central Park became my temple. Every bench a pew. Every branch a sermon.

    Along the way, Gemini struck again — not as a glitch, but as another whisper from life reminding me that meaning comes in pauses.

    No headlines. No hashtags. Just me, the pavement, the pulse of New York, and the quiet company of creation.

    I came back lighter — not because I burned calories, but because I burned doubt.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

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