Whatever else my life is....it is also this dazzling darkness

Facing Death

2010-03-18T13:49:00.003-08:00

Have you ever been in a situation that you TRULY believed that there was a good chance that you were going to die? An accident or a diagnosis that caused you to really have to consider the fact that you might not only die, but die soon. I recently had such an experience and I have been paying attention to the what it has left in my mind, body and spirit.

We were on a trip over spring break and were flying into the bad storms that they were having on the east coast to land at the airport in Newark. The flight crew had warned us far in advance about the situation and told us to expect some turbulence. The flight was bumpy for much of the flight, but as we as we neared Newark it got really BAD. Someone came on the PA and told us that it was going to be a pretty rough ride but that they would have us on the ground soon. Then there was complete silence from the cockpit for the next 45 MINUTES (not SOON in my book) while the plane creaked and groaned and bucked and swayed. I REALLY thought that there was a possibility that I was going to die.

I’m going to say this again, I REALLY thought that I was staring death in the face. I know I’m being repetitive, but that part is very important, because I want to share my reaction to that thought and especially how I prayed during that time, or probably more accurately how I didn’t pray. Because, it helped me to become aware of something that I hadn’t realized before and it surprised me.

I never once prayed that I wouldn’t die or that we wouldn’t crash. Not once. And my kids were on the plane. You would think that I would have at least prayed that my kids wouldn’t die. The closest that I came was to say, “God, I really don’t want my kids to die.” Actually, the only way that I prayed was just to keep my heart open to whatever would be. To accept my death if it was to come. To accept the death of my husband and my kids if that was to come as well and to not give in to fear.

I did not get on that plane with some idea about how I would pray or react if I was faced with death. We all will always wonder how we will behave when that moment actually comes. I don’t possess some theology or dogma about not praying for my own safety. I know that some people don’t believe in asking for anything for themselves. That’s not me. I want and NEED God’s help and ask for whatever God is willing to give me.

Here’s what I now understand about why I didn’t pray to be saved. Because it would have been asking for myself to be excused from all of the suffering in the world. It would have been saying that it’s alright for God to let someone else die in a plane crash, die in an avalanche, have their whole family killed in an earthquake in Haiti, be kicked out on the street with no where to live, or live in constant fear of war, famine or starvation with no real way to protect your children, but I should be spared for some reason. In that moment, I was standing in solidarity with the people all over the world who were deeply suffering and who wouldn’t be spared.

While I didn’t feel that I should pray to be spared my own suffering, I do pray for all of those who suffer in the world and that God will use me as an instrument to help relieve their suffering. Not avoiding my own pain and fear is one of the ways that I pray.

When we have wept many tears and they flow like rivers

from our sad eyes

only then

does the deep hidden sigh of

our neighbor

become our own.

Julia Esquivel

Sacred Art

2010-03-16T14:05:00.002-08:00

While chatting with a friend recently the topic of having too many books to read and to choose from came up, a subject that is something that I have given a lot of thought to recently. I told her that I had blogged about it and could send her the link so that she could read some of my thoughts.

“Oh, blogs.” She said the word as if something nasty was stuck to her tongue, her body slumped forward with weariness and the corners of her mouth turned down. “I hate blogs. They are just one more thing to read.”

I, of course, understand that the amount of reading material that we have at our disposal is overwhelming and so understood her sentiment. However, my desire was to share something about what I was processing in my own life. And so I said, “Well, sometimes they are a good way to let people in your life know what you are processing on a deeper level. The kind of thing that you can’t or don’t necessarily share in regular conversation.”

“Well, if someone really wants to share something in their life why can’t they just call me or email me?” , she asked. I tried to explain again that I wasn’t necessarily suggesting that she needed to follow my blog, I just thought that she might be interested in this particular subject and I would email her that particular blog.

“Oh, no. I don’t even want to think about it. The whole blog thing is just so burdensome. It wearies me.”

To which I responded with a guilty little giggle, “I have a blog about that, too.”

I realized that I was feeling defensive and a little hurt, so I shut up. But, I have continued to ponder this interaction and to question why it felt hurtful to me. I can completely understand how emails, blogs, and Facebook, can be a complete time and energy drain. I absolutely support her choice. I more than support it. I encourage her not to read blogs, including my own, if it would burden her life.

I think that I am hurt because of the seeming lack of interest in how I view what I do here at my blog. This is one of my expressions in the world, my creativity, my art. How I offer a deeper piece of myself. And in my opinion, it’s not fluff and I don’t put something down here just for the sake of filling up a page or to entertain.

The blogs that I follow are full of beauty, grace and truth. Really. And if it feels otherwise, well, I stop following them.

I have to wonder if it would be different if I had said that I had a painting that I wanted her to look at or a piece of music that I wanted her to hear. We look at writing as if it is something that anyone can do. Most people do it in some form every single day and therefore we stop thinking about how writing is so full of imagination and creativity. We don’t think of it as art. And certainly a blog, which sounds almost exactly like the word blah couldn’t possibly be an artistic outlet. But, for me, everything that is a vehicle for beauty, grace and truth is art.

So, I want all of you to know that today, I am celebrating you as the fabulous sacred artists of life that you are.

What are the ways that you are a vehicle for beauty, grace and truth in the world? What is your means of creativity and expression that may be overlooked or not considered art? I would love to hear.

What do you see?

2010-02-27T07:37:00.003-09:00

When I was 10 years old, I was sitting beside an elderly friend of the family in a country church service. She looked toward the front of the church where a wooden sign displayed information about the morning’s attendance and offering amounts and then commented on what she saw there. I remember turning to her in amazement. “You can read that from here?”, I asked. She looked at me with concern. “ You mean you can’t?” “I can’t even tell there are numbers on that board”, I answered. Needless to say, I was in the optometrists chair within the next few days where it was found that my eye sight was very bad indeed. I marveled then and alsotoday about the fact that I had no idea that my vision was decreasing AND that every day I was seeing the world totally differently from all of the people around me. I assumed that everyone else saw exactly like me.

A few days ago I was listening to a political commentator speak about the huge importance of empathy and how it was invaluable for individuals, corporations and governments. She was proposing that our lack of empathy was so problematic that we needed to teach it in our schools. My jaw dropped, I hit the “pause” button on the Ipod and turned to my husband and kids who were riding in the car with me. “What!? Why in the world would we have to teach this in school? Don’t we all already know how to feel empathy? Isn’t it part of what it means to be human? Isn’t it hardwired into our make up?” Empathy has always been something that just moves inside of me and so I just thought that it came equally naturally to everyone else.

For me empathy means the ability to imagine the feelings and experiences of another. (And when I use the term imagine here I am referring to an emotional imagination, not just a vision in my head.) The dictionary on my computer actually says the ability to share or understand, but in my experience unless I have actually experienced the same situation, I can’t really share or understand their feelings. (Perhaps it’s just semantics.) Empathy means that I can look at a person or situation that is different socially, culturally, religiously, etc. etc. and still say, “Here is a person that is in some fundamental way very much like me. We are not so different.” I am identifying with their humanity.

So, help me see with different eyes. I know what I hope to be true and what I want to believe, but I would like to hear about what you all think the reality is of our relationship to empathy.

Pausing for Pain

2010-02-23T11:24:00.004-09:00

Recently, I helped facilitate a women’s retreat based on Macrina Wierderkehr’s book, Seven Sacred Pauses. Since then, the women who attended have been keeping in touch to encourage each other to find ways to gift ourselves with pauses in our busy lives. Even just reminding ourselves to breathe.

Having practiced yoga and meditation over the last few years, my breath and I have become pretty good friends My breath has become a faithful companion that often draws me into awareness of my body and parts of it which are tight, carrying tension, out of alignment, or in pain. I will recognize my stress, fears or anxiety if I follow my breath into my body. My breath also leads me back to my heart and my spirit where that simple inhale and exhale become a prayer of presence.

A few mornings ago, I had just finished my yoga routine. There was nothing unusual about it, same thing that I do every day. But then, as I was rolling up my yoga mat, my back and chest were suddenly seized up by an incredible spasm of pain. It felt as though it was effecting every muscle and bone in my thorax and the pain was so severe that I felt as though I could not take a breath in. Even the slightest movement was agony. I rolled onto my side and lay there as still as possible, taking only the shallowest of breaths. Boy, was I ever AWARE of my breath. Watching it in minute detail. Where it began and where it ended. Each one punctuated with pain. Still, my mind raced with questions about what I was going to do. I didn’t know how long it would go on. Should I call my husband in the other room and tell him that I couldn’t get up. (It was reminding me of a senior citizen commercial. Something about “help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up”. I did not want to do that.)

I thought about the fact that I was supposed to be doing my meditation, not rolling around on the floor in pain. Then I realized, the pain was my meditation. It was what I was going to get to pay attention to that day. And so I just tried to stay as present as I possibly could to the pain. I didn’t try to distract myself from it or try to relieve myself of it. I didn’t struggle against it. I tried to relax myself as much as possible and kept breathing.

Eventually, the extreme pain relented and I was able to take more regular breaths and then push myself up to sitting and then standing. Everything was painful that morning and most of the day, but in the midst of it I felt grateful. I was pretty sure that whatever it was wasn’t going to be permanent, and that my body was trying to right and heal itself. I know that there are millions and millions of people who live with pain every day. Physical pain, emotional and spiritual pain. I was being asked to pray with them through the pain in my own body.

I truly believe that if I had tried to ignore the pain or braced myself against it to keep it from happening, my body would have had a harder time finding its way back to its proper balance.

Is there any pain in your body today? In your mind or spirit? How might you be called to pause with your pain
today?

She lives her life both wide and deep....

2010-02-20T14:34:00.002-09:00

I received a sweet email today from Sunrise Sister commenting on my blogging absence and sending wishes that all is well in my world. I am not yet sure about proper blogging etiquette. I did not purposely decide to stop blogging altogether and yet day after day passed and then several weeks in which there has been complete silence at my blog. Should I have said, “I’m a little busy right now and you won’t be seeing or hearing much from me here”? Should I have said, “I’m taking a blogger break”? I don’t know why it should surprise me that people notice when I am gone, I certainly notice when many of you haven’t posted in a while.

As much as I love blogging and taking part in the blogging community, I have found myself to be scattered in both mind and spirit, pulled in many different directions. The way that I have interacted in the blogging world was contributing to that. I have been on a spiritual journey long enough to know that life is constantly changing both inwardly and outwardly and in order to care most lovingly for myself and those that I am committed to, I must pay attention to what is needed at any given juncture and shift appropriately. At one point in my life I may have multiple different projects and interests going on all at once and my spirit thrives on it. At another point, I may be asked to give all of my focus to only one thing. Maybe two.

I am currently in a place where I am being asked to simplify on all levels. Fewer books, activities, and interactions. Fewer words. I need inner spaciousness. I am being drawn to this simplicity in the midst of a family who is busy with many activities, each of us going in many different directions. Almost all of it is wonderful, enriching, enlivening and exciting. But that wonderful life creates limited opportunities for outward spaciousness, which for me means empty places on my calendar.

There is a line from a song that I can no longer recall the title of that says, “She lives her life both wide and deep.” I want to live a life of balance between wide and deep. But right now, the scales are tipping toward depth. I feel sure that a time focused on depth will enable me to move back into the wide, wide world.

I hope to be seeing you all soon.

To No Longer Feel the Solid Ground

2010-01-28T13:30:00.003-09:00

The Swan

This laboring through what is still undone,

As though, legs bound, we hobbled along the way,

Is like the awkward walking of the swan.

And dying—to let go, no longer feel

The solid ground we stand on every day—

Is like his anxious letting himself fall

Into the water, which receives him gently

And which, as though with reverence and joy,

Drawback past him in streams of either side;

While, infinitely silent and aware,

In his full majesty and ever more

Indifferent, he condescends to glide.

Ranier Maria Rilke

Immediately after posting my blog on Monday, this beautiful poem from Rilke found me again. I am so grateful that there are people in the world who can express so exquisitely an experience that we all recognize on some level. It is what I wish for on the ski slopes, in my relationships, and in my deepest self. And it is happening. As we all learn to let go of fear, let go of control, we will also learn to glide. Effortlessly. Beautifully.

Slippery Slopes

2010-01-25T09:51:00.005-09:00

A few years ago, our family went together with good friends to purchase a cabin in the little ski resort town just south of Anchorage. At that point, I didn’t know how to ski at all. I grew up in Kansas where people don’t go around slapping blades or boards to their feet and then locating treacherous surfaces to move about on or launch yourself off of. I envisioned long snowy days in the cabin alone, curled up in front of the fire with a book and a cup of cocoa while everyone else braved the slopes and the elements. It sounded like heaven!

But, our first season in the cabin, Mark presented me with a request. He hoped that skiing could be an outdoor activity that we could do as a family.

He wanted me to learn to ski. And he had already scoped out a program, Women’s Midweek Clinic. He was asking me to take Wednesdays off, drive to Girdwood, ski with an instructor and a group of women at my ski level (beginner) for 2 ½ hours and then partake in a lavish luncheon at the resort hotel. Very posh.

I didn’t want to do it. Several years before, I had let Mark convince me to get off the green runs (there’s essentially only two of them) and go up the mountain to try blue or intermediate runs. (There’s no other way down except “blues”.) I cannot tell you how terrified I was up there. I was convinced that I was going to die. Really. Highly unpleasant. When I got down, I hung up my skis (well, I turned in my rentals) and that was that.

But now, Mark said, “I am asking you to try this. It’s just four weeks. And if you hate it, I will never bring it up again.” Hmmm…sounded fair enough. I was back to imagining the fire and the book when the lessons didn’t work out.

Our instructor was a 23 year old guy who had been skiing since he was three. Skiing was as natural to him as walking. He was a good enough teacher but he just couldn’t quite understand our fear. We did our few runs down the easy green trail and then he was ready to get us on the blues. (Because really, if you can’t ski blues at Mt. Alyeska, there’s almost nothing else to do.) He was attempting to teach and coax seven or eight trembling women down a short (and icy!) intermediate run.

He said, “Just do this.” He lifted his arms parallel to the ground, his poles dangling from his arms, pointed his skis down that slope , and let go. His skis carried him down ten or fifteen feet at which point he made the tiniest little adjustment to the angle of his body allowing his skis to turn and carry him across the mountain in an arc as graceful as any ballet dancer. Effortless. Beautiful.

Something inside me shifted, ached, broke open. I longed for that ease, that grace and that fearlessness. I am sure you see the spiritual corollary here and my heart felt it immediately.

I would love to end this part of my story by telling you that I lifted my arms and glided down that slope as beautifully as he did. Nope. No way. I inched down, forcing my skis into a wedge, sliding down the icy incline, falling a couple of times and near tears. But then, I got back on the lift and tried again. And kept trying again.

By the end of my four weeks, I had been down many blue runs, mostly terrified and sometimes still near tears, but also in equal measure, exhilarated. It wasn’t quite “fun” yet and it was still a constant challenge for me, but I was in. I was a skier. A very bad skier, true, but getting down the mountain none the less.

Sometimes I still feel like a very bad pilgrim on the spiritual journey. I feel like I should be further down the road or have more figured out. But, I’m in. I am a pilgrim and I will be until the day that I die. There’s no turning back. I can’t help but respond to the constant drawing of the loving spirit of God, calling me to the next possibility or the next slippery slope. Sometimes it’s terrifying, sometimes it’s effortless. There are still some tears. But, oh, what an awesome ride it’s been and will be.

**I probably don't have to tell you, but, that's not me in the picture.

Blessed Animal Beings

2010-01-21T11:33:00.004-09:00

In recent days I have begun exploring the art of blessing. I am forming my prayers in the shape of blessing rather than as petitions or requests as is more familiar in the religious tradition in which I was raised. One of my mentors and guides in this experience is John O’Donohue and his book, To Bless the Space Between Us. (A true gem!)

Stories and posts about the four legged and furry (or two legged and feathered? Or no legged and smooth?) spiritual teachers with whom many of us live abound on the blogs that I follow. So, I offer this blessing for all of you. And for those who may not have live-in animal gurus, may you have the opportunity to look into nature and the wild (or your neighbor’s back yard) to have your own private teaching session.

To Learn From Animal Being

Nearer to the earth’s heart,

Deeper within its silence:

Animals know this world

In a way we never will.

We who are ever

Distanced and distracted

By the parade of bright

Windows thought opens:

Their seamless presence

Is not fractured thus.

Stranded between time

Gone and time emerging,

We manage seldom

To be where we are:

Whereas they are always

Looking out from

The here and now.

May we learn to return

And rest in the beauty

Of animal being,

Learn to lean low,

Leave our locked mind,

And with freed senses

Feel the earth

Breathing with us.

May we enter

Into lightness of spirit,

And slip frequently into

The feel of the wild.

Let the clear silence

Of our animal being

Cleanse our heart

Of corrosive words.

May we learn to walk

Upon the earth

With all their confidence

And clear-eyed stillness

So that our minds

Might be baptized

In the name of the wind

And the light and the rain.

John O’Dononhue

The picture above is my animal guide, Zeke. One of Zeke’s greatest qualities is his patience and his focus. He is always OK with waiting. Isn’t it interesting that these are not two of my greatest virtues? Zeke has much to teach me. He is such a gentle teacher, always leading by example. What do the animal beings in your life have to teach you?

Being the Witness

2010-01-18T14:12:00.005-09:00

“Life really sucks here” she says.

“I am so sorry”, I say.

She says, “I cry every day and I spend the rest of my time trying not to cry.”

I say, “It sounds so hard.”

Our lives are so far apart. Hers full of regret and pain. Struggling every day to breathe in a single molecule of hope, grateful for the smallest ray of light.

Mine is the happiest that I have ever been.

It’s not fair and I try to make sense of it. Why can’t I just give her some of my happiness? A little piece of my hope?

Once, I sat at the bedside of my Granny, watching her die. She had slipped off into some in between place deep inside herself to do the work of dying. There was some sort of process that she had to navigate before she could leave. It was a painful struggle. As she cried out and fought with an unseen enemy, I was her witness. I sat by her bed day and night for 3 days, holding vigil, experiencing some of the deepest pain in my life, because I was helpless to save her from this journey. She had to walk this dark way and I couldn’t go with her. I stood just off of the path, watching.

I stroked her hand. I combed her hair. I sang sweet songs into her ear. I accepted the fact that it was her journey. But being the witness to that journey hurt. It hurt like hell. Watching the suffering of someone that you truly love is often worse than doing the suffering yourself.

In the end, I knew that my presence and my witness mattered. Somehow I had been a midwife for my Granny's death. Standing witness to her journey was one of the most sacred acts of my life. Not so different from watching a life enter the world rather than leave it.

Today, I watch my friend live the darkest time of her life. And I long to wrap my arms around her and fend off everything that is hurtful and ugly. To bring blessing, abundance and happiness back into her life. And if there is anything at all that I can do, I will do it in a moment. But, it seems that in this situation as in that other one, I am called to be a witness. To not look away if things don’t get better for a while. To keep inviting her to tell the same old story, even though she is sick of it. To participate in the glorious act of observing a sacred journey, even when it is through the valley of the shadow of death.

**I wrote this a few days ago, but didn’t post it. I see how much it also sums up the helpless feeling that I feel in the face of horrible disasters such as Haiti.

Help for Haiti

2010-01-14T10:02:00.003-09:00

As we read, listen to and watch the news that is coming out of Haiti in the past few days, our hearts are broken, our spirits are moved and we are stirred to help in some way. Many of us may wish that we could jump on a plane right now and go to where we could truly help relieve some of this suffering. Or we begin dreaming of a future day when our lives might allow us to train as a Red Cross volunteer or work with Doctors Without Borders. But today, the administrators for the aid agencies are telling us that they are unable to send people to Haiti because of the impossibility of transportation. (Though I did hear just a snippet of a report on NPR about how some of the very first volunteers to arrive were from China. For some reason I felt so proud of us as a world for a moment. Hurrah for these Chinese who we don't tend to think of as humanitarian.)

What we can do is to make a monetary donation.I just posted a widget at the top of my blog which will allow you to easily click and make a contribution to the Red Cross right now. Consider making any size of donation and offering a prayer for those who are in crisis.

If you want to post the widget on your own blog, you can go to Blogger Buzz to quickly download it.

Country Parson has a great blog from yesterday about being "agents of God's grace" in the suffering of the world. I encourage you to go look.

Good news!?

2010-01-12T14:13:00.006-09:00

The Lion's Roar is the fearless proclamation that any state of mind, including the emotions, is a workable situation, a reminder in the practice of mediation. We realize that chaotic situations must not be rejected. Nor should we regard them as regressive, as a return to confusion. We must respect whatever happens in our state of mind. Chaos should be regarded as extremely good news.

Chogyam Trungpa

When I open my my little Dharma book, I often return to the passage above and every time I reread it, that last line makes me smile or even laugh out loud. He could have said that there is something to value even in chaos or that it has much to teach us . But to say that it is extremely good news just seems to tickle my funny bone every single time. Good news? Yeah, right. Considering chaos good news is just so Buddhist.

But wait a minute. It was the apostle Paul who said that all things work together for good for those that love God. And then there's this poem by Macrina Wiederkehr, a Benedictine, that enters my thoughts frequently,

Lord, I beg you for a storm tonight,

the wildest that you own!

Oh let your winds awaken me

And shake me to the bone.

Lord, do not calm these seas tonight

just be present in the storm.

Sweep across my desert places

and leave them moist with you.

Disturb me with a storm tonight

so I'll be born anew.

Maybe one day I will be brave enough to actually pray that prayer rather than just read it.

In the meantime, I am going to be on the look out for some extremely good news in my life today. I hope you find some, too. (Wishing you some nice little chaos?)

Hey! Look at this nice little piece of good news that I found behind my son's bedroom door!

I swear. That's really what it looked like.

Will it change my life?

2010-01-10T13:51:00.001-09:00

In my previous post I wrote about simplifying my life and my mind by becoming aware of the extraneous activities and preoccupations that, instead of enhancing my life, have actually become a burden to my mind, body and spirit. How do I determine what is extraneous? How do I know what is essential and needful and what is not? The example from my previous post is rather obvious. The story that my mind was telling me was a total waste of my time and energy. But, as I look around my life -- and when I say life I mean my home, my activities, my work, my parenting, my partnering, my prayer life, my church, my relationships, my thoughts, my struggles, all of my life –it becomes very difficult to know what is essential and needful and what is not.

I used to think that anything that was good could not be extraneous. Anything that brings more light into the world must be extremely necessary. And yet, what if even what is good in my life has become a burden to my spirit? I don’t just mean a burden because the schedule is pretty full or I would prefer to curl up on the couch with a book. I mean that my life feels too heavy. So what needs to go?

I begin with the externals. I go around my house sorting out drawers, cupboards and closets picking up one thing after the other and asking, Is it needful? Can I live without it? When was the last time that I used it? Will I even miss it when it is gone? And here’s a question that I read a long time ago in a book about simplifying: If I keep it, will it change my life? If I let it go, will it change my life? I think that I should also add, will it change someone else’s life? It may seem silly to ask whether a sweater or a pair of earrings changes one’s life, but it really works. Because, of course, sometimes a sweater really can change your life.

I have a jewelry tree that sits on my dresser. Fifteen or twenty pairs of earrings hang on it. There are several small bowls that sit scattered across the dresser top holding at least that many more. For weeks now, as I walk past those various receptacles, I have felt encumbered by them. For me, it’s no longer fun to try to choose a pair of earrings out of that vast array every morning. I want to have just a few pairs that I can wear with pretty much everything. So, I gave many of them away, and put the rest away in a cupboard, not quite ready to actually put them out of my life forever. I will go back in another 6 months or so and see what else I can part with.

That little jewelry tree holding beautiful earrings is a metaphor for all of my inner life and for my activities and ministries. There are so many dazzling possibilities out there and in here. But, I cannot hold them all and I feel that right now in my life I am being called to particularly scale back, paring things down to the bare essentials. There are dreams and desires that are calling to be birthed in me. There is still some healing that needs to be done. And they require spaciousness. Spaciousness on the outside and on the inside.

Will these dreams, desires and healing change my life. I KNOW that they will. Will they change someone else’s life? Will it change the world?

A Peaceful State

2010-01-08T00:01:00.000-09:00

Though I am decidedly Christian (I have this thing for Jesus that I just don’t think is going to go away), much of the spiritual or devotional type reading that I do is Buddhist. I am currently using Ocean of Dharma, 365 Teachings on Living Life with Courage and Compassion, The Everyday Wisdom of Chogyam Trungpa. It’s one of those little books with just one paragraph on each page, something that even I can read, digest (and maybe even put into action!) on a daily basis.

In one teaching on meditation, Trungpa uses the common metaphor of the “crazy monkey mind”. The mind that is continually jumping from one thought to the next to the next when we sit down to meditate or to pray contemplatively. If you were to spend some time with me, you would probably consider me a fairly mellow person, but I can tell you that I have a bad case of the monkey mind. Trungpa talks about meditation training and practice being the “development of peace”. Ah…which one of us doesn’t long for that? But then he goes on to say that he doesn’t mean a “peaceful state”. Rather he is talking about the development of simplicity. Simplicity of life, simplicity of mind.

Simplicity is another one of my favorite words. It’s why I keep thinking that I need to subscribe to that magazine Real Simple, even though there is nothing simple about it. Simplicity is not necessarily stark or ascetic. I feel a great abundance and spaciousness when I enter the word and ideal of simplicity. Simplicity is about knowing what is essential and what is not.

Trungpa writes, “Discipline is the process of simplifying one’s general life and eliminating unnecessary complications. In order to develop a genuine mental discipline, it is first necessary for us to see how we continually burden ourselves with extraneous activities and preoccupations.”

I feel that burden. Frequently. I feel it about having too much stuff. Being disorganized. Having too many things on my calendar. Too many things in my refrigerator. And then there are all of the preoccupations of my inner life and my mind. They are probably especially burdensome, for they are with me all of the time.

I hardly ever stop to think that I’ve placed these burdens upon myself. I brought home most of that stuff that is in the pantry and I am certainly feeding and entertaining all of those thoughts that are rattling around in my head.

Yesterday afternoon I was coming from a wonderful worship time of movement, music and silence. The parking lot that I was pulling out of had two exits, a north and a south exit. I chose to go to the north. The traffic was very heavy on that side, it was snowing and the streets were slick so there had to be a really big gap for me to take the chance of pulling out. I waited and waited and waited. Finally, I got my chance just in time to pull up to the left turn signal as it turned red. So, I waited some more. After I finally was able to turn left, I was two or three blocks down the road when the old brain started in. “Why in the world did you decide to go out the north exit? You had to have known better than that. That’s one of the busiest intersections in town. Gee whiz, if you had come out the other direction than you could have pulled into that little turn lane and then merged really easily with the traffic and breezed right through that traffic light.” I could go on and on because I was going on and on in my head. But something disrupted it and it was the thought, “This is SOOOOO extraneous.” And that was it. All that monkey mind was done. It just needed a tiny little flash of awareness.

Meditation, mindfulness and awareness are all key ingredients to bringing simplicity into my life. I will write more about this soon.

To Show, To Make Known

2010-01-06T00:01:00.000-09:00

Happy Epiphany! I’m not sure that is the proper way to acknowledge this day and it does feel a little secular. Perhaps Blessed Epiphany?

I was not raised in a tradition that followed the liturgical year and so it has only been in the past few years that I have been aware of these special days (other than Christmas and Easter) throughout the year. Almost ten years ago the feast of Epiphany fell during a silent women’s retreat that I was attending. That retreat was a crossroads in my life and I have never forgotten January 6 since. I cannot say that I understand the liturgical or theological importance of this day, I can only say that it feels important to me personally.

I love the word ephiphany. I love the way it sounds and the way it feels in my mouth as I speak it. I love all of the meaning wrapped up in it, so full of surprise and possibility. The possibility that a new insight or a new way of seeing could forever change our lives. The word literally means appearance or manifestation. So for me, it means all of those times God bursts onto my scene. And sometimes that means the proverbial light bulb going off over my head and the aha(!) escaping from my lips. But it also means the times that I have a quiet knowing, a sureness that comes from some place deeper than just myself.

Having the aha moment or the great epiphany can be very exciting. Having all of the puzzle pieces fall into place after a long discernment or just receiving the grace of an understanding from seemingly nowhere can be a spiritual and emotional thrill. But, it seems to me that most of my epiphanies have brought with them an invitation to change and to transform. They come for my benefit and for the benefit of the world, and so I am asked to act. That action usually requires courage, integrity and discipline.

I recall one particular epiphany that was so powerful it was almost miraculous. (OK, it wasn’t almost, it was miraculous.) I witnessed a whole scene unfold before me and then I immediately knew that it had to do with a very painful confrontation that I needed to make. In that moment, I not only knew what I was supposed to do, but exactly how I was supposed to do it. But then as I set about acting upon my knowing, waves and waves of fear and anxiety set in. Somehow, I waded my way through all of it, did exactly what I knew I needed to do and the result was a beautiful reconciliation that has lead to true forgiveness and new relationship.

Not all epiphanies require work, of course. Sometimes my knowing is that I must surrender my control, let go, fall back into the loving hands of God, rest, and wait.

I am grateful for all of the epiphanies in my life, both small and great. They come way more than once a year and if I am awake enough I will see and know them. May all of your epiphanies be truly blessed.

A Little More Light

2009-12-22T12:27:00.004-09:00

At my church last night we celebrated a service of the Longest Night, held every year on the winter solstice. The Solstice's are important times for us here in the far north. It matters greatly to us that there will be more light today (11 seconds more!) than there was yesterday and that we are headed out toward the light. We will need this hope and awareness for January tends to be a long, dark and cold month. People who can, fly away to warmer climes. Some of us, strange as it may seem, actually seem to thrive in the dark. I have found a few kindred souls who love the darkness of winter, but I'm pretty sure that I am in the minority.

The purpose of the service that we hold each December 21 is to create a space around the Holidays in which we acknowledge that in the midst of holiday activities, people are hurting. In fact, almost all of us are hurting in some way. Some have acute grief or chronic pain or deadening depression. Some are struggling with the same old dysfunctional relationships, addictions, and heartaches. Some of us simply feel restless, dissatisfied and confused. I, personally, have been having a hard time maintaining hope in the face of so much bad news in our country and around the planet. And so this service creates a container in which we can share our aches, acknowledge that there is joy in this season but there is also deep sorrow. Our service provides a safe place in which to feel that sorrow.

One of the beautiful souls of our congregation told us her story. When her boys were 4 and 1, she found out that both of them had Muscular Dystrophy. Both of them. A fatal disease. No cure. She was pregnant with her 3rd child, also a boy. He did not carry the gene for the disease and so he is still alive today, but she lost the other two, both at the age of 17. Through her tears she told us of the pain and the grief, but the word that she used much more often was joy. How much joy she had in her life and also how sure she was that God loved her. I am in awe of this soul and grateful for her presence here with us.

It was a very beautiful service and also quite sad. Many tears were shed. But it also contained great hope. Hope in ourselves, in our courage and our strength. Hope in our community as we stand beside each other in our darkest nights admitting that we don't have the answers. And ultimately the Hope that we have in God.

As I looked around me last night, as I live my life with a faith community, as I read many of your blogs and watch your struggles and rejoice at your insights and creativity, I realize that many of us are living as though we really truly believe that there is a force in this universe that truly loves us, that empowers us to keep getting up, dusting ourselves off and trying again to bring a little more love into this world.

You know, to keep trying and to keep believing in the face of the great darkness that we sometimes face is no small thing. It is nothing short of a miracle.

We end our service every year with the song Here Comes the Sun by the Beatles. I can't tell you how it lifts the darkness and brings back our hope.

Here comes the sun,

here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun,

here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

Little darling,

the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling,

it seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun,

here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right
It's all right

The Beatles

White and Wild

2009-12-15T11:50:00.003-09:00

Image by Harpersbizarre via Flickr

I hope that you aren't tired of hearing about the weather in Alaska. Our clouds have lifted to a slightly higher elevation and have begun releasing gently falling snow flakes, not the great big furious ones, but small and slightly timid ones. It put me in mind of one of Mary Oliver's poems that is one of my favorite winter poems because she so accurately evokes the feelings that I experience here and also because the deep wisdom of this poem doesn't need to have anything at all to do with snow.

Walking Home from Oak-Head

There is something

about the snow-laden sky

in winter

in the late afternoon.

that brings to the heart elation

and the lovely meaninglessness

of time.

Whenever I get home--whenever--

somebody loves me there.

Meanwhile

I stand in the same dark peace

as any pine tree,

or wander on slowly

like the still unhurried wind,

waiting,

as for a gift,

for the snow to begin

which it does

at first casually,

then irrepressibly.

Wherever else I live--

in music, in words,

in the fires of the heart,

I abide just as deeply

in this nameless, indivisible place,

this world,

which is falling apart now,

which is white and wild,

which is faithful beyond all our expressions of faith,

our deepest prayers.

Don't worry, sooner or later I'll be home.

Red-cheeked from the roused wind,

I'll stand in the doorway

stamping my boots and slapping my hands,

my shoulders

covered with stars.

Mary Oliver

Winter blessings.....

Burning Bushes

2009-12-14T09:51:00.004-09:00

Image by Bertrand Duperrin via Flickr

Many of our lives follow routines. We sometimes feel that we are doing the same things over and over again. Get up, go to work. Take the kids to school. Run the errands. Do the housework. Cook some meals. There are special things thrown in, appointments or activities that we look forward to, but often our days fall in patterns that may begin to feel monotonous. And sometimes we begin to feel some discontent, some disappointment. Is this my life? If this what it will always be?

But the reality is that every day of our lives will be utterly unique. This moment that you are living right now and the opportunities inherent in it will never come again in just the same way. The same is true for the next moment and the next. And each of them carries the possibility of the Divine bursting in at any moment. I believe this to be absolutely true and it makes me want to do all I can to stay awake and to be ready for that possibility.

So today, on a day that was both exactly like and utterly unlike all of the days that had proceeded it, I was following my usual routines, doing my usual “stuff” around the house, when I got a phone call from a faith-based charitable organization that I work with requesting that I drop off an emergency food package to a “neighbor” (we call them neighbors in keeping with Jesus’ exhortation to love our neighbor) who was in a place of need. My schedule was open so I was able to say yes.

Later, in the car, I was thinking about the compassion and generosity of the people who had provided this 6 or 7 large bags of food that I was privileged to transport, when a young man waiting at a bus stop caught my eye. I could tell by his facial features that he had Downs’ Syndrome and he was dressed in the uniform of the carry out persons that work at our local grocery stores so I knew that he must be on his way to work. He was waiting alone and I was impressed by his independence and grateful for the opportunities that are afforded people with disabilities. My mind registered these observations and thoughts, but there were two things that were much more remarkable about this young man. The first was that he was dancing! He had ear buds stuck in his ears and was moving to some music that I could nothear, but have wished many times since to have been able to listen along with him. The other thing was his face. His face was turned upwards to the sky and it contained such a look of pure joy as I have rarely seen on any human face, even on that of a young child. I wish that I could paint a better picture of this, maybe you can imagine it along with me.

Immediately, my spirit and my body reacted. Sobs and laughter spilled from my chest and my throatall at the same time and all in a split second I am a person who gets “choked up” very easily. So easily that marching bands make me cry. Yes, marching bands! But, I have never had an experience like this one. This young man was gushing joy like an erupting volcano and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time to be in the path of that stunning blessing. His joy welled up in my spirit and flowed back out into the world in the form of my laughter and my tears. I wrote in another blog that I often have tears when I am in the presence of Truth and Beauty. These are simply two words for God. As I laughed and I cried I was aware that I had just seen the face of God. (I am very grateful that I was in the car by myself. I think that I would have frightened any passengers that I might have had.)

I am sure that you have all heard this little poem:

“Earth's crammed with heaven,

And every common bush afire with God;

But only he who sees,

takes off his shoes.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I hope that you will all be aware of the opportunities to take off your shoes today. You won’t regret it.

What the Fog Left Behind

2009-12-12T14:36:00.003-09:00

Here is a tiny taste of the beauty of the ice fog that we are experiencing here.

Fog and Frost

2009-12-10T20:53:00.003-09:00

Anchorage has been blanketed in fog now for days. As I drove the kids to school, the fog was so dense around us that I couldn’t tell where we were on the highway. The familiar landmarks along the road were obscured and I had no idea how much ground we had covered until the next exit sign or building would emerge out of the murk and once again I would be able to get my bearings. In the meantime, I kept my eyes on the tail lights in front of me, thankful for the intrepid commuters who were forging the way ahead of us. Because the winter days are short and the nights are very dark in Alaska, the fog seems all the more deep and impenetrable.

My inner life mirrors our recent weather and foggy conditions. I am not traveling in utter blackness, but it is certainly obscure and darkened. I am not lost or frightened, I know that there is a path ahead of me, and I am pretty sure that I know where I am headed.

One of my places of greatest discomfort has always been confusion. I would much prefer pain, even deep grief, if I could make just a little bit of sense of it. But to live in uncertainty is a deeply challenging place. It requires me to relinquish control, to accept that I don’t know and to wait until some sort of understanding might dawn. Or not.

For the first time in my life, I actually feel a great relief at waiting in the dark, a new comfort with what is unknown. I have always felt obligated to get things figured out and to understand exactly what is happening and why, to know what the next step is or the next spiritual project. But, for now, I am content to be pulled along by the night, trusting that the light will come again.

There is more to my story about the fog that we experience here in Alaska, for it also offers us an amazing and wondrous experience. As the sun rises and the fog eventually lifts, the mist leaves behind a layer of perfect white crystals, hoarfrost, upon everything. Every limb, branch and piece of dried grass are covered, utterly transforming the landscape. Everything glitters. Everything is new. Perfect white against a blue, blue sky. Is it possible that my own inner landscape could also be so beautifully altered?

Simple Pleasures and Small Sorrows

2009-12-07T16:46:00.003-09:00

On Sunday, drove on down the Seward Highway to the awe inspiring Turnagain Pass to make our annual foray out into the woods to find and chop down a Christmas tree. We had decided that we needed to get a smaller tree this year. We recently had a new wood stove installed and didn’t feel that we had the space for our usual large tree. We were thinking 8 or 9 feet, compared to our usual 12-14 ft. Pickings seemed particularly slim, but eventually we found a tree that was not perfect, but definitely loveable. We have found in our years of hunting down a tree in the Alaska wilderness, that there is no such thing as a perfect tree, but every year, the lack of symmetry, the drooping of branches, and dropping of needles has never kept us from loving our tree and thinking that it is wonderful.

Everyone took a turn chopping, as usual. My efforts were particularly feeble, I must admit. Who knew that you need to actually aim? While my husband Mark is always the work horse of this family tradition, Tim is now old enough and big enough to take a large share of the actual labor of hauling the tree around, and I shouldered the small end for the last 200 ft. or so. Annie carried the axe back out, so we all contributed. Back at home, by the time Mark chopped the bottom 4 feet off of the tree and brought it in to the house, we found that it was the usual 12 ft or so! So much for getting the little one.

Tim, buried in the branches

We all love the process of putting up the Christmas tree and one of the best parts is getting out the ornaments. I’m sure that you also love opening the box of ornaments, lifting out various ones and reliving the memories and Christmases that goes along with each one. But, we are especially fortunate. Mark has inherited a collection of antique Christmas ornaments that has been passed down from his great uncle. They are kept in a specially designed wooden crate and I don’t exaggerate when I say that there are hundreds of them. Many of the ornaments are unique and beautiful, some are quirky, and some are down right ugly. They are all delightful and irreplaceable.

Our Christmas tree will never make the centerfold of House Beautiful. When we get our lights up and all that conglomeration of ornaments, it is downright gaudy. But, we just keep piling them all on. We love each one too much to leave it in the box for another year. And, we think that our tree is perfectly stunning. You know how some people have the ugliest dog in the world and they just can’t see it because they love him so darn much? Well, that’s how we are with our tree.

See how pretty it can be?

At bedtime, I couldn’t bear to turn the lights off on the tree after we had spent so much time getting it all together. I wanted to gaze at it on and on. So, Annie and I decided to camp out on the floor in front of it and leave the lights on all night. The fire in the wood stove was just dying down and Annie and I, tucked warmly into our sleeping bags, drifted off to sleep.

We were awoken a little past midnight by Mark calling down that the tree had fallen over. The sound had woken him while the two of us slept right through it. The tree had crashed onto the couch and the counter, missing the two of us, but breaking many of our beautiful (and did I mention, irreplaceable?) ornaments.

We immediately set about putting things back into a little bit of order and picking up as much glass as we could and simultaneously, I began letting go. Letting go of my attachment to these ornaments that we have come to love and that I just naturally assumed will be part of my Christmases for the rest of my life. I have spoken about non-attachment in a few of my other posts including the one about my perfect little teapot, but today I realize that I am still in the process of really understanding this concept.

As I picked up those shards of glass, I felt loss and disappointment, sadness and yes, grief. For, they would not be coming back. There was no putting them back together. There was no replacing them. But, instead of feeling all of those feelings, I set them aside. I set them aside in the name of my spirituality and the higher ideal of being unattached to material things. They were just things and I needed to let them go.

But all day today, I have known in my spirit that just letting them go was not all that I needed to do. I needed to be able to release them, yes. I needed to hold them in my open hands and let the universe carry them away, but at the very same time, I needed to feel myself loving them, missing them, grieving them.

The concept of unattachment has to do with feeling all of the beautiful and sacred feelings that we have toward something, those very feelings that make us want to cling and to never let it go, while at the same time saying, “I know that this little piece of the world was never really mine to keep.” It may seem like a subtle difference. But ultimately, it is the difference between denying my emotions and experiencing them. Feeling my grief is not an indication of my clinging, it is a manifestation of my loving.

On this Advent afternoon, as twilight approaches already at 2:30 pm, I am sure that it is part of my spiritual path to let a tear fall and to feel that ache in my chest for these little pieces of delight, these ornaments, that have decorated my Christmastime with happiness for these many years. I will miss them.

I Need Your Help

2009-12-02T17:00:00.004-09:00

Image by Tom (hmm a rosa tint) via Flickr

A few months ago I wrote a post about feeling overwhelmed by the amount of books and written materials that I have at my disposal and the thought that maybe I need to start a practice to address how distracted I have become in regards to all of those book possibilities. Here is a reprint of part of that post:

As a reader and as a lover of books, I feel like a buzzing bee that stops and takes a sweet sip from this flower or that flower, always with an eye on the horizon and the next tempting taste. But what I really want to do is to sink deep down into the middle of those fragrant petals and take a long, slow drink of the beauty and wonder of words. And I know that I cannot do that in the midst of a meadow bursting with blooms. I am envisioning a sunny pasture with a just a few brilliant blossoms dotting the green grass. A manageable number to which I can give my undivided and loving attention.

And so I am pondering, thinking about, praying over setting a discipline in my life in which I don’t bring any new written material into my life. I will set a moratorium on more words. I get a slightly panicked feeling just thinking about it. I’m like a book junkie who knows that it’s time for a stay in rehab but want to just get my last few fixes before the door closes behind me. Will I be able to do this? Do I really want to? How long should I keep it in place? 3 months? 6 months? A year? (I know with absolute clarity that it should be a year, but the prospect is terrifying!)

Here’s my plan:

I will keep my current magazine subscriptions but not subscribe to any new ones. (Maybe I should subscribe to The Sun and Shambala Sun before I start because I really, really love them. Angst!)

I will not buy any new books except for my book club selections and I will attempt to get those from the library.

I will not check out books from the library.

I will accept books that are gifts.

I have set my date: January 1, 2010. But means that I have one more month to collect any books that I may want to spend this next year with! So, I am asking for your input. Tell me about the books in your life that you just couldn’t live without. What have you read lately that you just love? Are there any novels that you would recommend? What about spiritual reading? What are the things that are really speaking to you right now? So go check your book shelves or just your memory banks and let me know!

And for those of you who are lurking out there and don’t post or are unable to do so, please consider trying it this time or send me an email. I am really excited about hearing from all of you.

Slow Downs

2009-11-30T13:27:00.001-09:00

One of my favorite things about living in Alaska is… Snow!! But, what is soft, white and gorgeous piled up in my yard, layered on the trees and covering the mountains turns into something dangerous and life threatening on our roads and highways.

We received about 10 inches of snow on Friday and then a little more last night, but as I set out to drive my kids to school, I didn’t give the road conditions much thought. We live on the outskirts of town and the school is located close to downtown Anchorage, a distance of 12 miles or so along the main highway. Almost immediately there was a traffic slowdown. We were inching along for miles. As I checked the car clock I realized that the kids would definitely be late for school. Eventually, we passed the area that was causing the problem where there were multiple cars in the ditch on both sides of a divided highway. I suddenly felt very grateful for this slowdown in my life. If everyone had been going 60 miles an hour, I probably would have as well and I might not have had any idea that the roads were actually icy and dangerous. I felt well cared for in that long line of cars as we drove slowly and carefully, mindful of the conditions and of the cars around us.

It has made me think of other slowdowns, interruptions or disruptions in my day and in my life. How much of the time can I look at them as gifts? How often am I grateful for them? We are headed into what many consider the busiest time of our year. There will be long lines, full parking lots, harried service people, and short tempers. Can I remember to allow the outer inconvenience or disruption to be an opportunity to slow down inwardly?

I also want to be intentional about finding the places in this beautiful time of year for simple pleasures, quiet and peace. I look forward tonext weekend when my family and I bundle up in our coats and boots, drive two hours down the highway and then tramp into the woods to cut down our not-so-perfect Christmas tree. We have a lovely contemplative service at our church celebrating the winter solstice, our longest night, which I can feel my heart leaning toward, even now. A friend of mine has formed a group that gathers on Wednesdays at noon to practice body prayer together. It is a time to pause in the middle of our day and in the middle of our week to experience God and to come back to ourselves.

May you have many “slowdowns” today and in these days to come. And when they come, may you recognize them and welcome them as gifts of peace.

The Zen of Seeing

2009-11-25T13:59:00.002-09:00

I know artists whose medium is life itself and who express the inexpressible without brush, pencil, chisel or guitar. They neither paint nor dance. Their medium is Being. Whatever their hand touches has increased life…. They are the artists of being alive.

Frederick Franck, The Zen of Seeing

I, personally, have a deep longing to bring a little piece of God into this world. I try to string a few words together, sometimes I take some photos, put color on paper, sing, or dance. But, my truest call is to this Art of Being. To offer some kindness, compassion, a little understanding.

To be a little spark of God in this world, this is my prayer.

A man named Bob is a part of my faith community, one of the founders of our church 45 years ago. Any time he is at the church, he makes it his business to welcome every single person that comes in that door. (We are a large church for our denomination and the building is very busy with many different groups using it.) Our congregation, from its inception, has been a welcoming and inclusive place and currently, it is really a grace filled place where people are loving and giving. It is my belief that Bob was absolutely foundational in setting that Christ-like tone for us. He is a beautiful example of an artist of Being.

This weekend of Thanksgiving (for those of us in the U.S.) is a wonderful time to remember the people in your life who are the artists of life. Remember to give thanks for them and even to tell them how much you appreciate them being in your life. And don’t forget to share the story with me! I would love to hear it.

An Ordinary Day

2009-11-24T12:48:00.005-09:00

I was sent this poem a few days ago. It is such a beautiful follow-up to yesterday's post.

Listen

XI.

by Wendell Berry

Though he was ill and in pain, 

in disobedience to the instruction

he would have received if he had asked, 

the old man got up from his bed, 

dressed, and went to the barn. 

The bare branches of winter had emerged 

through the last leaf-colors of fall, 

the loveliest of all, browns and yellows 

delicate and nameless in the gray light 

and the sifting rain. He put feed 

in the troughs for eighteen ewe lambs, 

sent the dog for them, and she 

brought them. They came eager 

to their feed, and he who felt 

their hunger was by their feeding 

eased. From no place in the time 

of present places, within no boundary 

nameable in human thought, 

they had gathered once again, 

the shepherd, his sheep, and his dog 

with all the known and the unknown 

round about to the heavens' limit. 

Was this his stubbornness or bravado? 

No. Only an ordinary act 

of profoundest intimacy in a day 

that might have been better. Still 

the world persisted in its beauty, 

he in his gratitude, and for this 

he had most earnestly prayed.

The Work We Choose

2009-11-23T21:02:00.003-09:00

“This is not how I want to be spending my day”, was the thought that entered my head as I pulled my van into a parking spot for the 15^th time in one day. I felt that I had been hauling people around, getting in and out of the car, entering and leaving buildings, looking down hallways for people, dropping off and picking up all day long. But almost immediately another voice said, “You chose this work, and it is important.”

It is true. I did choose this life. Thirteen years ago, I was a young family physician. It was something that I was good at, but it never brought me joy. Actually, it brought me a lot of stress and anxiety. When our first child was born, I made the decision to stay home full time and let my license and my certification lapse. Except for my ministry of spiritual direction, I have not worked outside of the home since.

If I stop to think about what I “do” at all, it tends to be in terms of how mundane the things in my life can be, of how much time seems to be tied up in things that, on the surface, seem unimportant. Shopping, driving my kids to school, paying the bills, cleaning the house.

In her book, Seven Sacred Pauses, Macrina Wiederkehr says, “When we begin our day, most of us probably do not approach our work with the awareness and belief that we are artists involved in continuing the work of creation. From the most sublime to the most menial, work is creativity.”

Years ago, I had a friend who said to me, “I don’t see any eternal value in cleaning my house.” Even at that stage of my journey, I had a glimpse that all things have eternal “value” when done with mindfulness, care and love. And yet, now, these many years later, it didn't seem to apply to just driving around town all day. (Actually, I’m still having a bit of hard time with it, even though I believe it to be true.)

So, as I begin yet another day, I set the intention that wiping the counter, feeding the dog, or sweeping out the garage is all my work. It is my good work. It is also my prayer and in some crazy, mystical sense, it is my offering to the creation of the world.

May all of your work be wonderfully creative this day!

Why I read, I think....

2009-11-21T09:33:00.001-09:00

Image by Annafur via Flickr

I have a friend who desperately wants me to read the novel Twilight. And I am desperately resisting. The book is about a teenage girl that falls in love with a vampire. I know that some of my readers who are fans of the series (you know who you are!) will tell me that it is about much more than that, but for the sake of this post we will leave it there. When my friend asked me why I didn’t want to read it I peevishly answered, “I don’t have time for Harlequin romances with vampires.” This wasn’t my highest self speaking, but truth be told, I’ve been having a hard time expressing the more exact reason why I do not read this book. Here are some of the possibilities:

(1) I’m afraid that I might like it. (2) I’m a complete and total book snob. (3) I don’t have time for books like this. (4) I don’t do escapism. (5) I want the books I read to “matter”, whatever that might mean.

There is probably a nugget of truth in each one of those reasons, some much more than others, but the last one comes closest to hitting the nail on the head.

We all read for different reasons at different times, simple entertainment, information, distraction, escape (the “Calgon take me away!” commercial is popping into my head), the enjoyment of books and words. But for me, whether I am perusing the shelves at the bookstore or library, reading the reviews of books at the back of my various magazines and journals, asking friends what they are reading, or voting for our next book club pick, I am looking for a book that will change me. Change might come about from being exposed to new ideas or new information, but also simply from being in the presence of the beauty and grace that I find in great writing. I’m not saying that this desire is better or worse or higher or lower than any other reason for reading a book. It’s just true for me at this stage of my life and I want to attend to it.

When I choose a new book, it is because, on some level, I am always hoping that it will contain both Truth and Beauty. Now, don’t worry. I am not going to try to tell you what Truth (note the capital “T”) means on the global or cosmic scale, and certainly not on the level of the personal because of course, I have no idea. I can only know my own Truth, once in a while. But in those moments when I really experience Truth, I feel it physically, in my body. Sometimes it manifests just as a prick behind my eyes, sometimes as running rivers of tears, but most often it is just some sort of small shift within me, a recognition of being in the presence of something that I already know, of coming home to the right place.

What do you hope for when you pick up a book? How do you know your own truth?

Fumbling toward the Divine

2009-11-18T21:03:00.006-09:00

There are no words

for the deepest places in my life.

They cannot be named

or wrestled into some safe enclosure of explanation.

I fumble around looking

for some way to bring God

into a world that is already bursting with the Divine.

They say that it is the poet’s job

To get said

that which is unsayable.

But what if it turns out to be true

that some things

were better left

unsaid.

A Wrong Number?

2009-11-16T13:55:00.005-09:00

Image via Wikipedia

This is not much of a post, but a just have to share with you how the tiniest little things can change my day if I approach them with the right attitude.

Just this minute, the phone rang. I said, "Hello" and the person on the other end said, "Who is this?" It sounded like an older man with an asian accent. (I thought for a minute that it might be my friend, Roy, but his accent is quite young.)

It's not considered overly good manners to just say "who is this" and sometimes I am irritated and taken aback, but this time I replied, quite brightly, "This is Rebecca!"

"Oh...what number is this?" It was pretty apparent at this point that this was a wrong number but I told him my phone number. "Oh...", he said. "I have a wrong number."

"No problem", I responded nicely, thinking that he would just hang up. But, instead he said, "You have the beautiful voice."

"Well, thank you", I said, feeling light and happy. And he hung up.

Here's what's funny. I really believe him.

Looking for the Skillful

2009-11-15T10:31:00.004-09:00

A line in the October issue of The Sun caught my eye. “I’d been reluctant to read The Long Emergency because I’d feared it would be debilitating..”

I have often avoided certain movies, television shows or books because I feared that they would be depressing. I think that most of the time, that was not the word that I was looking for. Sure, some things are just complete downers, mostly because sometimes they make me despair for the human race as in “Is this really who we are or we’ve become?” But, I think that the word debilitating is a more accurate word for what I would like to avoid. Debilitate means to hinder, delay, weaken. I don’t want that in my life. I need all the movement and strength that I can get.

A few years ago, friends of mine were all watching The Sopranos. They really wanted me to see it, but I resisted. I just couldn’t see that I would find it entertaining or helpful. But, each year it won awards upon awards and I figured that all of those critics/experts couldn’t be wrong so I picked up the first disc. I was somewhat hooked. The whole idea of a mafia boss having marital and childrearing problems after a long day of extortion and murder and then having panic attacks that sent him to therapy made me have this, “hey, we all have some things in common” kind of experience and I kept watching. Eventually, though, the series got darker and darker. I remember one day I was exercising and watching. Annie came through and I said, “Get out! Get out! You can’t see this.” It wasn’t the first time that she had heard this. That day she stood there and said, “I don’t think you should be watching this Mom. I don’t think that it’s good for you.” She stated what my heart already knew and very shortly afterward, I gave it up.

Did the Sopranos hinder me? Weaken me? When I think about how I felt after watching it there was a heaviness in me, maybe even a darkness. In her profile Pollinatrix over at The Whole Blooming World talks about being accused of trying to find “way too much meaning in life”, something that I am guessing that most of my readers are guilty of as well. I watched the Sopranos and I looked for the deeper meaning, the lessons that I might apply to my own life. I tried to feel compassion for people who are bumbling around in the dark, hurting each other. But the price was too high to my mind, my spirit and I think, even my body.

Inappropriate is a word that we use a lot with our kids in regard to movies and television shows. Inappropriate generally means that there is strong sex or violence in the movie. But, my 13 year old, a smart boy, says to us, “Why is it appropriate for you and not for me?” And we come back with the tried and true, “Because you’re not mature enough”. I am afraid that the truest answer to Tim’s question, in many cases, is, “It isn’t appropriate for me.” It isn’t helpful. The apostle Paul put it this way: Fix your thoughts on what is true and honorable and right. Think about things that are pure and lovely and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.” But that sounds so boring! So preachy and puritanical. Probably most of us think that the Apostle Paul was too uptight and wouldn’t have been any fun to hang out with any way. Can’t we just have a little fun?

Maybe some of us think that the Buddha would be a little easier to be around. Well, the Buddhists would call the choices we make between what is true and lovely and that which is less so skillful or unskillful. Unskillful choices lead to suffering. Skillful choices will lead to peace and happiness. And not just for me, possibly for the whole world. I’m pretty sure that Paul and Siddartha are saying the same thing.

What are your experiences? Are there examples of violent movies or television shows that you feel have been helpful to you and of spiritual benefit? What sorts of things feel inappropriate to you? Maybe you have less obvious examples of things in our world that might be debilitating for us. I would love to hear.

Dazzling Darkness

2009-11-11T11:43:00.001-09:00

The title of Mary Oliver's poem from which I took the name of my blog is Spring and it is very winter here. But the phrase that so captured me, "dazzling darkness" is perfectly apt. We have just begun our descent into winter, but the combination of the dark and the snow is dazzling indeed.

Whatever time of the year it is, I cannot express how deeply this poem moves me. Any time. Every time. If you told me that I could only have one favorite poem, this would be it. At least for now. As I read it over again, I see that it carries some of the same themes that I was working with yesterday, the question of how we are to love this world.

Spring

Somewhere

a black bear

has just risen from sleep

and is staring

down the mountain.

All night

in the brisk and shallow restlessness

of early spring

I think of her,

her four black fists

flicking the gravel,

her tongue

like a red fire

touching the grass,

the cold water.

There is only one question:

how to love this world.

I think of her

rising

like a black and leafy ledge

to sharpen her claws against

the silence

of the trees.

Whatever else

my life is

with its poems

and its music

and its cities,

it is also this dazzling darkness

coming

down the mountain,

breathing and tasting;

all day I think of her –

her white teeth,

her wordlessness,

her perfect love.

~ Mary Oliver ~

And I long to enter into that Wordlessness. Into that Perfect Love.

Hanging on to Hope

2009-11-10T09:13:00.001-09:00

Recently, my daughter was voicing her opinions about how she thought that the world be a much better place if we changed the ways that meat was raised and produced in this country. She felt that the meat would likely be more expensive and that therefore people would eat less meat and it would create health for the animals, the humans who eat them and the planet. My son is a bit of a cynic at the ripe old age at 13. “People will never go for that”, he said. “Nobody is going to give up their cheap McDonald’s”. I pointed out to him that in the past, human beings as a group have actually changed their health habits for the better because they were educated in those directions or because there were consequences for continuing in the bad habits. Cigarette smoking is definitely one prime example, as are the use of seatbelts and protective helmets for lots of different sports.

I was relating this to an acquaintance last night who said, “I wish that I could share your optimism. I just watch one hour of Meet the Press and I got so depressed and pessimistic.” He then spent the next five minutes or so listing all of the things that we are up against. The next time he took a breath, I said, “Man! Now I’m depressed!”

Last night I was reading from Henri Nouwen’s book, The Way of the Heart.

Many voices wonder if humanity can survive its own destructive powers. As we reflect on the increasing poverty and hunger, the rapidly spreading hatred and violence within as well as between countries, and the frightening buildup of nuclear weapons systems, we come to realize that our world has embarked on a suicidal journey.

It seems that the darkness is thicker than ever, that the powers of evil are more blatantly visible than ever, and that the children of God are being tested more severely than ever.

During the last few years I have been wondering what it means to be a minister in such a situation. What is required of men and women who want to bring light into the darkness….? What is required of a man or a woman who is called to enter fully into the turmoil and agony of the times and speak a word of hope?

These words were written in 1981 and I think that we would all agree that things have gotten a lot worse in that period of time. How do we hang on to hope in the face of the unbelievably complicated troubles of this country, this international community, this world? My son, again at 13, says, “We’re doomed. Why bother trying?” And some part of me wants to agree with him. I pray that it is a very small part, for as a person of faith I am called to hope and to help, whatever that might mean.

One more story: During the height of the Cold War, the spiritual teacher Ram Dass was asked whether the world was facing a nuclear Armageddon or, as some were prophesying, a “new age” of peace and love and deeper awareness. Ram Dass said, “I used to think I should have an opinion on this. But as I examined it, I saw that if it’s going to be Armageddon and we’re going to die, the best think to do to prepare for it is to quiet my mind, open my heart, and deal with the suffering in front of me. And if it’s going to be the new age, the best thing to do is to quiet my mind, open my heart, and deal with the suffering in front of me.”

This feels very true. And so I go on, turning the lights off and the heat down, eating less meat, helping the needy here in Anchorage, giving away my money and my time, and keeping my heart as open as I can. Will it be enough to save us? I don’t know. But it’s what I can do.

Please let me know your thoughts on hope. What keeps you moving forward both in the world and in your own spirit? Where do you find support for this journey?

First Snow

2009-11-09T11:34:00.003-09:00

This is my yard today, the view from my kitchen/dining room.

I love the snow. This is a wonderful day.

My heart is as light as the fluffy white stuff and the dog is a puppy again as he gulps huge mouthfuls of snow.

Today the snow is my prayer, my hymn, my icon of all that is pure and perfect.

More Thoughts on Conflict

2009-11-06T12:37:00.000-09:00

Yesterday, I wrote about the ways that conflict can help us in our transformation. Our church is embroiled in a bit of a conflict right now. I attend a Methodist church and we tend to be a very liberal church in a very liberal conference. But that doesn’t mean that everyone in our church holds the same view points by any means. Some how or another, though, we have always been a church that was able to hold all of those varying viewpoints in one vessel. There is a lot of loving grace toward each other in our church.

Our church has determined to become a Reconciling Congregation, which advocates for FULL participation for ALL people in the life of the church. The primary focus of the ministry is the inclusion of Gays, Lesbians and Transgendered peoples. Therefore, in the church right now, we have a group that has an agenda and they want the support of the congregation for that agenda. However, not all support the agenda.

Recently, a team of people at our church had volunteered to help with a prison ministry called Kairos which seeks to share the true and unconditional love of God with people in prison. However, when the local organization realized that one of the people from St. John was lesbian, she was told that she could not participate. The rest of the team resigned in order to stand in solidarity with this beautiful and valuable member of our community. At church on Sunday night our pastor said that we were not finished with this matter.

So, do we pursue conflict with our Christian brothers and sisters? Do we even pursue a route of conflict within our own church as we work toward full acceptance of EVERY child of God? The answer to me is clearly, yes. But it will be a challenge for all of our community and our leadership to navigate this lovingly and in ways that are truly reconciling in the midst of conflict.

Opportunities for Conflict

2009-11-05T12:30:00.002-09:00

Image by Ca(non) via Flickr

Cassian taught this: Abba John, abbot of a large monastery, went to Abba Paesius who had been living for forty years far off in the desert. As John was very fond of Paesius and could therefore speak freely with him, he said to him, "What good have you done by living here inretreat for so long, and not being easily disturbed by anyone?" Paesius replied, "Since I have lived in solitude, the sun has never seen me eating." Abba John said back to him, "As for me, since I have been living with others, it has never seen me angry."

Clearly in the serious contemplation of our place in the human community lies the quality of our contemplation. To be a real contemplative we must every day take others into the narrow little confines of our lives -- and listen to their call to us to be about something greater than ourselves.

-- Joan Chittister, OSB, Illuminated Life, p. 30, 34

While I was vacationing in Mexico, I remember having the fleeting thought, “I am not able to practice my spirituality here.” I meant that I had very little solitude in which to ponder, pray and read. But, of course, I had many, many opportunities to practice my spirituality, after all, I was living in close quarters with my family. What better place to practice what I say that I believe and attempt to cultivate in my life. The spiritual practices of solitude, prayer and meditation are much, much easier for me than the spiritual practice of dealing with all of the needs, desires and emotions of those around me. But, the only reason that I pray is to help me become a more loving person in this world, and if I’m not doing that, why bother? So, I would like to learn gratitude for the opportunities that conflict, disagreement, and just plain bad moods present as a means of my transformation.

We tend to think that a spiritual life should be a life without conflict, that peace should mean that we are never at odds with anyone or anything in this world. Thinking now of the great spiritual leaders, all of them were wrapped up in conflict. There was Jesus, Moses, Ghandi, the Dalai Lama, Martin Luther, Mother Teresa, Martin Luther King. Almost all of the saints that I can think of were at odds with their church or their government. Throughout history these people were calling us to new places, new ways of being, higher ways of thinking and deeper ways to love. All of these people took a loving and courageous stand for something. They could all be called peaceful warriors. I think that learning to act lovingly and be loving in the midst of conflict is the very highest of my callings.

I have an eleven year old daughter who I love more than life itself. And, she has been hormonal since she was about 5 years old. (And I have certainly been hormonal in that period of time as well.) We are alike in many ways and very different in other ways, and so, we butt heads. Annie presents me endless (endless!) opportunities to practice the way of the peaceful warrior. (And we haven’t even hit adolescence yet.) I am very sure that when I look back upon my life, I will name her my most valuable spiritual teacher because she is always calling me to be more than I think that I could possibly be. More patient, a better listener, less defensive, more grounded, more other centered, more loving.

What are the areas of conflict in your life in which you are invited to practice the way of the peaceful warrior? Who are the great teachers in your life around conflict?

Thanks to Barbara at Barefoot Toward the Light where I first read the passage above.

A Winter Day's Wanderings

2009-11-04T09:27:00.000-09:00

While visiting at Anchors and Masts the other day, I noticed that one of the comments, talked about feeling disconnected from nature, not really aware even of the cycles of the moon. I am thinking right now of what it is in my life that keeps drawing me out into nature during good weather and more difficult weather (I can’t stand to call any of it “bad” weather) and allows me to experience that natural energy on a very regular basis. It is my dog!

Yes, I say that I love the outdoors, but I actually have a very good view of much of it from my window and I tend to prefer to stay warm, cozy and dry. However, I have a 75 pound mutt who prefers running and sniffing to warm and cozy and seeing that smile on his face (I know I’m anthropomorphizing) every time we head down the road is always worth it. He is my guide, day after day, into great beauty.

Winter has come to Alaska and though we don’t have a lot of snow yet, it is quite cold. As I begin my walk my cheeks are flushed and my hands tingle encouraging me to pick up the pace a little. I remember to breathe and look around me with every step, allowing myself to have thoughts, but trying more for pure presence. The day is gray and overcast, with a slight breeze that keeps the air pure and clear. I live on a country road, just on the edge of wild Alaska. It is easy to find a little trail or path into the woods which we take. There is an eruption of ice crystals on top of the inch or so of dry snow looking like tiny pure white forests sprouting every where that I look. In the middle of the woods there is some sort of water pipe that is spilling a small amount of liquid. It has formed an amazing sculpture of ice, a hollow stalagmite through which the water flows, creating a kinetic work of art. I stand and marvel at the beauty and listen to the perfect music of the flow of the water. Later, I spy a little movement out of the corner of my eye, a squirrel, clinging to an alder branch. As I watch it becomes perfectly still, gazing in my direction. This is interesting because these creatures are NEVER still. My body stills in response and we both stand there looking at each other. I wonder when he is going to start chattering at me to be on my way, but he never does, maintaining instead his alert repose.

Just before I reach home, I stop again to observe the a bunch of tall brown grasses. I have never been a fan of the color brown, preferring almost anything else. But now that all of our other colors are gone, I become aware of the many shades, textures and hues of the browns around me. These grasses are a soft yellowish brown, their seed heads full and abundant. They are being swayed by the breeze into a gentle rocking dance and I can feel myself moving back and forth with them. I listen intently, straining my ears to see if I can hear the swish of their stalks against each other, but I hear nothing. They dance in absolute silence. And I watch in reverence.

I am deeply grateful for this Earth, for all of her creatures and for the opportunity to soak it all in. May you find earth’s beauty today, wherever you may be.

The Dance

2009-11-03T13:17:00.003-09:00

One day when the air was supple and full of hope

My life unfurled in a thousand thousand

Shades of green.

Tethered by my resilience,

I inhaled each moment.

Moving with the currents of air

Holding my arms open to the rain

Turning in to survive the storms

Always surrounded by murmuring voices

Crescendos in the wind.

I lived the long green-ness

With all the exuberance of

the innocent.

Slowly, the nights lengthened

The air cooled

And I plunged deep into myself

Erupting into a golden flame

Until, one day

I was strong enough

To choose

to fall.

I was witnessed by one who said,

Fall is far too graceless a word

For the jubilant dance

That carries you back

Into the ground of your being

Where you will always dream

In a thousand, thousand shades of green.

Wide and Deep

2009-11-02T12:23:00.001-09:00

“Tomorrow is the last day?”, Annie asks. I feel my gut and my muscles tighten and I wish that she had not reminded me. We are sitting on the terrace of our hotel room in Puerto Vallarta, enjoying the early morning scene of sun and waves and people strolling along the beach. It is the 5^th day of a vacation in which we have lounged, swam, snorkeled, ate, drank, exercised, ate some more, read, walked, jet skied, played in the waves, laughed and laughed some more. Each evening, three generations of family had gathered to toast another stunning and miraculous sunset. If it sounds wonderful, it’s because it really was.

As Annie posed her question, reminding me that it would soon be time to leave, I recognized the physical sensation within me as clinging. I realized that I didn’t want to think about leaving because I was holding on too tightly to this experience and in my mind I said, “I am clinging to something that is not mine to keep.” And then I thought, “Well, what is mine to keep?” The answer is of course, nothing. Certainly not this Mexico vacation, but neither are my children, my husband, this life that I live, or my very breath. All of it will change, all of it will move on in some form or another. But for now, it is on loan to me, asking me to love all of it widely and deeply. For today, for this moment.

In the scriptures Jesus says, “Do not worry about tomorrow.” He is trying to teach us to live in the moment. To not skip what is right in front of us. But then he also says, “Each day has enough troubles of its own.” I think that we can all identify with the troubles that each day brings. But, I for one, often spend too much time letting the troubles, many of which are really mere annoyances, to distract me from the beauty and the wonder which is inherent in this life. Yes, each day has its troubles, but each day also has unlimited, literally inifinite, opportunities for love, gratitude, goodness and hope.

As I focus on letting go of the clinging that is in me, I feel a release in my body and my spirit. And with that release, there is a new spaciousness from which to love.

What I learned from my zipper today....

2009-10-23T09:23:00.001-08:00

Image via Wikipedia

Recently I bought a merino wool sweater that is both warm and fun, I really love it. However, the reviews on the website from which it was purchased warned about issues with the zippers. People were frustrated that a sweater brand that was supposed to be known for its quality should have sticky zippers. When my sweater arrived I found that the zipper really was quite cluncky.

This morning I slipped the sweater on and luxuriated for a moment in its softness and its warmth, and then attempted to zip it up. I tried to pull it up, nothing. Tried again. Again, nothing. I took the little metal thing that sticks into the bottom completely out, reinserted it, but it still wouldn’t go. I tried this several more times. I’m sure that you get the picture. By this time, my tension was rising. Was a little thing like not being able to get my zipper zipped going to get my whole day off on the wrong foot?

Most of us in my family are easily frustrated by these sorts of snafus. My husband, Mark, is the one that we always turn to when something needs what I call finesse. Maybe it’s a lid that I just can’t get to go on correctly or getting the battery cover off or on some sort of electronic device. I usually wrestle with it for 3 or 4 minutes and then if Mark is around I say, Honey, this needs a little finesse.” He takes the object and you can sort of watch him center. His hands and body seem to relax, his mind is focused. He gives the object his whole focus and voila! The task is accomplished and I often cheer aloud, grateful for his gift.

But, Mark was asleep this morning and the only person to get this zipped up was going to be me. All of the sudden, I became aware of the energy in my body. I was hunched over myself, the muscles in my shoulders bunched, my arm muscles tightened. I had the thought, “Well, if this is the energy that I am transmitting to this zipper, no wonder it is a bit confused.” I took a breath, stood up straight, allowed all of my muscles and bones to settle back in their correct position, slid the zipper into the pull tab, and pulled it up to my neck as smooth as butter. May this be the energy that I bring to all of my tasks this day.

Movie Manners

2009-10-22T13:51:00.001-08:00

Image by spud murphy via Flic

Last week, my kids and I went to the Bear Tooth Theatre to see Afghan Star, a documentary about the Afghan “equivalent” to American Idol. Contestants compete to be the Afghan Star without ever moving their feet or their bodies. They are only allowed to sing. It created a national outrage when one of the women who was being voted off the show defiantly dances around the stage (no more provocative than what my daughter did in her 4 year old dance recital) and allows her scarf to fall back off her hair.

But, speaking of outrage… Ten minutes, or so, into the movie I heard a cell phone ringing a few rows in front of me. This reminded me that I had neglected to silence my cell phone. I retrieved the phone out of my purse and instead of just opening it, I pushed the on/off button. Well, apparently, the phone was OFF in the first place and so when I pushed the button it went through its whole prolonged start up mode. So then I had to wait for it to turn on so that I could turn it off again. All this time the screen is like a beacon announcing that there is a complete tech simpleton in the 10^th row. The lady sitting in the seat right next to me says in an icy tone, “Do you mind shutting that thing off? It’s bothering me.” I said as quickly and quietly and nicely as I could manage, “I’m just trying to make sure that it is shut off.” “You were supposed to shut that off before the movie ever started. They made an announcement.” Her tone was now positively frigid as though she had never had to sit next to such a rude dolt in all of her life.

Then my son started scolding me, “Mom, turn that thing off. It’s shining in everyone’s eyes!” “I’m trying!”, I say as I frantically push buttons. “Just close it. Just do blah, blah, blah.” It seemed to last forever. Finally, darkness settled again. There I sat red faced and humiliated, uncomfortably imagining all of the things the people all around me were thinking about me. I felt like I did in 3^rd grade when Mrs. Carbon made me stand in the corner. I can still remember thinking how wrongly I had been accused and punished, but how difficult it was to defend myself while my nose was stuck into a crack in the wall. It was also difficult to explain myself to complete strangers in a darkened theater. Really, I want to say, I’m not a bad person. I actually try really hard to be kind and considerate, even loving. Yeah, in this case, I was a total cell phone bumbler, but I didn’t mean to disrupt your enjoyment. I really only want good things for all of you.

Probably most of the time when people cut us off in traffic, walk past without acknowledging us, or fail us in some other way, they aren’t being mean or purposely rude. They are just unaware, bumbling around a little. This experience helps me to think about being more aware of all of the people around me and how my actions impact them. I also want to be more thoughtful about not reacting negatively, either outwardly or inwardly, when people make their little mistakes. I’m going to try really hard to extend some grace, because next time I blow it, I really would like someone to extend the same to me.

Dreamboards

2009-10-21T12:25:00.002-08:00

These are some of the fabulous dreamboards that girls made at our retreat this weekend. I just loved all of them so much. Enjoy!

Walking in Hope

2009-10-19T11:25:00.003-08:00

While today is overcast and gray, a quiet day, the previous two days were golden and blue, full of laughter and energy (at times too much) as four other women and I accompanied 13 girls on the cusp of adolescence to a retreat center in Hope, Alaska. (Wouldn’t that be a great place to live?) Indeed, I return full of hope and excitement for this next generation of young women who are jaw droppingly beautiful, thoughtful, wise and loving. We sang, we danced, we created, we celebrated the beauty of an Alaskan autumn, and we shared. The girls shared their thoughts and stories with us and we older women encouraged them by remembering some of the places that we maybe got a little “caught” by life and the world along the way, the places that kept us from being all that we wanted to be and the things that we told ourselves that we could not do.

As we shared our thoughts about God, one thing became very apparent. These girls did not have images of a judging or vindictive God. As they talked about what God’s thoughts might be and what God might want for them, they painted a picture of a loving, nurturing and present God. A God that was approachable, not reproaching. I am deeply joyful that the kind of Love that they described will accompany them along each of their unique life journeys.

We ended the retreat with each person being anointed with oil and also anointed with many loving affirmations from each girl in the group. We heard everything from “you are kind”, “you are very funny”, “you always stand up for what you believe in”, “your smile lights up the world”, to “you have great taste in socks”. We return to our schools, work, homes and family with lighter and more loving hearts, grateful for what we can learn from each other when we open our ears and our hearts.

You are so Beautiful

2009-10-15T09:28:00.005-08:00

This weekend, I am very blessed to journey to wild and rural Alaska with a group of 5th and 6th grade girls from my church. A team of women have come together with a passion for these unique and wondrous creatures who will become our next generation. We want so much for them and recognize that they are faced with challenges that we were not. We are especially concerned that they grow up loving and valuing themselves and accepting the differences they see in each other. We want them to see themselves through God's loving eyes and not through the eyes of a culture obsessed by outward beauty, designer labels, the cult of celebrity, and a constant push toward an ideal of perfection that is unattainable. Please pray that we will have a joyous time celebrating what God has created in each one of us. We are all so beautiful and so are you.

Look deeply today. See the beauty of all of the women in your life and in the world around you. Many of these women are struggling with hatred for themselves, for their bodies. Hold them lovingly in your heart. Tell someone that they are beautiful.

A Mission Statement

2009-10-13T10:36:00.008-08:00

At a church gathering recently, I was fortunate to meet a real live writer/writing instructor. I am very new to writing and am still quite intimidated by it. Especially the process of starting. For any new venture my usual modus operandi is to get instruction from some credible source which, for me, usually means books. But here was someone in the flesh who said that she would be willing to read some of my writing and give me feedback. I was excited. And terrified. What if she told me that I was terrible and to quit right now before it got any worse? But, I bravely gave her the address to my blog as well as some poems that I had written. I heard back immediately and was greatly encouraged by her instructions which were very "nuts and bolts". She told me I needed to be more "focused and perhaps a bit shorter". (I knew this but needed to hear it.)

She also said this:

To take your work to the next level, begin by asking yourself, “What is my purpose in writing today? What journey, event, development, trend, perspective, set of values and beliefs do I want to explore and explain? Why do I want to do this? For whom?”

If this sounds like a corporate mission statement, you’ve got the idea, Rebecca. I hope you’ll spend some time answering these questions for yourself and then whittle your thoughts down to a sentence or two. Put that sentence at the top of your blog. Then aim every bit of writing you do subsequent so that it advances that mission statement. Any sentence that doesn’t hit the target gets deleted. Yes, really.

Groan...

It all seems so...so...unspiritual. Mission statement? Yuck!

But, I kept coming back to that line, To take your work to the next level, and I knew that she was right. So, I have been working on it, but, a sentence or two!? I'm not focused enough yet. How about two very long, run-on sentences? (And then two or three short ones?) So for now, I think that I have a mission statement and then a whole paragraph explaining my mission statement. Somehow, I don't think that this is what I'm supposed to be going for.

I would love to hear from some of you. Why do you blog? Do you have a mission statement?

Unexpected Gifts

2009-10-12T11:25:00.004-08:00

I am new to the blogging world. I have watched from the sidelines for a few months and recently jumped in with both feet. I am surprised and thrilled by what I have found here. I never imagined myself as part of an online community. I wasn't sure that anyone would ever find my site and if they did, I assumed they would read and move on. But to have people who reverently read about my spiritual thoughts and process, no matter how meandering and inward they may be, and then comment in supportive and challenging ways has been a grace-ful gift to me.

There is a bit of a danger here. The connections on the web are nearly unlimited. At every blog that I visit there is this really interesting and tempting list of other blogs trailing along the right hand side and each of them representing another soul on this journey. Some of us look and look in our churches, our workplaces and our various groups to find people that understand, that speak our language. People whose eyes don't glaze over when we talk about things in terms of the transcendent, the mystical, and the contemplative. I have been very blessed to find a few of those people where I live. But here on the blogosphere it seems unlimited! I am like a kid in a candy store. (Well, actually just like me in a candy store. Remember, I love candy.)

What I have discovered in this blogging circle that I have so incredibly become a part of is depth. It wasn't something that I thought that was a part of anything online. It's unexpected. It's a gift. I humbly thank those who read, those who write,and those who leave comments. I express my gratitude at being a part of something that is so deeply real.

However splendid the views....

2009-10-12T11:02:00.004-08:00

Image by ☆Mi☺Λmor☆ via Flickr

The heavy is the root of the light.

The unmoved is the source of all movement.

Thus the Master travels all day

without leaving home.

However splendid the views,

she stays serenely in herself.

Lao-Tzu, Tao de Ching

I am an ambivalent traveler. I get very excited about exploring, trying new foods, experiencing another culture and most of all, if language issues don't preclude it, interacting with the locals. But recently I have found that when I travel I feel unmoored, unable to settle, to deeply focus in the same ways that I do in my familiar surroundings. I feel out of place and unattached. I long for connection, even if it is just with a friendly waiter or a helpful person in a shop. I think that Lao-Tzu has some insight for me here. In the midst of movement I may also remain unmoved. While taking in new sights and experiences I can also attend to my inner being by remaining serenely in myself. And the good news is that I don't have to go back to Africa to practice this. This is first practiced in my times of yoga, prayer and meditation. And then at a crowded grocery store, a hectic department store, or when my kids are picking at each other in the car on the way to school. We will be traveling to Mexico in another 10 days or so. I look forward to practicing the serenity that I know lives within as I move in that world. Another pilgrimage to myself?

Dreamboard

2009-10-09T09:42:00.005-08:00

A few days ago, Tess over at Anchors and Masts (link to the right) shared her Harvest dreamboard with all of us. Not being quite sure what a dreamboard was, I wandered over to Jamie Ridler Studios http://jamieridlerstudios.ca/full-moon-dreamboard-the-full-harvest-moon to check it out. My own dream board emerged while on pilgrimage yesterday. What I love about the process of visual art is that nothing really needs to be said about it, nothing has to be figured out. I share this dreamboard with you as an expression of my journey. I'm not sure what it says, what it is supposed to mean. I do know that when I look at it, I feel happy and light. May you all have something in your life today that makes you feel the same way.

Hushed

2009-10-08T09:11:00.003-08:00

Image by Loci Lenar via Flickr

A perfect day for pilgrimage.

A slow steady rain, the trees outside my window shrouded in mist,

their branches occasionally stirred by an imperceptible wind.

My candle is lit, steam rises from the cup of tea beside it.

It is a quiet day.

May my inward space reflect that outward hush.

There is no where I have to be, no where I have to go.

The only pressing engagement is the one that I have with myself.

To allow enough stillness in myself to let God come to me.

My heart has heard you say, “Come and talk with me.”

And my heart responds, “Lord, I am coming.” Psalm 27:7-8

Sacred Sites

2009-10-06T21:03:00.004-08:00

Chartes Cathedral, Notre Dame, Iona, Glendalough. I have several friends, both on the blogosphere and in real life, who are beginning a journey of pilgrimage to these sacred sites. There is certainly a part of me that thrills to the notion of visiting these sites myself some day, but for now, I am called just to contemplate the idea of pilgrimage and how I might experience it without ever leaving home.

I have quoted, many times, the definition of pilgrim that Macrina Weiderkehr wrote in one of her books. She said that to be a pilgrim in this world means living in the tension between who I am and who I really want to be. In this image I am always on the journey, at times being pulled back to old behaviors and thought patterns, but inexplicably and continually drawn forward.

I also recall what Hafiz said about pilgrimage…

I felt the need for

A great pilgrimage.

So I sat still for three days

And God came to me.

And I think, three days!? In this next few weeks of my life there is not opportunity for three days of stillness. But I am very sure that I have 30 minutes and possibly even three hours of stillness that I could schedule for myself. Would God come to me in 30 minutes? In three hours?

The dictionary says that a pilgrim is one who journeys to a sacred place. But does that place need to be a geographical or material place? Or could I possibly journey to a place that is within me? Like an ancient and beautiful cathedral there is a sacred place in me that holds and nurtures my most important relationships. Three of those relationships are calling for my deepest love and attention right now. This is the place to which I will make my pilgrimage. Over these next few weeks as my friends attend to beautiful sights and enlivening energy, I will be turning into myself, sitting still, waiting for God to come to me.

What feels sacred inside you right now? How will you lovingly attend to it?

Still thinking about you...

2009-10-02T08:25:00.000-08:00

Africa

I went half way around the world to witness

her tattered dress and her ragged nails,

to hold her worn hand in mine.

I inhaled her heat and

lost myself in her fierce gaze,

my safe solidarity withering in her light.

I long to place the sweet taste of hopefulness in her mouth

yet taste the salty tears of vulnerability in my own.

She is so far away and I

am so small.

Challenging Wallpaper

2009-10-01T08:16:00.000-08:00

Many of you know that I had the extreme fortune to be able to travel and serve in Malawi this summer. I have barely even begun to process that experience but suffice it to say, it was astonishing. Yes, there is a theme going here if you’ve read my previous two blogs. When I first got back, this is the picture that I put up as the wall paper on my laptop.

Why? Well, it looks like wallpaper. It is beautiful, soothing, easy. It evokes a tropical paradise, but a tropical paradise is not the experience that I had of Africa. Why was I using this picture to remind me of my time there?

A couple of weeks ago, I changed that picture to this one:

I love this little girl, I really do. I don’t know her name, we don’t speak each other’s language, I don’t know the story behind those eyes. But every day she speaks to me and I feel something inside. And if I really look back into her eyes (it is a difficult gaze to meet) a tear rises up in my own.

I have been trying very hard to put words to the experiences that I had in Africa and they all fall flat in the face of what I feel. Perhaps it is not time to say anything yet. I do have one poem that has come that I will share tomorrow. Stay tuned!

Astonished Again

2009-09-30T09:57:00.001-08:00

Image by Todd Huffman via Flickr

Yesterday I posted this short poem by Mary Oliver:

Instructions for living a life:

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.

Since then, I have been thinking about the people in my life who allow themselves to be astonished and what exactly that word might mean, to me or to others. I should probably more accurately say that I wonder how we live into that word. For me, it has meant wonder and awe, an occurrence that causes something inside me to shift, to slide over just a little bit and create a new spaciousness. I recognize that I have associated astonishment with something positive and that the experience of it brings some degree of ease.

The interim pastor at my church is someone who embodies astonishment for me. If he loves a particular hymn or song he will jump up from his seat, sing loudly and with gusto, and swing his arms around for emphasis. All the while there is a huge smile on his face. Also, during our time of sharing our joys and concerns in the worship service, he will get out the local newspaper and read to us some of the things that moved or surprised him. One day it was about how many homeless men have died here in Anchorage over the past year. Another time it was about the burden that our local military bases carry as they lose men and women in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. These things deeply sadden us and we bring them to prayer together.

These are both examples of astonishment. My computer dictionary says that astonish means to surprise or impress. But as I look for a deeper understanding (as contemplatives reflexively do) I find that its derivative in Old French is to thunder and its original meaning was stunned, dismayed, bewildered.

This shadow side of astonishment certainly fits with my previous understanding of the word. If I keep my heart open and aware, even the pain and the sorrow in this world will allow something inside me to shift, to create more room, and to move more spaciously and hopefully, lovingly, in the world. Astonishment is intimately related to feeling, and Mary Oliver and Pastor John are inviting me to feel all of it. And thank God, I have places to tell about it.

What is thundering, a low rumble, a cracking boom and all points in between, in your own life? What is your response?

2009-09-29T09:16:00.000-08:00

Image by Fabian Bromann via Flickr

Instructions for living a life:

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.

From Mary Oliver's poem Sometimes in her book Redbird

This is one of the great gifts of the blogging community and also taking up the discipline (for me) of blogging. It encourages me to constantly pay attention, to see what is really going on around me, and then to have a place to tell about it. A place where I am understood, not by everyone, but by some. It is also a place to share in the experiences of others, allowing myself to be challenged and to become more deeply aware through entering into what others have been aware of, what they have been astonished by. Thank you to all of the wonderful bloggers and readers out there. I am so blessed by this circle.

Don't forget to be astonished today and be sure to tell me about it!

Welcome Change

2009-09-26T16:58:00.001-08:00

While for many of you the leaves have just begun to change, here in Alaska we are deep in the throes of a stunningly beautiful autumn. Sometimes fall only lasts a few weeks here. The leaves begin to change and then we get a big wind storm that blows them off the trees and then, far too soon, it is all over. This year the leaves have turned a deeper and deeper yellow, sometimes arriving at a glowing orange and much to our delight they have remained solidly attached. Sometimes I find myself holding my breath wondering just how much longer we will be allowed to enjoy such wonder.

There are many reasons to love fall. The crisp smell of fall air mingled with an occasional scent of a woodfire burning. The beauty of yellows and reds replacing the green of summer. The harvest reaped and stored for another year. Harvest time in Alaska means that your salmon is canned or put in the freezer, moose or caribou has been hunted and processed and your berries picked and made into jam or frozen for winter morning pancakes.

But the main reason that I love fall is that it leads to….winter! Fall, for me, is like Advent. It is a waiting, a preparation for the long winter. The trees will soon be bare of leaves but the snows will come to blanket them. The days will grow short indeed, only 5 hours long at winter solstice. The sounds all around me will be muffled by the snow and a quiet will descend upon my home, upon my spirit.

There is much to love in every season. I would not appreciate the depth of winter if it were not for the potent energy of an Alaskan summer. And fall is a beautiful gentle journey between the two, a tender transition.

Should I stay or should I go?

2009-09-24T09:17:00.001-08:00

I am surrounded by people that travel. Alaskans are a traveling and adventurous lot in general. If you are looking, you will find them out exploring all over the world. Also, almost all of us have family outside of Alaska that we need to visit, so we take a lot of trips each year. When we get together with friends the question of “when and where is your next trip” is a major topic of discussion. Mark’s parents are off on a trip to some far flung part of the world every other week it seems. Travel is a part of the culture in which I live.

Yesterday Mark came in the door from work with a brochure in his hand. “I’ve got an idea what we can do next year”, he said. “How about this?”

There was a surgery conference to be held in Maui at the end of January and he was suggesting that his mother come up and watch the kids while we go to Hawaii for a little vacation, just the two of us. I looked at the words and then up at Mark’s expectant face and out of my mouth popped the words, “I don’t want to go.” Whoa. My husband is offering me a trip to a tropical island in the dead of winter and I say “no”?

As I’ve thought about it since I realize that instead of “I don’t want to go” the more correct words would have been, “I want to stay here” or “I don’t want to leave home”. Both of which feel very true.

As I talked about in my previous post, I have put my roots down deep here. I love being home and don’t like being uprooted. Does it have to do with my kids? My family? My day to day life? Yes, all of these, but it also has to do with my general sense of contentment. I feel full and really happy. Here. Sometimes I think, or even worry, that I have become very unadventurous, even timid about travel, despite the fact that I have just returned from Africa and was in France in May. But in reality, Mark is the adventurous one and I am often along for the ride.

At this moment in my life it feels that home and Alaska has everything that I need. This groundedness feels like a preparation for a winter season in my life. And for me that doesn’t mean a barren time. Winter is my favorite season! For me, winter is an inward time, a less busy time. An opportunity to simplify. I’m no good at flitting here and there. No good at quick transitions. I’m longing for a long, uninterrupted stretch of settling deeply into my space. A time to write, a time to let things be created in me. A time to really be with myself.

Spiritual Geography

2009-09-22T10:27:00.000-08:00

How is it possible that wide open spaces fill me up inside?

from N.N.

The above sentence is called an "American sentence". Similar to the Japanese poem, haiku, it has 17 syllables, but all on one line. My friend submitted this thought at my request for people to share a few posts ago. Her question caused me to recall the idea of a spiritual geography, an idea which I first ran into in Kathleen Norris's book, Dakota. She talks about the fact that some where in the world there is a landscape that nurtures us and brings us to peace in ourselves, a place where we can put our roots down and they will grow deep. For Kathleen, that place was North Dakota. Her family roots were there and she had grown up visiting relatives in that part of the country but never lived there until she inherited the family homestead when her grandmother died. She was living in New York City at the time, but felt a pull to that vast, open, even desolate country. And she found herself opening up, coming alive in a way that she had not experienced before.

I had always thought that my spiritual geography must be the landscape in which I had grown up. I was raised in the far southeastern corner of Kansas, just on the very edge of the Ozarks. We had gentle hills, green fields and winding country roads. But we were also just a few miles from the prairie. Whenever I go home now, especially in the summer, I roll my window down, take a deep breath into my lungs and say, "Yes, this smells like home." And it does smell like home, I have imprinted upon it. But it no longer feels like home. Home is Alaska, no doubt about it.

I am willing to put up with all the difficulties and complications of Alaska because here, I have found the spiritual landscape in which my spirit flourishes. I would never have guessed that a girl from the middle of America would find her truest home in the wildness of Alaska. Now, most of you know that I live in Anchorage, Alaska's version of the big city, not in the bush or even way out in the country. (Though as I type this, my house is surrounded by birch and spruce, I live on a dirt road, and no other houses are visible from any of my windows.) But, here in Alaska, wilderness is just outside our door. And though it's hard to put a finger on or point out to a visitor, there is a very true sense that this place is untamed and that it will not be tamed. Why would a girl like me, who has always played it pretty safe, be drawn most deeply to that?

I am deeply grateful for the twists and turns of life that brought me to this place and this time. I never would have chose it. I'm so thankful that it chose me.

What is your spiritual geography? Do you get to live there or only visit? What does that landscape help you to know about your inmost self and your ways of knowing God?

2009-09-18T13:10:00.000-08:00

Music is a very important part of my and my family’s life. We all appreciate music which is to say that we all recognize good music, even when it may not be our style or what we normally listen to. Tim plays electric guitar and though his usual genre is heavy metal, he recently started working on some jazz stuff. He was blown away by the complexity and elegance of jazz chords. After playing some of those chords for himself, he came in my room with a stunned look on his face and said, “Jazz is cool”. Music had opened up something brand new inside of him.

My husband and I love to hear LIVE music which is such a different experience from recorded music. It is not just about the sound or even the visual component of entertainment. I think that it is primarily about the energy of the people you are gathered with, your musical community. We can experience musical community in grand concert halls (we have those here in Alaska), gigantic venues (we have one of those, too, people like Elton John play there), and in church sanctuaries. Or it could be in a crowded bar with people pushing up too close and spilling their beer on you. When I have the experience of being with the music and with my community, I am with God in all of those places. And if I pay good attention, the place that I often experience God the most strongly is that crowded bar with the sticky floor, sweaty guys (and girls), and way loud music.

Just last night we went to hear The Hold Steady, a band whose music we didn’t really know. Most of the time we see bands that we already know. In those cases I tend to get swept away in the music because I know the words and my body knows how it wants to move to the familiar rhythms and melodies. This time I was much more aware of the experiences that everyone else was having and I have to tell you, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. This band makes people happy. And when they get happy they sing at the top of their lungs and dance crazy and jump up and down. There weren’t any fights or people being mean to each other. There was just a general spirit of goodwill for each other. And in my theology or philosophy or whatever you want to call it, when that kind of spirit shows up, that is where God is.

Were there people there that had too much to drink? Yep. Were there people that I felt a little judgmental about in regard to behavior or attire or lack thereof? Yep. (I can’t help it, I’m a mom. But I do release my judgments and let people make their own choices.) But maybe we spiritual types can get too narrow about what is spiritual and what is not. Meditation and prayer is pretty clearly in the realm of the sacred, but jumping up and down until you're sweat soaked and blissed out, maybe not so much. I’m pretty sure that some of my “spiritual” community would be quite surprised at my abandon on the dance floor. (My children are surprised and appalled.) But, every chance I get, I’m going to get out there, feel the music, and jump up and down. For joy.

Here's a Youtube video of the Hold Steady. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FY3V4ObYRsA

The Beach

2009-09-17T08:54:00.000-08:00

The Sun, http://www.thesunmagazine.org/ is a journal full of beautiful writing and photography that I have recently rediscovered. Every month they have a section called Readers Write in which readers write very short essays about some assigned topic. I noticed at the bottom of the section that anyone can send in a piece for consideration and possible publication. I felt moved to begin writing on the subjects as another writing exercise. And, it just makes sense for me to go ahead and send it in. Who knows what might happen? So, below is my offering for the subject of The Beach.

I was five years old the first time that I saw the ocean. My family had driven cross country from our tiny town in the southeast corner of Kansas to Los Angeles, California. All that I can remember of that first sight is the image of a shipwreck that lay just off the beach. I would guess that this was supposed to be pleasantly interesting or even a tourist attraction, but for me it was the most terrifying sight that I had ever seen. One end of the ship had sunk below the water while the other rose up out of the sea like a hulking rusted skeleton. The terror of the possibilities of what might lay beneath the water was even more awful than the sight of the discolored metal against the summer sky. Could there be anything worse than being held under the water forever? I remember the clench of fear in my belly and the rubber feeling in my legs. Already it was too late. For me the ocean would never be a place of simple pleasure or easy relaxation. Instead, it would always be something that I had to protect myself against. All subsequent experiences of the beauty and grandeur of the ocean have been colored by the lens of that first glimpse of its ferocity and the finality of its judgments against the weak.

I have visited the ocean many times since. We even have a vacation home on the Oregon coast where I sit and gaze at the pounding waves. But I never venture out onto the water, preferring instead the safety of the beach.

Just a note: I tried to look at pictures of shipwrecks to illustrate this blog but they created such a sense of panic in me that I just couldn't post it.

2009-09-16T12:22:00.000-08:00

Many of us blog not because we think that our lives are just so darned out of the ordinary or because we have such lofty insights that the rest of the world just has to know, but because we want to be disciplined about keeping a journal of sorts and to follow our thoughts through to some logical conclusion. Another reason that I have taken up blogging is that I would like to become a better writer. And by better I mean that I want to be able to express ideas and experiences clearly using words in such a way that the reader will truly be able to understand a thought that I am having or even experience it in some way.

To that end, I have a few books that I am using, possibly on a daily(ish?) basis. (I notice some definite hedging in that sentence.) One of the books is called Ordinary Genius: A Guide for the Poet Within by Kim Addonizio. This book looks great inside, but I have to admit that this book won out over its competition because of the great cover. One of the first exercises that she suggests is to write Haiku. I like Haiku. For me, it is not intimidating and I tend to be a person of few words. I enjoy paring things down. (Which you can't tell by some of my recent posts.) Almost anyone can put down three lines with 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables.

But Addonizio also points out that there is an American form of this called the American sentence, a phrase coined by Allen Ginsberg, which is just a single line containing the 17 syllables that would be in a Haiku. Again, not overly intimidating. The author says that a great poem should surprise and delight, contain mystery and meaning, and be set to a rhythm that sings. So here are some of the lines that I jotted down this morning while I was waiting for some friends in a coffee shop, some in Haiku form, some in American sentence form. I'm going to invite you to write one as well and leave it in my comments box. Please! It will only take a minute or two. It doesn't have to be great or contain all of the elements above, but it just might.

Ten young people sit at a table talking and drinking coffee.

Autumn leaves glowing

with the long summer's final

golden energy.

I would like to paint the integrity of a lonely winter tree.

Hope to hear from someone!

Eruptions

2009-09-14T11:26:00.000-08:00

(This is a picture of Angry Penguin, Annie won him at the Alaska State Fair.)

I’m not a person who bounds out of bed in the morning bright eyed and ready to face the day. But, I do wake up early and am fairly disciplined about getting myself downstairs to my prayer and yoga space most days before the rest of my family is awake. It allows me to awaken mind, body and spirit and readies me to be a more centered and yes, even joyful person.

My children have not yet adopted any similar sort of spiritual practice. They roll out of the sack bleary eyed and grumpy, groping their way to the bathroom where not even a hot shower does much to improve their mood. Tim is 13 and though Annie is still only 11, they both act like teenagers and they can be quite short tempered by the time they make it down to the kitchen where I am innocently trying to enjoy my toast and egg and a cup of tea. For the past several mornings there has been door slamming, stomping and general head-biting-off. I’m shocked to find that a kid who had looked in the mirror twice in his whole life before he turned 13 now has bad hair days. On days like this my lovely yoga and prayer induced centeredness evaporates like spit on a hot griddle. I feel my open heart shrivel up and my gut tighten. My higher self gets shoved into the back seat and my ego comes out ready for a fight. In the face of these negative emotions I seem unable to hang on to what I want to be and how I want to feel. I have been pondering why this is so.

One reason is that I assume that the bad mood and grumpiness is about me or that it is directed at me. My children are purposely attacking me because they are angry at me. But, as I step back and look, I realize that it isn’t about me at all. They are simply tired, it is hard to get up and get motivated in the morning and so irritation just naturally erupts like a little mini volcano. It’s not really directed at anyone at all, but it will effect anyone who gets in the way. So, I would like to learn to get out of the way.

One of the ways I can do this is by ignoring it. I am NOT good at ignoring. Can you ignore a whining child? How about a barking dog? I wish that I could. I have had many opportunities to try. Unfortunately though, I just get more and more irritated. The answer for me is not to ignore, but to be mindful and aware. I need to sit and notice the energy, but I don’t have to take it on or into myself. I can remind myself that most of the time, this negative energy is not about me nor directed at me. When these episodes occur the resulting energy is not ignored, rather it is released. Believe me, this is much easier said than done and will take me lots of practice. It doesn’t come naturally to me, just like playing the piano doesn’t really come naturally to me, but I love the piano and I keep trying. I’ve never gotten Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata perfect, not even close. But it did get better and once in a while it even reached out and touched the beauty that I knew was possible in me.

Seduction

2009-09-13T10:57:00.000-08:00

Image by margolove via Flickr

Seduced by the possibilities

of unknown worlds

and a brand new me

unfolding

with the turn of a page.

Falling again

to the infinite promise

of a book

not yet begun.

Too Many Books?

2009-09-12T08:07:00.000-08:00

Image by moriza via Flickr

This post is very long, I'm sorry. I've been working on it for several days....

I am not a big shopper, you will not find me hanging out at the mall or collecting clothes and accessories. (Though I really love sweaters, nice, scratchy, yes, I said scratchy, wool ones. Whenever a sweater is scratchy it convinces me that it is keeping me warmer. I know that it’s weird.) But, I do have a huge weakness for books. (I also have a weakness for candy, particularly what one of my friends calls “crap candy”. But that issue is pretty controllable. Too much crap candy makes you sick.)

As I have mentioned in a previous post, I love books and everything associated with books. I love libraries and book stores and the book section at conferences. If I visit someone’s home or office I am immediately perusing their book shelves. Even when I am watching a movie I will look past the characters and the dialogue to see what books might be on the shelf in the background. I love the feel of the book in my hand, the smoothness of the page. I especially love the smell of old books, a characteristic that my 11 year old daughter shares with me. When we are at the library together we will pull a book off the shelf circa 1950, open it up, inhale and both whisper ahhhhhh. It’s a true bonding moment. I have purchased old books at the church book sale just for the comforting smell of old pages.

I am not one of those people who hang onto every book that they ever buy. Unless I really, REALLY love the book I give it away or trade it in at the used book store. My husband, on the other hand, wants to keep every book that he ever buys, even if he hates it or never even read it! It makes a non-pack rat like me crazy. The good news is that he hardly ever buys a book. But, even though I don’t usually keep all of my books, I have a lot of books and I have a fair amount of books that I’ve never read, books that I just can’t seem to get to.

We have all heard the phrase “so many books, so little time” and at an earlier stage in my life it felt that I would eventually get to all of those books that I have missed. The classics, the histories, the Pulitzer prize winners, the bestsellers, the art books, philosophers, the 1000 books you must read before the die. Then there are all of the new books, those delicious stacks at Costco, the fabulous possibilities on Amazon, those gorgeous displays at the entrance of Barnes and Noble. My heart is racing just thinking about all of it. But as I’ve gotten older and my life seems to get fuller and fuller, I’m beginning to think that I might not get to all of it. And I’m also beginning to think that I don’t want to.

Several years ago now, I read Rachel Naomi Remen’s book, My Grandfather’s Blessings. I will never forget a story that she tells about a little boy that she befriended. The boy’s family didn’t have a lot of money so he didn’t have a lot of toys. But he did have a few Hot wheels cars that he would play with and then lovingly line up on the windowsill. Rachel wanted this little boy to be happy, so she organized a group of people at her work who all collected Hot wheels cars until they had a complete set. She presented the cars to him excitedly, expecting a joyous response to being the owner of such a wide array of cars. But instead of looking happy, he just looked overwhelmed. She asked him, “Don’t you like the cars?” He appeared slightly sad and responded, “I can’t love this many cars.” I have come back to this phrase many times in my life, but instead of cars I say, “I can’t love this many sweaters” or “I can’t love this many earrings” and am then able to leave them on the store rack.

I have had the sense many, many times that I cannot love “this many books”. This feeling has been compounded by the sheer amount of reading material and information that finds its way into my life every day. We subscribe to the New Yorker, Newsweek, Sports Illustrated (not that I have any idea what is in there) and Mother Earth News. I frequently pick up issues of The Sun and Shambala Sun. (I want to subscribe to those two but have restrained myself thus far.) I follow multiple blogs by friends and acquaintances and check in at Huffington Post regularly to get political information. I listen to Morning Edition, Talk of the Nation, Fresh Aire, and All Things Considered on most days. I listen to podcasts of Rachel Maddow, dharma talks from Gil Fronsdahl, and daily bible readings from Irish Jesuits. Granted, I don’t read or listen to all of these things every day, but these are the things that are already at my disposal even before I walk into a book store or the library or open up Amazon on my computer. My head is spinning a little bit as I type this. Even with all of this abundance of information, I still feel like there is so much more out there that I need to read or need to listen to.

As I check in with how all of this feels in my body and my spirit, I realize that the desire that goes with “more” books, more words and more information has a compulsive and acquisitive quality. It doesn’t feel good. I’m not sure that it even feels like something that I want to do, but something that I have to do, a compulsion.

It is interesting to me that acquiring books is an acceptable form of over consumption. After all, books aren’t fattening, they don’t take up a lot of space, they’ll never go bad, and they are good for your mind. They can even be really inexpensive at places like the church book sale, garage sales and thrift stores.

For many centuries owning books was an indication of your status, wealth and knowledge.Books were rare and expensive and reserved for the highest classes, professors and students, and the church. The vast majority of people didn’t even own a single book and if they did it was the Bible or other sacred scripture. Indeed, in many countries around the world, this is still true. Many of us read the Little House on the Prairie series growing up. Do you remember which books the Ingalls family owned? They owned the Bible and two or three slim textbooks that Mary, Laura, Carrie and Grace would all carry to school with them. And that was it. And they cherished those books.

I am not sure that I really know what I mean any more when I say that I love a book or a story. Does it mean that it taught me something? Or that it made me feel something? That it changed me in some way? Does it mean that I love the language or the art and craft of the writing? Does it need to mean all of the above for me to love a book?

At this point in my life as a reader and as a lover of books, I feel like a buzzing bee that stops and takes a sweet sip from this flower or that flower, always with an eye on the horizon and the next tempting taste. But what I really want to do is to sink deep down into the middle of those fragrant petals and take a long, slow drink of the beauty and wonder of words. And I know that I cannot do that in the midst of a meadow bursting with blooms. I am envisioning a sunny pasture with a few brilliant blossoms dotting the green grass. A manageable number to which I can give my undivided and loving attention.

And so I am pondering, thinking about, praying over setting a discipline in my life in which I bring any new written material into my life. I will set a moratorium on more words. I get a slightly panicked feeling just thinking about it. I’m like a book junkie who knows that it’s time for a stay in rehab but want to just get my last few fixes before the door closes behind me. Will I be able to do this? Do I really want to? How long should I keep it in place? 3 months? 6 months? A year? (I know with absolute clarity that it should be a year, but the prospect is terrifying!)

Here’s my plan:

I will keep my current magazine subscriptions but not subscribe to any new ones. (Maybe I should subscribe to The Sun and Shambala Sun before I start because I really, really love them. Angst!)

I will not buy any new books except for my book club selections and I will attempt to get those from the library.

I will not check out books from the library.

I will accept books that are gifts.

Here’s some questions that I still have:

What about bookstores? Do I still get to go in there, grab a bunch of books and magazines, sip coffee and munch a cookie on a rainy afternoon or a cold winter day? (This is one of my favorite things in the world!) Or should I take my own books and stay out of the stacks. (But I can still have the cookies!)

Same question for the library.

Then there’s the internet. What sort of limit should I set as far as surfing and reading ?

Here’s something really funny that’s just happened. My son started a new school, Steller Secondary, which is 7^th-12^th, and I volunteered to staff the school library Friday afternoons for 3 hours. (It’s like someone who just gave up chocolate working at Godiva.) Should I spend some of that time perusing the books (after all I could be making recommendations to my kids) or should I spend the quiet time reading the books that I already have? I am in the library right now and The Smithsonian magazine and the Poisonwood Bible are being very distracting. Oh, and there’s The Autobiography of Malcolm X, I don’t know anything about Malcolm X. Oh, and Isaac Asimov, a bunch of people have been talking about Isaac Asimov. I’m missing something. I know that I’m missing something.

On the serious side though, I believe that I am being called to trust that Spirit will bring into my life whatever it is that I may need in this next year and that in all likelihood, whatever it is will not be found in a book. I think that I am being called to learn from experience and to trust that my own experience can carry as much wisdom as the words of the great spiritual writers that I revere. I am being called to see beauty all around me. I am being called to write. I am being called to fall in love, again, with the books that grace my abundant book shelf.

I need to set a date. What would be an auspicious day?

What's Next

2009-09-08T11:44:00.000-08:00

I was very excited about seeing this movie,Unmistaken Child, this week. It is the story of a young Tibetan Buddhist monk whose deeply, deeply beloved master has died. The master is a highly revered Rinpoche and it is the Buddhist belief that he can choose to be reincarnated as a human. Eventually, it falls to his disciple to find his reincarnation, the new lama. The movie shows footage of the next 5 years in which the monk travels to many, many villages and spends time with babies or children of the correct age and attempts to determine if the child could possibly be the reincarnation.

I cannot recommend this movie highly enough, even if you have no interest in Buddhism. It is gorgeous in every way. The scenery of Nepal, the spectacle of Tibetan Buddhist ritual, the monk himself who shows all of his love, devotion and deep sense of duty on his handsome young face, the baby lama’s fierce intensity and then joyful smiles, the look in the eyes of his parents (a very stoic couple amongst a stoic people) as they decide if they will be able to give their son up to the monastery forever.

One of the things that I became aware of as I watched this movie, is that I wasn’t doubting that the lama had been reincarnated. There was never a point at which I questioned whether or not this was some hocus pocus. On some level I was accepting this as true. True for Buddhists? True for me? What was that about? Did I believe in reincarnation? I don’t think that I do. As I have pondered on this since, I have become aware that it just doesn’t matter to me. I don’t know what comes after death. I have always hoped and believed that there is something and in recent years I am most likely to agree with my son, Tim, when at age 5, he talked about where we go after we die. He thought about it for a minute and then he said, “I think that we must go back into the heart of God.” Whatever that might mean, I hope that it is true.

There is either something or nothing that comes after this life and many religions base their expectations of its adherent’s behaviors on a promise of that next life. Do this set of things and you’ll be rewarded. Do this other set of things and you’ll be punished. I realize that as I look back over my life that neither the promise of heaven nor the threat of hell ever really motivated me enough to transform my life, to see real change in terms of becoming a more loving, joyful and compassionate person. I chose the path of becoming and transformation because of how it effects me, my family, and my world today.

Have you ever heard people worry that at the moment of death they will find out that they were wrong? That they lived their whole life based on the wrong religion or philosophy or ideals? I have no fear of that. No matter where I find myself or don’t find myself that moment after I die, I have already witnessed that any efforts that I make that might lead to even a little more kindness or love matter and are worth it.

Those Days

2009-09-03T10:23:00.001-08:00

Why is it that some days we wake up and everything just feels “off”? When I have a day like that, is it because I have created it in some way? Is there some worry, anger or frustration that has inserted itself in my subconscious (or more correctly, that I have inserted) and it is there poking at me like a splinter embedded beneath a fingernail that aches, throbs and eventually will result in infection unless I give it the attention that it requires? Or is it just how my serotonin is flowing that day or how the planets have aligned and no matter what I have done or haven’t done in order to create the day that I would like, it will just feel “off”? I ask these questions because frankly, I don’t like these kinds of days and I would like to develop my mind, body and spirit to the point that it never happens to me. Does the Dalai Lama ever have off days? Did Jesus or the Buddha? Mother Teresa? Ghandi? I would like to know that I am in good company.

An “off” day is not a day when the big tragedies or crises happen. It is not a day when my adrenalin or my pain motivates me to action or prayer or awareness. The “off” day is the day when I wake up with a little gnawing anxiety in my stomach. When the kids are grouchy, the dog wants my attention, I don’t have any clean underwear, the gas tank is empty and my cell phone is dead. And on the “off” day, all of those things seem unbearable, when on any other day, I would sail right past these small issues.

Who knows why these days come? It’s very likely that I will never figure it out. But, I guess that I believe that they come for a reason. These days must be there to teach me something. How much do I learn about myself and my behaviors when my kids are perfectly happy with me and each other, my body is at perfect ease, everybody seems to love me, and I meet a smiling face every where that I go? Well, I do learn how that feels if I pay attention and I do learn that that feeling will come again and that in all likelihood I didn’t do anything to create it. And on these other days, I learn how to keep living through what feels difficult and even unacceptable. I have to learn how to put others needs in front of what I feel, and how to keep my heart open and loving even when it feels that I don’t have a drop of goodness within me. I may not get to decide what every day feels like, but I do get to decide how I respond to what is.

Fun as a spiritual practice

2009-09-01T09:03:00.000-08:00

Laughing and having fun has to be one of the most important spiritual practices that I can think of. I tend to be a person who thinks a lot and sometimes I need to not think just feel, just enjoy. So, my blog today is a slide show of the Alaska State Fair that the whole family attended this weekend. We had a great, great time and I enjoyed every minute of it. I am sure that there is a deep spiritual lesson to be learned at the fair, infinite numbers of them probably. But for now, I am just looking back over my pictures and smiling.

See my slide show on the previous post.

2009-09-01T09:02:00.001-08:00

The small things....

2009-08-28T14:25:00.000-08:00

About two years ago I discovered the joys of Chinese teas at a tea garden in Portland. Since then, I have been exploring teas and enjoying the various subtleties and flavors in much the same way that people taste wine. A large part of the experience for me is what the tea is served in. Depending on the type of tea, you use a little cup with a lid or various small tea pots. I have had a few different lovely little cups from which to drink and enjoy my tea and then just this summer I bought the most beautiful small teapot called a yixing and a tiny little cup to go with it. The pot will only hold 4 ounces or so and the cup is actually more like a shot glass. But each morning as I made my tea I truly marveled at the perfection of the pot. The matte reddish brown color was neither too dull nor too bright. When I ran my hand across the finish there was not the least bit of roughness, it all was completely smooth. It was perfectly proportioned and its little round belly reminded me of the underside of a chubby puppy. Every morning when I poured the steaming tea out of its tiny little spout and into its matching dainty cup I felt like something important and beautiful was happening.

In her book, The Elegance of the Hedgehog, Muriel Barbery writes, “I know that tea is no minor beverage. When tea becomes ritual, it takes its place at the heart of our ability to see greatness in small things. Where is beauty to be found? In great things that, like everything else, are doomed to die, or in small things that aspire to nothing, yet know how to set a jewel of infinity in a single moment?”

How that passage resonates with me. My little teapot and I were not aspiring to anything great or lasting, but just a small moment of perfection that seemed to find me every day.

On the afternoon that I was pondering on this passage and what I wanted to say about tea and beauty in my next blog, Annie was making a cake in the kitchen. My perfect little teapot was sitting on the counter in the work area and my perfect little teapot ended up on the floor in about 30 pieces.

I miss it very much. I really do. I could try to find another one or order one from the place in Portland where I bought it. Money and the internet could easily replace it. But it seems like I am supposed to live without it for now and to smile at the memory of its miniature perfection.

In the grand scheme of things that teapot was no big deal. But it was one of my “jewels of infinity” and so a little spot of beauty has been lost from my day. But that must mean that now there is an empty place ready to be filled with the beauty that is available all around me. What are the small beauties in this world that are lined up, just waiting for me to notice?

The Other Side of Blind Spots

2009-08-27T09:56:00.000-08:00

Macrina Weiderkehr has a priceless little poem that reads,

Believe the truth about yourself

No matter how beautiful it is.

I can take this affirmation a step farther and say that we must also believe the truth about the people around us and believe the truth about the world that we see around us, no matter how beautiful it is. We spend so much of our time focused on what is wrong. On what is wrong with the world, with our children, with ourselves, with the people we work with, with the guy in the car in front of us. What if we chose to believe the truth instead?

But, what is the truth? There must be some ultimate truth out there, but if there is, I am certainly not the keeper of it. So I can only say what feels most true for me today. My truth is that God completely imbues this world. For me God tends to be like a screen behind everything that I see around me or the canvas upon which a beautiful work of art rests. But, in order for me to see past my blind spots, God must be the paint, not the canvas. I am called to first see God in my child, before I see the issue or the difficulty. To first see God when I look out my window and see a gray day when I was hoping for sunshine. To see God first in the person sitting across the table from me who has a completely different opinion from my own. And maybe most importantly, to see God when I look into my own heart and my own mind even when I feel that I have completely blown it yet again.

I’m learning to know and accept the truth about myself, no matter how wrong or broken or unaware I can be sometimes. And I am learning to believe in the great beauty of being human.

Blind Spots

2009-08-26T12:32:00.000-08:00

Today I am thinking about my “blind spots”. We all have them. They are the things that we just can’t seem to see about ourselves, or others, or the world around us. I can be blind to both my faults and my gifts, completely unable to see myself the way other people see me. And let’s face it, do I really want to?

The scary thing about my blind spots is that I don’t even know that they exist. What am I missing? What am I blissfully unaware of? Those things that if I understood about myself might require some sort of change, reparation or apology on my part?

But if I do want to begin understanding my blind spots, where do I begin? I begin by being willing to see. That statement may seem obvious and simplistic, but I can tell by the feeling of dread in my stomach as I just contemplate the possibility, that it would be very difficult. What if I told all of my friends, my husband, my family, my kids that they could tell me all of the faults they see in me? All of the times that I have failed them. That I want them to tell me these things. Would I be able to stand and listen or would I end up a puddle of quivering self loathing jelly who retreats back into the safety of limited vision?

As frightening and painful as it may be, I want to live my life with my eyes wide open. I want to know the truth about myself and about the world around me. This doesn’t mean that I am sending a blanket statement to everyone to list all my character flaws, but it does mean that I commit to be awake in a new way and to listen to everyone around me in a deeper way. There is a very good possibility that they can see something that I cannot.

Loving Words and loving no words

2009-08-25T08:40:00.000-08:00

As I approach my spiritual reading these days, it feels as though there is not really anything new under the sun. There was a time when I would peruse the book store shelves or plunge into the stacks at the library waiting for that next title to jump out and grab me. It would be the book with the next small piece of enlightenment to jump start my spiritual life and to swallow up the lassitude that sometimes threatened to engulf me. I needed that next “fix” of spiritual wisdom that would allow me to experience the next high of relationship with God. And there is no doubt that many of those books have been among my greatest spiritual teachers. I run my finger along the spines of the books that grace my own bookshelf and each name rings out as a personal spiritual friend. There’s Macrina and Thomas, Sunryu and Pierre, John and Teresa. And as I touch each book, I try to remember who I was before they shared their story with me. But I no longer know because what they shared with me changed my mind, sometimes completely and radically. And as I allowed my mind to change my spirit grew more and more solid, real but also spacious. And I feel deep, deep gratitude to my teachers.

But that thirst for the knowledge of the next thing has mellowed at this time in my life. And I begin to see what they are all saying in a more universal light. The philosophies and theologies and world views are all different, but they all pointed me to the same place. They have pointed me to a God of mystery and immediacy who encompasses my every moment without ever needing to completely explain itself to me and it never will. I could go exactly where I want to go, into the very heart of God, without ever reading another word or processing another idea. My spiritual life lives in my heart now, not in my head.

I will always be a spiritual reader, no doubt about that, and I will continue to haunt those particular aisles in libraries and book stores. But now, as I read all of those words, it is not as though I am finding anything at all that is new. But simply remembering what I have always known.