Remembering ... in the Silence of Community

I sat with soul friends in the silence this week after listening to a portion of a prayer from An African Prayer Book (© 2006 compiled by archbishop Desmond Tutu and one of my favorites, this prayer is found on page 72-73, a traditional prayer from Ghana) ... The Motor Under Me is Running Hot:

 Lord,

The motor under me is running hot.

Lord,

There are twenty-eight people

And lots of luggage in the truck.

Underneath are my bad tires.

The brakes are unreliable.

Unfortunately I have no money,

And parts are difficult to get.

Lord,

“Jesus is mine”

Is written on the vehicle,

For without Him I would not drive a single mile.

The people in the back are relying on me.

They trust me because they see the words:

“Jesus is mine.”

Lord,

I trust You!

 

As I sat in our time of silence, two conflicting images emerged for me, images from my past, images of darkness ... at first I remembered my first mission trip to Cuba in the late 90's.   We had all of the right licenses, knew all of the rules of engagement and felt deep heart connections with the people in a small church in Jovellanos, located in the Matanzas district.  They were the most gracious hosts and I had need of nothing while I was there.  They had little in the way of material possessions but my dear friends had an overflowing, loving, generous spirit.  They were passionate about reaching people with the message of God's love in Jesus Christ.  We went mostly to help them spread that word through small "house" churches.  As I stood in each one, I thought, "this must be what it was like as Jesus traveled place to place with his small band of disciples."  One evening, I was dropped off in the middle of nowhere (it seemed like to me) with one of my female traveling companions and a female missionary/interpreter to speak with a group of woman who had small children.  At the end of our time we walked back up the road and waited in the dark ... do you know that kind of darkness in which you cannot even see your hand in front of your face?   We waited for a very long time ... at one point we joked about how we could get back to Jovellanos if they forgot about us.  Our laughter was a little uneasy but underneath the darkness, there was a simple trust.  I trusted the people, I trusted God.

The second image that emerged was much more unsettling.  Perhaps this image emerged because we just yesterday passed the nine year mark since Hurricane Katrina.  The darkness that enveloped the New Orleans area in the aftermath of the storm was not so friendly to my soul.  I remember ... watching from afar, listening to the people on the radio late at night through earphones as I slept, hearing their desperation, wondering who lived and who died, calling friends and hearing only silence on the other end, praying and praying and praying.  

I remember our first trip back, the trip you took to see what was left of your home and your life.  And there it was ... standing tall, damaged but not destroyed.  wow.  The beautiful bradford pear tree was broken but the mis-shapen little oak tree stood where it was. Of course.  The chimney was blown out and twisted at the top and but was still attached to the house.  Yay!  The house was missing some pieces of siding but it still looked good to me compared to what it could have been.  So it went ... and happy we were that we had bought a raised house.  The electricity was not yet on so we cleaned up what we could and let the house BE.  One of our neighbors stayed to watch all our houses as they sat, quiet and alone in the darkness.

I remember driving back home with my son after my neighbor told us we had electricity on our street.  My husband now in a corporate apartment in Houston only returned once to the house after that initial clean up trip, to load it up and move it out.   Because there was not yet complete electrical restoration, there were no supplies in St. Charles Parish at that time right after the Storm.  We stopped on Hwy 90, the best way for re-entry it seemed to us, to pick up supplies.  Supplies ... and a knife.  Yes, for some reason that little knife made me feel safe.  It's the little things, right?  I still have it, it still makes me feel safe but mostly it helps me clean wax out of my candle holders. 

I remember driving by the Circle K and seeing the National Guard ... soldiers with sub-machine guns.  Really ... in my neighborhood ... across from my church?  Really?  I felt like I was disconnected from reality.  This cannot be happening.  But it was.

I remember picking up lots and lots and lots of diapers on my way into town because some of the first persons back found that was the need we needed to meet ... and so we created a circular path for people who came, usually after picking their MRE's.  Not long after we started, a local pediatrician called and offered to supply formula.  We asked the people how they were, offered to pray for them and ... oh, the stories they told.  Sometimes, I thought I would break down from the stories.  We created a small chapel prayer area in the Sanctuary for people to pray ... and pray we did, but I never cried.  I had created a visual on the altar with a special place for all of the prayer cards and had placed a "brokenness" cross in the center.  The cross had been created especially for a Kairos Prison Ministry weekend I was leading by a friend of mine who is a potter.  It was a large clay cross upon which broken pieces of "reclaimed" pottery were placed in the center.  We bring our brokenness to Jesus and the cross, yes?   We had a prayer service to close down the "baby depot" and the prayer chapel.  And I didn't cry.  After it was over, I sent everyone home and prayed through the cards one last time.  I carefully began folding material and gently taking things down from the altar.  And suddenly it happened.  The cross fell from it's perch and broke ... and suddenly I broke too.  I cried for what seemed like hours just holding all the pieces in my lap.  "What good is a broken brokenness cross" I wailed. Then, I gently wrapped the pieces, put them in their box, and tucked it away.

I remember driving into New Orleans after the Storm.  I remember driving along the streets, carpet piled up on the curb ... house after house after house ... and thinking, "this is not just carpet, this is people's lives and we'll never be the same."  I remember driving a friend home in the dark ... that same dark I experienced in Cuba ... and panic set in because the buildings, landmarks in silhouette against the dark sky, they were gone, all of them ... gone.  I didn't know where we were.  That unknowing was more than physical.  Suddenly, I felt very lost as I drove home alone.   

I remember sitting at a table with some people at a retreat at Camp Allen in Navasota, right outside Houston, after we moved.  I was referred to as a "refugee" after I told people my story.  I said, "oh, I'm not a refugee."  She didn't really ask a question but said, "Did you live there before the storm?"  I said, "yes."  She followed with, "And now you are living here, at least for the time being?"  I said, "yes."   She said very adamantly then, "Sweetheart, YOU are a refugee."  I think that was my lowest moment, my most alone moment as all of the people looked at me with "that" look.  Do you know the look I'm talking about?  Actually, I hope you don't.  In an instant, the conversation turned and I was completely alone in that room full of people.  And I determined never to share my story with strangers again.

Several years later, I remember being asked to deliver a message with a personal testimony at the Gospel service at Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary using passages from Isaiah (60 & 62) 

Arise! Shine! Your light has come;
    the Lord’s glory has shone upon you.
Though darkness covers the earth
    and gloom the nations,
    the Lord will shine upon you;
    God’s glory will appear over you.
Nations will come to your light
    and kings to your dawning radiance ...

You will no longer be called Abandoned,
    and your land will no longer be called Deserted.
Instead, you will be called My Delight Is in Her,
    and your land, Married.
    Because the Lord delights in you,
    your land will be cared for once again. ©CEB

As I packed for that trip, I couldn't get that broken brokenness cross out of my mind, I thought I was going crazy.  I knew it was still packed away somewhere but finally I made a deal with myself.  I'll open one box and if it is in that box I'll take it with me.  Lo and behold, there it was, in the first box I opened.  But I still didn't know what to do with it!  I hadn't yet unwrapped it, looked at it, touched it.  Finally, the night before I was to stand before the people ... I opened the little box and pulled the wrapping from around the pieces, and looked at it.  I gasped!  How could I not have seen this?  There, among all of the tiny pieces and the three big pieces was the small cross, the cross that my potter friend put among the broken pieces as a sign of hope ... resurrection ... new life.  Suddenly, I realized that we not only bring our brokenness to Jesus for him to fix.  Jesus, the risen Christ, walks among our brokenness, healing us and creating beauty from all of the broken pieces of our lives.  And my own determination was broken down in the midst of the risen Christ who filled the room.  And I shared my story once again with a room full of strangers the next evening. 

I remember several days later as I was meditating on John 6 ... these words shimmered up off the page and into my heart (as they frequently do) ... in verse 12, Jesus says:  “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.”   In the silence, I heard Jesus say to me, "I will pick up the pieces of your life and put it back together again."   That was the birth of MOSAIC Spiritual Formation Ministry ... creating beauty from the broken pieces of life ... in my heart. 

And all of this remembering emerged from a prayer from the heart of the people in Ghana ... and the silence within which we held it.  Suddenly the darkness is not dark anymore, the Lord is shining!  And the risen Christ walks among us. 

“Jesus is mine.”

Lord,

I trust You!

Amen!

My Broken Brokenness Cross created by Jane Knight, Painting to left by Merilyn Hully

Tiny Bubbles in the Silence

A new friend gave me a bottle of bubbles today.  Well, she gave them to me last night but they were for my day of silence today.  She wanted me to spend some time playing. And I was looking forward to playing almost as much as taking photographs in my silence. 

I walked down to a park on the lake near Christ the King Retreat House where I am attending a Hearts on Fire retreat with speaker, Terry Hershey, author of Soul Gardening and various other books.  There is just something about retreat leaders that get us to pondering and digging around in the dirt of our lives while seeking the light, yes?   He asked us, "What is it in your dirt that you are afraid of?"  And I suppose I never really moved much beyond that question, I got caught up in my digging.  There is just something about the silence that invites digging and, woe is me, I am a reflective over-achiever.  

I kept coming back to a quote of mine that emerged in some poetry I wrote last fall that I shared on my imamosaic blog called "i see you ~ come home."  I wrote it after walking the Celtic Triple Spiral Labyrinth at Grunwald Guild and it has become one of my favorites, it is just so deliciously dark.  

I carefully spread my scarf on the grass by a beautiful large tree on the top of a hill overlooking the park and the lake. I laid down in the grass and looked up at the sun and the sky peeking through the bountiful branches overhead.  I listened to the wind breathing through the leaves before finally blowing bubbles and bubbles and bubbles. I let the quote rumble around in my soul and I invited myself into using an adaptation of it to spring into some new writing:

Terrified of being trapped
in a story not written for me

But ...

what if

my story 

is a thousand tiny bubbles

floating in the air

each rainbow orb

not simply a note

in the symphony of my life

but the whole composition

echoing in the heart of God.

And me?

I am the air God breathes

 

Before I left home, I picked up a pottery prayer piece made by a potter friend of mine.  It was calling me, beckoning me to take it with me on my retreat.  There is a dragon fly on one side.  If you turn it over, it says "freedom."   I have found it a very surprising companion this week for I didn't know I was being held captive by this fear, believing it to be left behind in other fields of dirt.  Exploring it these past few days and deepening the exploration in the silence has been liberating for me, one more step in my journey toward wholeness. 

Thank you Terry Hershey for leading us on this grand gardening adventure!   Peace be with you!

Reflections on Silence

If you are looking for my Reflections on Silence, the account of my journey with the Olivetan Bendictine Monks in April 2014, take the Links in this order ... 

On the blog, they are in reverse which confuses some people.  I invite you to move forward slowly.  You can move through them by taking the link at the bottom of each post to the next post.

1. Arrival at the Monastery
2. Moving into Silence
3. Dwelling in Silence
4. Lingering in Silence
5. Departure from the Monastery
6. Coming Home

Endings & Beginnings ...

When May arrives many of us experience various endings and beginnings ... dying and rising again an echo of our Easter journey.  It seems for me that, with Easter so late this year, those endings and beginnings came much quicker.   Add to that, there are transitions happening all around me and I'm not sure I'm ready.  

I feel a little un-moored ... like I am floating down an un-named creek on the river of my life.  So I'm in the process of pondering and re-writing the "rhythm and rule of my life" in order to provide a stronger container within which to hold all of the pieces of my life so they might re-gather anew.  

Always we begin again, yes?

 

Question for Reflection:  
How is your rhythm and rule of life serving you and your ministry these days, connecting you to the One within whom you "live and move and have your being?"

Reflections on Silence: Coming Home

Everybody has their own way of looking at their lives 

as some kind of pilgrimage ... Mine, I suppose, is to know myself.

~Eric Clapton

Is my life a pilgrimage?   Certainly, I feel that I am coming to know myself.  At least I have begun the journey, I think.  And I am finding that is not necessarily comfortable.  As I come closer to my-self, I find things that I like and things that I don't.  I am finding a desire to change some of those things that are keeping me from being who I truly am.  And ... I am finding that is not necessarily comfortable!

For me, silence is the most important aspect of my spiritual life.  I need time to hear the whispers of my soul ... to hear the whispers of God within my soul.  I need the silence to wake up, to become aware.  Silence increases my awareness, not just of God's presence, but of all of creation and my space in the web of nature.  

Wanderer, your footsteps are
the road, and nothing more;
wanderer, there is no road,
the way is made by walking.
By walking one makes the road,
and upon glancing behind
one sees the path
that never will be trod again.
Wanderer, there is no road–
Only wakes upon the sea.

~Antonio Machado

Since I've returned home from the Monastery and a couple of working retreats, I am spending more time in meditation and reflection, wondering how my experience changed me, transforming me from the inside out into the world. I'm taking long walks on trails close to my home and I'm breathing in God's presence through the nature that I find in my world. I even signed up for Yoga just for ME.

And I continue to develop my personal rhythm in the silence:

walking ... praying ...  returning ... resting

At the monastery, it was the resting into which my soul came home to herself.  Laying down on my bed, my head resting upon the green prayer shawl in the the window of the monastery, gazing out upon the trees, I felt twinges of the familiar deep in my little girl soul.  And yet I am filled with wonder because I was such a fearful child ... driving with my parents down those dark gravel roads in Arkansas, visions of monsters lurking along the edge of the roads, filling my dreams, and making me tremble.  Looking up into the trees, dark leafy silhouettes against the night sky, reflecting a quality of light born only of moonlight and stars.  Suddenly, I remember the soft voices of my parents and the warmth of my mother's welcoming lap as I laid my head down and fell asleep to the subtle roar of the truck engine.  I am safe.  I am loved.  I am only, ever ... me. 

Listen ... this year

I have planted my feet

on this ground

and am practicing

growing up 

out of my legs

like a tree.

~ Linda Lancione Moyer, Women Prayers

Reflections on Silence: Departure from the Monastery

My Silence at the Monastery

Early in the morning, with only a few short hours left with my Silence, I rise to find out if I would get a sunrise.  But no, it was a foggy day.  Disappointment welled up within me but as I peered down the road I realized the fog had an elusive beauty.  With each blink of the eye, it changed.  And I almost ran to see my Dancing Woman Tree.  And there she is, swaying in the morning breeze, dancing with her reflection, hauntingly beautiful.  She takes my breathe away.   

 

I linger and watch the fog roll in.  I wander down the gravel road and the honeysuckle tickles my nose with it's sweet aroma.  Have you ever tasted honeysuckle nectar?  I felt like a little girl again as I reached out and caught droplets of nectar on the tip of my tongue.  A bountiful breakfast for a girl steeped in silence.  

Reading Psalm 145 on my last morning and these words drew me in, "you open wide your hands."  When I think of open hands, I think of giving and receiving.  I think of letting go and taking up, of loving and being loved.  Open hands mean balance, symbiosis ... living in a symbiotic relationship with all living beings.  Open hands, going away and coming home.  

There's not much time now.  But my time with the psalms does not feel complete.  So I continue to read through until I reach Psalm 147:15 and the words "Peace on your borders" almost explodes off the page!  Wow.  How easy it is, to have peace in your center when God resides there.  It's the borders, the margins, the edge of my boundaries where peace often alludes me.  Out there I am not protected.  I am not safe, secure, warm, confident.  I do not feel fully loved.  I read my verse again, and I read it more fully this time.  "God has established peace on your borders."  It really isn't up to me to make the peace radiate from my center out into the world.  God does this from my simple obedience to seeking peace for my center.  And may it be so. 

How beautiful ...

are the feet of the messenger 

who announces peace.  Isaiah 52:7

 And may it be so!  Amen!

Goodbye dear Monks!

Take this link for Part 6 of Reflections on Silence:  Coming Home

Reflections on Silence: Lingering in Silence

My Silence at the Monastery

Friday 6:30 am Clouds drift across the sunrise, obscuring my view but beautiful anyway.  Pink and orange strands of light, peeking through and dancing with the clouds here and there, a symphony of frogs, crickets, and ducks playing along the edge of the gravel road I'm standing on.  A lovely morning prayer to accompany my musings and give me sweet visions of God ...

A vein of sapphires hides in the earth

a sweetness in fruit

and in plain-looking rock lies a golden ore

and in seeds the treasure of oil

Like these, the Infinite 

rests concealed in the heart.

~Mahadevi, India 12 c, in Woman Prayers

Today is the day to begin the ascent, emerging out of the Silence, confident that transformation has taken place in the soul, a deepening and widening, an expanse of space from which to live.  It is a day to begin turning toward the world and it's people.

 The Holy may speak to you from many hiding places at any time.  

The world may whisper in your ear.  

Or ... the spark of God may whisper in your heart.  Listen.  

~Rachel Naomi Remen

I pray, "whisper, my God, whisper your Word into my Heart." 

1 Corinthian 15:51-58.  These words capture me:  Listen, I will tell you a Mystery!  It is a verse that sings in my soul. It is the deepest of mysteries in its context for the mystery is the resurrection.  As I leave the monks and our midday prayers, once more I walk the Stations of the Cross.  Over these days I have been drawn to each station in different ways at different times.  Walking the Stations has become ... remembering.  Remembering Jesus.  Remembering the journey.  Remembering the sacrifice, the death.  Remembering the Risen Christ.  Remembering ... LOVE.  Loving God, Loving Self, Loving Others.   And therein lies the fruit of my devotion. 

As the sun begins to wane ... I pray with the monks.  Eucharistic Adoration ... in silence.  Vespers.  Rosary ... then silence.  Compline.  And I read the Gospel.  Luke 24:1-12 and as the words jump off the page, my heart sings, "Remember ... he is risen."  O God, you are precious!  And I am filled with awe and love and deeper devotion as I drift off to sleep my last night "under" the stars.

"Devotion by itself has little value ... 

and may even be a form of self-indulgence ...

the spiritual life of individuals has to be extended

both vertically to God

and horizontally to other souls.

The more it grows in both directions, 

the less merely individual 

and therefore the more truly personal it will be.

~Evelyn Underhill

Take this link for Part 5 of Reflections in Silence: Departure from the Monastery

Reflections on Silence, Dwelling in Silence

My Silence at the Monastery

I pray privately each morning, watching for a sunrise that never materializes ... fog and clouds obscure the sun's rising for the most part ... praying the psalms, lectio divina, journaling and simply watching nature through the window.  On Thursdays the monks pray their afternoon prayers privately so today I am on my own.  And the vastness of the silence opens before me.  The design of a contemplative retreat takes us on a descent into the depths of God, and ourselves in God, while our ascent happens on the back side.  I sense that today will take me to my deepest point as I enter into, not simply silence, but solitude.  There is both a simmering excitement and a tingle of trepidation in my soul as I seek the place of "dwelling" within God and God within me.

My word from last night's evening psalm emerges again this morning before I even open up the morning psalms.  Am I behind already?    

Trust in the Lord.  ~from Psalm 115:11

Perhaps this begs the question:  Do I trust in the Lord?  And yet, I wonder "What is trust?" and "What does trust look like in my life?" and How does that trust feel?

Even as I want to say that "I trust the Lord," I'm not exactly sure, it's so easy to say with a dismissive gesture but ever SO hard to do, I think.  I want to be control of my-self, of my life ... of those things that affect me.  And right now there are many things going on in my life that affect me.  I wonder and yes, I worry, but I know that I shouldn't ... I should "just trust in the Lord."  There is that dismissive gesture again.  Taking a deep breath ... I remember yesterday's word:  All day and into the night I will seek your face, O God.

Always we begin again.  ~A book on Benedictine living by John McQuiston

Begin again, I shall!  I read my morning psalms, 146 and 147 ...I'm hearing "God heals my broken heart and binds up my wounds."  Ok, dear God, you must tell me about my broken heart.  Have I a broken heart?  Have I not cried enough tears over my own brokenness?  How does my heart cry out over the brokenness of the world?  How shall I find the healing touch of wholeness in your love today?  

May you be drenched with the longing for peace, and make justice blossom on earth.

~Hildegard of Bingen

Ahhh, the journey from a broken heart to a longing for peace.  And not just a longing but a drenching with longing.  Such a beautiful word ... drenching.  And perhaps the silence I am experiencing in these woods is both a drenching in peace and a longing for peace that deepens my soul and widens my heart to embrace the world, aching for justice to blossom ... an unfolding of your presence, O God.

Spiritual silence demands a deep presence to oneself in each moment ... 

silence allows things to emerge in their own wholeness.

~Richard Rohr, Silent Compassion

I believe that silence can, if one is ready and willing, create an empty space in the soul along with a deep hunger to be filled ... with silence.   I am ready, O God.  I am willing, O God.  Make the empty space in my soul larger, fill me deeper and wider with the healing presence of the Silence that is you.  Make me whole, O God ... as whole as I can be ... so whole that I am only and always who I am.

I had a small "kitchenette" in my room which consisted of a small table, a mini-fridge and a small microwave.  There was a coffee pot, too, but I don't drink coffee. 

As I sit, eating my solitary lunch, looking out upon the squirrels at my window, I remember how good my food tastes in the silence.  Each morsel is a lovely delight and full of zest.  I'm not sure who enjoyed their lunch more, me or the squirrels! 

There were 3 of them, my squirrels, taking sweet moments to tease each other.  One was quite jumpy and almost anytime I moved, he ran to the tree and froze in this lovely defensive position.  One rarely showed himself at the edge of my viewing area.  He was larger and wiser, I suppose.  One didn't seem to mind my presence at all.  She came close and dug deep and came up with juicy orange tidbits that she enjoyed with gusto.

I really didn't mind bringing my own food and preparing a couple of simple meals and a few fruit and nut snacks.  When I encounter the silence, I find that I am not as hungry ... or since I am not so frantically moving through my life ... I consider each bite and notice when I am satisfied more likely. It is good, so good.

Breathe deep ... feel the sacred well that is your own breath.

Breathe deep ... Breathe deep ...Breathe deep.

I walk down the gravel road along the edge of the monastery

The horses and the cows, they didn't seem to care that much for my presence.  Hello, over here!  The horse snorted at me and cows just kept eating.

So I make my way back onto the grounds and walk around the tiny lake by the chapel. I sit in the silence and contemplate the flowers, the trees, and Mary, Mother of God.  She is a great protector and a fine companion for the silence.  She is strong and understands my heart.

As the day winds down, I read the Gospel passage from the Daily Office for Vespers.  It is a beautiful passage for a beautiful day, Matthew 28:16-20 and these words shimmer on the page.  I find such comfort and rest for my soul ... Remember I am with you always, to the end of the age." And I pray, returning to the word from my first day, the word that seems to be the foundation of my silent retreat.  "All day and into the night, I will seek your face, O God."  Is this a paradox?  I seek you with a desperate longing, God, my Love, but you are always with me.  As I rest in the silence, I realize I see you everywhere.  I see you in the ducks and the squirrels, the horses and the cows, the trees and the flowers.  I feel your love in the monks and hear you in their chants.  Silence quite simply makes your presence real to me.  As I lay my head upon the pillow, I know deep down in my soul that I see you in the mirror, too.  Deep.

Either you see God in all things

or very quickly you cannot see God anywhere.

~Richard Rohr, Silent Compassion 

Take this link for Part 4 of Reflections on Silence:  Lingering in Silence

Reflections on Silence: Moving into Silence

My Silence at Mother of the Redeemer Monastery

 The View out my window, I moved by bedside altar and laid my head on the pillow at night by this window.  As I listened to the bullfrogs, the crickets and sometimes the duck joining their symphony, I felt as though I was sleeping under the stars.

 

I dreamed about Mom last night, she loved being outside, it renewed her.  In all her twinkling deviousness, I smiled, I understood, I helped her ... to be given the love she so desperately desired.  I miss you, mom. I love you.  You are always with me.

The sun awakens me early in the morning, I'm not used to this!  But I love it today.  Drinking in the fresh air simply gazing upon the trees ... and listening.

Listen, the wind is breathing in the trees.  ~Stephanie Kaza

My soul waits ... and I wonder, "what shall I do with all of my silence?"  

The glorious, glorious silence, I love you.  As often as I am drawn to the freedom I find in solitude, I am feeling drawn to pray with the monks, so close by and there are so ... few of them.  They have a hospitable spirit wrapped in silence because of who they are, immersed in their silence and their daily work.  In the 2 little stain-glass windows of the chapel it is written "ora" and "labora" ... work and prayer. I commit to feeling my feelings and letting them fill me with wisdom in these days. I find the Daily Office and determine to weave it into my rhythm with the monks.  The morning psalm is Psalm 105 and verse 15 captures me.  Search for God and the strength you will be given.  Continually seek God's face.  This becomes my mantra for the day ... 

All day long and into the night, I will seek your face, O God.

I walk, I sit under the trees in the field at the end of the Stations of the Cross.  There is a very little almost empty cemetery with a large crucified Jesus hanging on a large cross.  I walk, I pray, I listen to the trees and all the creatures of the woods.  I pray, I read.  I pray, I draw with my oil pastels and I write in my journal, my thoughts and my poetry and my prayers. I walk, I take photos to honor the space.  I walk down the road and I gaze upon the rice field.

The rice field on the border of the Monastery grounds

I am moving ever so gently forward into the silence and it is beautiful. 

 Silence has a life of it's own.  

~Richard Rohr, Silent Compassion

Perhaps this is why I believe that Silence teaches each one of us how to "be" in the silence, with the silence, with-in the silence.  I am friends with the silence ... "O Silence, I want to be your lover." All day long and into the night, I will seek your face, O God.  All day long and into the night, I listen to the wind breathing through the trees, into my soul, and my soul awakens with longing in the morning breeze ... flowing gently, touching softly

As I sat beneath the trees and closed my eyes, this arose in me asking to be expressed ... wind breathing through the trees

It is time to pray with the monks.  Perhaps that is overstating, mostly I move my lips and listen for there would be something dissonant, I feel, about joining my voice with the monks.  Their voices chant and blend together in a way that sends me to heaven as I am enfolded into their prayers.  Before vespers, we sit in silence.  It is called Eucharistic Adoration but I simply sit, with a vast emptiness creating a cave for the divine in my heart. Before Compline, we say the Rosary.  I have trouble with this, too many words and I tire.  I have no Rosary beads so I count on my fingers and listen for the prayers to move through the monks and finally it is over ... 15 minutes seems like an hour.  After my prayers with the monks, I walk the Stations of the Cross and become more familiar with the story with each walking.   

And there is Jesus, hanging on the cross. 

Can I confess that I have never understood this?  I stand, I sit, I wonder ... and these words come to me, "do not hold on to me ... go."   As long as Jesus continues to hang on the cross, he cannot be the Risen Christ walking in the midst of brokenness.  Suddenly, I ask myself, "why is there such peace and tranquility sitting and gazing upon the Crucified Christ?"  It is a mystery made manifest in the silence.  

Silence is an alternative consciousness ... 

the soul does not use words.  

It surrounds words with space, 

and that ... is silence."  

~Richard Rohr, Silent Compassion

Take this link for Part 3 of Reflections on Silence:  Dwelling in Silence

Reflections on Silence: Arrival at the Monastery

My Silence at Mother of the Redeemer Monastery 

the chapel, filled with chants and prayers and silence

When I called, he said, "Most of the monks won't be here, being the week after Easter.  You'll have to bring your own food and take care of your meals."  My soul, gasping for breath, I said ... "no matter, I'll come if that's all right."  Looking forward to the silence like I never have before, I simply kept my eye on the day I would leave.   Inviting silence for others as my vocation ... this would be MY time in the blessed Silence.

Construction in Beaumont, sitting still on the way, getting lost on the gravel roads, knowing they all look the same ... of course, I arrive in the middle of evening prayers ... and the monk is so gracious.  They chant, the three of them in their tiny chapel and I am drawn in.  I won't be in the silence alone, a community is being woven in the silence and the psalms.  I am welcome to come for prayers, there is a schedule in my very simple room.  It's late and it is all I can do to settle before falling asleep ... I always sleep when the silence descends, for as long as it takes for my soul to catch up with me.  I wake only long enough to eat a small piece of fruit before calling it a night at 9:30.  It is good.  Amen.

a place within me opens and parts of myself let go 

that I did not even know were holding on.  

in these moments I feel all the hard parts 

in my heart and in my body yield

to a great softness carried on my breath ... "

Oriah Mountain Dreamer 

Take this link for Part 2 of Reflections on Silence:  Moving into Silence