a new word for a new year ...

“Amma, give me a word”  ~spiritual seeker asks a desert mother :)

I've never been good with new year's resolutions.  Honestly, when I concentrate on outcomes in the way of resolutions, I usually wind up feeling like a failure because I set unrealistic goals for myself.   It becomes all about the destination ... but what about the journey, the process, the getting from here to there?  

So, thank you dear St. Benedict, I will begin again for always I begin again ... and again ... and again.  The last few years I have been choosing a word for the year in the tradition of the guidance found via the desert mothers and fathers.  

Some years the "perfect" word seems to find me and yet sometimes it doesn't.  Last year my word was longing.  I initially thought that to be a very strange word, and I spent too much time trying to come up with a qualifying word for I wanted to be longing for something.  That sounds so much more productive, right?  And each time I tried to find something to long for, there I went hopping on down the bunny trail to nowhere!   

The word was simply, "longing" and it was an apt word for 2015.   

Last year, having experienced death quite profoundly, I found that my "longing" was hollowing me out, creating within me a vessel with new depth, suspended in time ... waiting, just waiting to be filled when the time was right. 

I listened to Judith Tripp's Well Song and became entranced by these questions ...

Where are you going?

Where have you come from?

What are you doing in this world?

I dwelled for a time just in the seeking ... perhaps allowing my longing from last year to ripen fully and transform into my new word, "fierce."  And as I pondered, perhaps the question became for me neither where nor what but how will you be in this world?  And my answer was, I will be fierce. 

As I have been allowing my new word to  "simmer" within that inner space, I found a flaming spark of passion ... fierce.  Can I let myself live a life with fierce abandon?  Can I reach into the depths of myself and allow that passion to emerge?  It remains to be seen, yes?

When I think of the word, fierce, I think of the desert mothers, those "ammas" of the desert.  Henry Nouwen calls the desert, "the furnace of transformation."  So, I've chosen the desert mothers as my companions for this year that promises change and growth.  I look forward to re-reading material about those fierce women and following their practices in order to make my way through the passion and fervor I sense simmering below the surface.  Writing an acrostic poem I find my longing dissipates ...

fierce year coming
  Flowing river fades up ahead
  Indigo blue I see no more
  Ebb tide empties my sandy shoreline
  Relentless waves recede with a kiss
  Calling me into my desert dwelling
  Emotions erupt as passion blazes
fierce year coming!
  Flames emerge reaching for the sky
  Igniting my soul with a smoky hue
  Energy surges with nowhere to go
  Rivulets of red, orange, and gold
  Chaos threatens, colors merge
  Ethereal mist rises in grey clouds whispering
fierce year coming

As I allow myself to sit with my poetry, I am realizing that "fierce," at least the fierce-ness that I am being called into, means simply to live authentically and to move ever closer to the me I've been created to be.  How lovely! for this is my life's work in a nutshell. 

The source of much of my pondering upon my word emerged from Christine Valters Paintner's Give me a Word 12-day "Abbey of the Arts" free online self-paced journey to invite a word for the year.   If you are interested in finding a little help as you seek a word for yourself, take the link and you will find that sign up is very easy, although I don't know how long the journey will be available into 2016.      

Cairns: Guides on the Path

Cairns represent a trail marker that guides one through uncertain areas in life.  They provide guidance, hope, balance, continuity, and confidence on the journey down the path of life.  ~John P. Kraemer

Cairns at the edge of a Labyrinth in Hood Canal, Washington

Recently, I've become fascinated with cairns, those really interesting stacks of rocks that people leave in interesting places.  Interesting.  When I found the little set of cairns in the photo above at the edge of a labyrinth, that fit my nice little sense of interesting.   That is what cairns have always seemed to me.  I've seen them as markers that people leave behind to say, "I've experienced something holy, amazing, lovely on my journey."   Like the time when "Jacob woke up and thought, "Surely the LORD is in this place, but I did not realize it!"     I viewed them much like an altar.

I love Jacob.  I relate to Jacob when I look back at my own journey of failure, redemption, blessing, growth, and mystical experiences.

God appeared to Jacob again after he returned from Paddan Aram and blessed him. God said to him, “Your name is Jacob, but your name will no longer be called Jacob; Israel will be your name.” So God named him Israel. Then God said to him, “I am the sovereign God. Be fruitful and multiply! A nation—even a company of nations—will descend from you; kings will be among your descendants! The land I gave to Abraham and Isaac I will give to you. To your descendants I will also give this land.” Then God went up from the place where he spoke with him. So Jacob set up a sacred stone pillar in the place where God spoke with him. He poured out a drink offering on it, and then he poured oil on it. Jacob named the place where God spoke with him Bethel.    Genesis 35:9-15, NET

Doesn't that sound just like a cairn ... a sacred stone pillar?  And then, I read an article that led me to Cairns:  Messengers in Stone.   I've only just begun reading this little book by David B. Williams, former National Park Service Ranger.   From the back cover:

"Writing our messages with rocks is an ancient gesture that continues to speak to our imaginations.  From meadow trails to airy mountaintops to barren deserts, cairns -- those seemingly random stacks of rock -- are surprisingly rich with stories and meaning.  They can indicate a trail, mark a grave, serve as an altar or shrine, and reveal property boundaries or hunting grounds.  Built the world over as essential guides to travelers, cairns help people connect to landscape, find their path, and communicate with others."

Williams begins his book by talking about destroying cairns!  Why?  It seems that cairns have a critical purpose in the wilderness.  They are markers indicating the way to travel safely.   People who do not understand the way a cairn marks the path tend to create cairns in places that lead to nowhere and people get lost.   Suddenly something which has one purpose, to lead the way, has a new purpose, to mark a personal, individual experience.  As I contemplated this, I began to see the communal aspect of the cairn as marker on the path.   

When I consider the cairns that lay on the edge of the labyrinth that is my life, I think about those spiritual practices that call me deeper into my journey and through which I know the felt presence of God.  I am aware that they have changed over the years, sometimes rolling away and sometimes stabilizing.   I also consider that sometimes I must destroy my dependence on practices and habits that lead me in the wrong direction.   I need a community to breathe with me, to support me in my journey as I deconstruct, let go, move on and rebuild, a contemplative community which listens deeply to God and senses God's movements.   Always I seek a community that needs very few words with which to challenge and guide as I listen to God.  

For me as I pause at the edge of the winding path in my soul, I gaze inwardly at the most beautiful cairn built from silence and solitude by God whose Spirit breathes with me and in me.

So ... how is the beautiful cairn at the edge of the winding path leading you deeper?

Labyrinth at Hood Canal, Washington

And ... what kind of community do you need to be fully yourself as you move down the winding path to wholeness?

Healing the Pain of Silence

For most modern westerners silence feels empty at first, boring, something that needs to be filled.  When we are given encouragement and space to really enter and stay with it, silence can become filled with beauty, with gratitude, with life.                                   ~Seena B. Frost, Soul Collage Evolving

I often hear people talk about silence making them feel lonely or uncomfortable, afraid or reprimanded.  These feelings and a myriad of other feelings lead people to avoid silence when with others, preferring to be constantly stimulated in order to drive away those feelings.

And yet one of the things I know about spiritual disciplines, such as silence, is that there is a symbiotic relationship.  What I mean is that experiencing God in the silence alone enhances our presence in community and being in silence in community enhances our presence in solitude.

The experience people have in communal silence can enriched silence when alone.  Over time silence is filled with Presence, the gentle God who is always with us.  It is never that God is sometimes not with us but it is that we are often not aware of God's presence.  Silence heightens our awareness.

Silence teaches us how to "be" in the silence.  What perhaps people need is not to run from silence but to lengthen and embrace silence.  In the beginning this is very difficult because if we open ourselves up to the Presence who IS silence many painful things begin to emerge, like loneliness.  Sometimes, memories of being silenced by others, especially in childhood emerge.  We may also find feelings of unhealed grief, inadequacy, unworthiness, shame, deep pain, other lost memories, and fears of the future ... just to name a few of the things we may have tucked away hoping never to encounter again.  If we can bring any of those pesky feelings that emerge into the Light to be understood, accepted and let go, then perhaps we become more integrated and whole.   Yes, it is a difficult process but also one that brings the fruits of healing, wholeness, and integration. 

We are invited to ask ourselves about the feelings and the thoughts that emerge.  When we confront long dormant reasons for our feelings of desolation, we may find out why silence is such a painful visitor.  

Hear this beautiful poetry from Rumi and ponder.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

— Jellaludin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks

 

Questions for Reflection:

• How difficult is the silence for you?
• What are some of the feelings that emerge for you?
• How is your soul like a guesthouse? 
• Who has come visiting you lately?
• How have you welcomed the stranger within?
• How has that "stranger" been sent to guide you?

Silently Gazing ... Experiencing Art

Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.
~Thomas Merton

 

Flaming June by Frederic Leighton, seen beyond the fountain in the Indoor Garden

 

I recently spent a few days in New York City.   I don't do long lines or crowds very well so my daughter found us a couple of smaller museums, the Guggenheim and the Frick Collection.

 

The beautiful woman in orange above drew me in from the moment I saw her from afar.  As I walked into the garden at the Frick Collection, she called me into her world and I stood transfixed, mesmerized by her warmth.  She is vivid and flowing, a vision alive even while sleeping.    

Although I really liked the art at the Guggenheim, I felt the architecture of the building itself was the shining star in my night sky.  

 

Looking up from the center of the Guggenheim Museum, a round building ...

 

 with spiraling walkways and many art nooks

My favorite nook art... no idea why I could stand and gaze for such a long period of time upon her ... what is it within myself that feels bound?  And can I be beauty as she is? 

And ... oh my, I do love my favorite artist, my dear Pablo Picasso ... ahhhh, she is stunning!

 

The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls.
~Pablo Picasso

Woman Ironing by Pablo Picasso (1904)

Finally, on our last day in almost our last hour, we made it to St. Patrick's Cathedral ... by accident! 

Not even the noise and activity from traffic and ongoing renovations could dampen the presence of God in such a holy space.  Walking in, turning around and simply gazing upon the Rose Window gave me chills ... I closed my eyes and felt I was back in Chartres, France standing on the Labyrinth at Chartres Cathedral.  Praying ... breathing in "Mother God" ... breathing out "Grace and Mercy"

The Rose Window at St. Patrick's Cathedral in NYC

As if I had not received grace enough, suddenly I saw my favorite icon, Our Lady of Czestochowa!  She is stunning as always she is ... I lit 2 candles (you can see them in the lower right corner) and prayed for many things, steeped in the grace of God.  Amen.

This world is but a canvas to our imagination.
~Henry David Thoreau

God has been an artist since creation and creates still today!

Gazing from New York Harbor/Bay, Verrazano–Narrows Bridge in the distant, clouds in the sky ...

Sing praises to God ...
Who covers the heavens with clouds,
Who provides rain for the earth,
Who makes grass to grow on the mountains.
Psalms 147:7a, 8

 

 

 

Flaming June

Flaming June

The Rhythm of Light and Dark on the Labyrinth

Labyrinth at the Chadwick Arboretum on the Ohio State University Campus

I spent the past week in Columbus, Ohio taking a class at the Methodist Theological School of Ohio and was blessed to work with United Methodist Church/Community Development For all People and the Global Community United Methodist Church.  We had Friday off to work on our Saturday presentation.  I took a break and walked this beautiful labyrinth.  It was hot!  And yet there was a gentle breeze.  Silence descended as soon as I walked toward the path.

I really enjoyed the way the stones of the path were laid.  It was a traditional 11-circuit Chartres-style labyrinth but it was a little different, an interesting juxtaposition of square stones in a circular configuration.  There was a small space between the stones down the middle of the path and it helped me to balance my steps.

As I prepared for this class in Ohio, I began to think a lot about spiritual direction on the margins.  What would that look like?   I've been pondering this question and I decided to bring my chaos and all my thoughts to the labyrinth.  

I started my labyrinth walk at the entrance in the shadows of the trees, walking slowly and deliberately, letting my thoughts wander.  Suddenly I walk into the light and its warmth, so bright I almost couldn't see the path.  It "woke" me up, and I continued on in this rhythm of shady darkness and sunlight brightness.  

Everything that happens on the labyrinth is said to be a metaphor for life ... As I settled into the rhythm of the path, I began to think of "knowing" and "unknowing."  There are many things I want to know about the inner shift that I am feeling in my soul and my life but as I moved to the rhythm of light and dark on that very hot day, as I slowed in the shadows and sped through the sunny spots, I began to sense a peacefulness in the quiet darkness of the shadows.  Lingering, I became immersed in God's presence.  

When I reached the center of the labyrinth and perhaps the center of my own soul, I stood very quietly.  I stepped into each petal looking outward and after drinking in the beauty of the world from that perspective I turned, stepped to the center and looked down, breathing in the God-space.  

Around the circle I went until my circle was complete.  I stepped out, back onto the familiar path and simply enjoyed the gentle rhythm of light and dark as I walked out. 

Someone asked me the other day, "What does the labyrinth "do" for you?"  I honestly don't think I gave him a very good answer that day, but I have been thinking about it and here is what I would say today.  The labyrinth doesn't do anything "for" you.  But if you are open, you may experience ... something.  At the very least, you have committed to walk a certain distance and that is something.  Your walk may be awesome.  It may be Spirit-filled.  It may be reflective.  It may be healing.   It may be peaceful.  It may be ordinary.  And ... it may be nothing.  Whatever it is, that is your experience.  

Today, I would say, "if you get the opportunity, just walk and experience what you experience."  Nothing more, nothing less.  What about you?  Have you ever walked a labyrinth?  What was your experience? 

Perhaps the next time (or the first time) you walk a labyrinth you might read this quote from The Cloud of Unknowing ... and find rest for your soul in the rhythm of light and dark.

Let that quiet darkness be your whole mind and like a mirror to you. For I want your thought of self to be as naked and simple as your thought of God, so that you may be with God in spirit without fragmentation and the scattering of your mind.  ~A quote from The Cloud of Unknowing

Finding Silence on the Shores of the Beach ...

(After the resurrection) Jesus revealed himself again 

to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias ...  

when it was already very early morning, 

Jesus stood on the beach ... John 21:1, 4 (NET)

It may be that Jesus spent his most important days by the Sea of Galilee (also called Sea of Tiberias) wandering along the shore, drifting in the water, listening to the sounds of the waves rolling in and out.  There is something quite mesmerizing about the natural flow of water, sometimes gentle sometimes wild.  Of course, I have no idea whether there are waves on a sea like there are on the Gulf of Mexico.   Perhaps there is nary a ripple more often than not.   Yet, I read somewhere that the Sea of Galilee is known for its violent and life-threatening storms.   As the story goes, Jesus calmed a storm on this sea by simply saying, "Peace, be still."  

Peace, be still!  As I walked along the shores of the East Beach in Galveston, Texas last week Tropical Storm Bill was brewing in the water.  I wanted to have the power to say "Peace, be still" to the wind and the waters threatening our vacation.  And yet, as the week unfolded we witnessed the glory of God through nature in ways we would not have otherwise.  I am grateful for each and every moment spent in the solitude of the silence and in community with my family. 

The first photo I took held the promises of God for our week ...

a double rainbow over Galveston Bay, Texas

God is equally ever present in wind and storm, in silence and stillness.  That is the promise I find in the rainbow and the waves.

Sunrise on East Beach the day after Tropical Storm Bill in Galveston, Texas

If the waves could sing

what song would they sing

caressing the beach

with each roll of the wave

protecting the life

of the tiny sea creatures

the waves never pause

in their quest for perfection

even though surface fades

trying to catch them

as they gently race by

clouds overhead

it’s a day for living

moment to moment

for you just never know

when the rain will fall …

 

I confess the flags on Galveston Beach were red all week and yet I played in the rolling waves.  They were enticingly delicious and the power of them crashing all around me was refreshing to my soul.  I don't think I've ever seen this beach as lovely as it was that day.

Tropical Storm Bill rolling into Galveston, Texas on June 16, 2015

Spirit of God, I am here

with you the wind blows

softly softly softly

 the sound of the waves

rolling rolling rolling

don't seem gentle 

on a day like today

weather threathens

and my soul weeps

if I think 

for more than a moment 

into the future

just enjoying this moment

this beautiful moment 

as the fresh gulf air

flows by

and my hair sings

of freedom and flowing.  Amen.

pelicans glide by in tandem ... free and flowing

Pelicans in flight over East Beach in Galveston, Texas

Each day I walked along the beach gathering up the most unusual shells and their fragments, especially after the storm.  Such wonder in the colors and the shapes, even in their brokenness they are beautiful.  They remind me of people and the way that God takes our brokenness and creates the vessels of love that we are ... if we surrender to the process. 

My Collection of Shells begun a couple of years ago with a gift of shells collected by a Loving Friend just for me.

Crabs were scurrying along the hardened packed sand of the beach and tiny fish stung my legs repeatedly as they were carried along by the waves.  Seagulls were grabbing up their breakfast along the shore, joyously reveling in their abundance.  Their appetite never wanes.

 

Seagull looking for fish food on East Beach in Galveston, Texas

After the storm, people reappeared in all the wondrous places here and there and everywhere to live into their day and their love of the water.  The world seemed to come alive before my eyes ... I am here, in this present moment, and I find the silence full of possibilities in moments like these.

People fishing in Galveston Bay

 “You see persons and things not as they are but as you are. ”
~ Anthony de Mello

Oh God, I hope so!  Amen.

a walk around the lake ...

Perhaps the truth depends

on a walk around the lake.  ~Wallace Stevens

 The (United Methodist) Wesley Center, Woodworth, Louisiana

Yesterday was a day of rest between working 2 separate retreats in 2 different states.  In the afternoon, I spent 2 hours on a contemplative walk around the lake.  I usually bring my camera with me so I can savor the images, trying to capture them in a receptive stance rather than a stance of "taking." 

Before I began my beautiful walk in the silence of the early afternoon, I took a few moments to become aware of my heart beating in tandem with the heartbeat of God in nature.  Breathing fresh air into my lungs and my heart, breathing out carbon dioxide and heart toxins that accumulate as I mind-numbingly live my life at the speed of sound.  Ok, that is an exaggeration but as a metaphor it expresses how I feel inside sometimes.   

Blue Heron?

As I breathe, I allow the "slowing" to begin.  After I feel the connection, I walk.  Slowly, intentionally I take each step, wondering where the next step will take me, just the next step and no further, one step at a time.  I listen.  The birds sing as they soar, the frogs croak sign unseen and something mysterious stirs in the water just a few steps away.  I can hear the steady movement of a train in the distance.  And of course, the sound of silence whispers in my soul ...  

water lilies and their lily pads

As I walk across a small bridge, I notice a few white floating water lilies with their delicate yellow centers, very lotus-like within a maze of lily pads.  Although the water lily, like the lotus, has different meanings in different cultures, I am drawn to these beautiful little lilies as a symbol of love and life.  Isn't that a lovely thought on a lazy afternoon walk by the lake?   I'm not sure how long I simply stood and gazed at their beauty before moving on.


As I continued to walk, I began to notice the large number of vines wrapped around trees.  The variety of vines was immense, some green and wiry, some dense and rustically gray.  

And yet, the one I was most drawn to was a vine that looked like it had been "sewn" on to the tree.  It reminded me of my mom, who was an amazing seamstress.  I think she would have appreciated this.

For the most part, the vines and the trees seemed to be doing well together ... until I got to one very tired pine tree, almost completely wrapped up and taken over by the vine.  

It is not a symbiotic relationship.  In truth, most vine/tree combos are not symbiotic.  The vine takes from the tree.  And I wondered about my own relationships ... am I mostly the vine or the tree?  I guess, in truth, I am both, sometimes the vine and sometimes the tree.

Labyrinth at The (United Methodist) Wesley Center

As I was contemplating the question, I came to the outdoor labyrinth located just off the path.  Pausing at the entrance, reading the stone, "we walk by faith not by sight" 

I felt invited to step in, and let my faith in God's amazing love guide me through.  I've been meditating on Psalm 62:1a recently and with each step it bubbled up to the surface of my consciousness ... "for God alone my soul in silence waits."  

My walking settled into rhythm with these lovely words.  As I walked along the outer edge, I realized that the relationship between the vine and the tree was also like my relationship with God.  

God is the strong pine or perhaps an oak tree and I am the vine, hopefully I am green and growing!  Yet, I often cling to God just like the vine with "strings" binding the vine to the tree. 


And the poetry emerges ...

the tree and the vine

most intriguing

loving the vine

bound to the tree

with what looks like thread

and I wish that for myself

to be so intricately bound to God

that one can hardly see the vine

for it appears to simply be

and embellishment

and it is beautiful

so beautiful

yet the true beauty

is that unlike the vine-wrapped tree

God is not drained by my clinging

... soothing my soul