Wednesday, May 05, 2010

renewal and release

Today's Easter Season reflection from Abbey of the Arts ended with this question:

"How might water be calling me to deeper renewal and release?"

Earlier this morning I was musing about two upcoming trips - one in July and the other September. With all of this pondering about water, renewal and release, my choices seem quite interesting. Rather than the beaches of Bermuda and the luscious green Emerald Isle of years past, the Sinai Desert has chosen me for pilgrimage during this year of water. Interesting, huh? And the other destination? Oklahoma, yes, Oklahoma - one of the most landlocked states in the country. Dead center in the middle of the US far from even the Great Lakes. Not exactly the top 10 of vacation destinations, but Oklahoma is the place of my birth and where I lived the first 32 years of my life.

Perhaps that is why my roots are deep and strong? They had to work hard to find water and gather nourishment from the red-tinged earth. Just like grapevines planted in rocky ground, the roots must struggle and strain to find soil and so the plants become hardy and strong and flourish in unexpected ways. Is that not the story of my life - struggling and straining - flourishing in unexpected ways?

I wonder what I will learn visiting the desert during a year designated for water? How will my roots reach and grow? "You will come to appreciate water in ways you cannot imagine," my friend and pilgrimage guide said.

Here in the Pacific Northwest, we are surrounded by an abundance of water. This week, it falls unceasingly from the sky and I don't find myself wanting to dance in the rain. I am craving heat and sunshine. What are these things teaching me? What of deeper renewal and release? Maybe a walk in the rain is in order. Perhaps a long shower. I don't know. I feel dry this morning. Dry in the midst of moisture. So...

"How might water be calling me to renewal and release?" I don't know... perhaps that is the release.

8 comments:

Jennifer said...

Water is constantly coming up, waterfalls, rivers, ocean, it is consistently coming to me...and I am considering it constantly with no clear understanding, but simply standing tall within its drenching force and receiving...this is all I know.

claire said...

I have left the Atlantic Ocean of Puerto Rico for Lake Geneva and mountain streams. At the moment I am in Manhattan and feel extremely far away from water, even though the river is a few blocks away.

The uprooting from one way of life to another, even though both familiar, makes it difficult to focus on the Easter retreat.

Renewal and release are coming to me in the weeks ahead. I hope they will lead me into a deeper simplicity and letting go :-)

Anonymous said...

There is water at Lake Texoma!! July you say? We need to put our heads together! Love, Pamela

Abbey of the Arts said...

flow baby flow. :-) Can't wait to find out how the desert reveals the ways your soul is quenched. xoxo

lucy said...

Jennifer - I totally relate to what you say here. Letting it wash over us with have some impact, huh? Either serious erosion or heavy duty cleansing perhaps ;)

Claire - blessings to you during this in-between time!

Pamela -let's!!! You know how I love that texoma water! xo

Hey C - slowly slowly slowly entering the desert mode :) xo

tinkerbell the bipolar faerie said...

"How might water be calling me to renewal and release?" I don't know... perhaps that is the release.

Perhaps it is.

I like the way you connected the notion of your deep and strong roots with growing up in a dry - i.e. land-locked - place. I can relate to this.

Being so very close to the pacific ocean gives me a soothing sense, makes the elusive balance more attainable. I don't get to the water as often as I should, but nonethless, the ocean has become a part of me.

Barbara said...

Not sure why, lucy, but your post made me think of a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins called Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord. In it he decries how the ways of sinners prosper while he is frustrated at every turn. At the end he practically screams:
birds build -- but not I build; no, but strain,
Time's eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.
Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.

Dryness and barrenness comes in many forms. Perhaps it has much to teach us about our own deepest hungers.

lucy said...

tinkerbell - i find it nearly impossible to consider moving away from the ocean now that i've lived here for 20 years. each time i go to the beach, it's like being called home.


barbara - "send my roots rain" resonates with me deeply. i'm going to sit with this awhile longer and see what transpires. thanks for listening to your instincts.