My Friend, Acedia

Oh my, I’ve had quite a few days. After reading Christine’s reflection early in the week, I realized I’ve been caught up in a bout of acedia (i.e. lack of desire or initiative.) Rather than sinking into it or being curious, I grumbled and complained about not feeling good or getting anything done. This managed to only feed the overall sense of blah and keep me from (surprise surprise) feeling good or getting anything done.

This morning something began to shift as I decided to have a conversation with my companion. It went something like this:

Me: Hello, Acedia. What do you have to teach me?
Acedia: Patience, faith and the ability to sit in discomfort.
Me: Oh. But, I like things to happen quickly. I am a fearless warrior. I like to step in and heal things – quickly. (Oh geez, I sound arrogant. Somehow thinking I’m magical and believing I’m in control. My Ego is operating on high. )

Me: Hello, Acedia. What else have you got?
Acedia: I’m here to humble you. To let you taste that place of despair.
Me: Yuk, and?
Acedia: You haven’t been there in awhile, but you are not immune. All your tricks and magic won’t keep you from feeling pain and despair. It’s time to make peace with me and stop battling. Do you not see the risk? The more you battle, the stronger my hold becomes.
Me: Hmmm. Very interesting.

Then Acedia and I had a little conversation about the should’s. Beginning with the thought of “I should know better”. Having done tons of therapy, practicing as a therapist/life coach/spiritual director and overall being a pretty grounded and solid person, I have somehow convinced myself I shouldn't have bad days or make mistakes. (How realistic is that?!?!?). Thinking the thought of “I should know better”, I felt the weight of responsibility and the amount of EGO attached to it. It leaves me trying to do other people’s work for them AND messing around in God's business. It takes me totally away from the business of caring for myself. When I let go of the thought, "I should know better", I burst out laughing as I realized what a total mind-game that is... Geez Louise.

Using Byron Katie's technique of the Turnaround, my thought shifted something like this, and with it, the acedia lifted:

I shouldn't know better... Whew! I can only know what I know.

I do know better... I have everything I need and I can see it when I get out of my own way.

God knows best... I'm part of the Universe (God) and it takes all parts - the space - the light - the dark - the "mistakes" – the acedia – the fearlessness – the glory - ALL of it – to create a whole human being.

It appears I need to keep learning these lessons over and over again. Ain’t life grand?

Shedding My Should's - or - the Albatross and the Lizard

Recently I’ve been intrigued by a friend’s interaction with her purse. Yes, her purse. She has referred to it as an albatross around her neck and has been in the process of cleaning out this “heavy” bag. As a curious companion, I couldn't resist posing these questions to her:

Why wouldn't you eliminate something that is heavy and helps bring on migraines (impairs your health)?

How would it feel to go about your business unencumbered?

Why do you keep schlepping it around?

What do you gain by holding onto this heavy "albatross"?

Since my curiosity often peaks when something inside me is stirring, it was no surprise that today's Abbey of the Arts Lenten reflection prompted me to look in the mirror and ask myself basically the same questions I had just offered my friend.

What do I schlep around that encumbers my journey? What can I relinquish today?

Answer: I want to shed my should’s. They are my “albatross” and feel oh so very heavy. Through journaling and self-reflection, I ended up exploring today’s should which sounds something like: I should take care of myself. Is this true? Absolutely! Taking care of ourselves is a great thing to which I’m wholeheartedly dedicated. So what's the problem? Regarding my personal response to self-care, I’ve discovered an interesting space where I balance precariously between finding true rest and moving into a restless or paralyzing, non-productive state. This seems a direct result of the resistance I feel when I hear the word SHOULD.

My tricky lizard (the part of our brains that thrives on fear) somehow can convince me that doing something "restful", like watching two or three episodes of Brothers & Sisters (instead of reading or sleeping) will leave me refreshed. By staying up late, however, I end up exhausted and with nothing to show for it. On the other hand, I resist a push-push-push mentality and the “should” factor of always being "productive". Nonetheless, I know I’m much happier when I’ve done some writing, cleaned a closet, gone for a walk or intentionally snuggled with Aslan. My sneaky lizard, however, can pull me away from the things I love in the name of self-care and what I should (or should not) be doing. Oh, tricky tricky lizard!

When I play with the statement: I should take care of myself, it feels heavy like an obligation (or an albatross). Should’s are extremely weighty!! Should’s take away the gift and joy of simply doing and being. When I entertain the place of should (e.g. I should be taking care of others; should be working; should be eating cardboard diet food instead of delicious chocolate), I get caught up in fear (lizard brain) which for me ultimately leads to resentment. I begin to lose my presence and joy with others, resist my work, and punish my body for holding me hostage.

I know that shedding the should’s leads to greater joy and balance in life. It’s something I experience on a regular basis. Now, if I can just convince that sneaky lizard to leave me alone perhaps I can enjoy this present moment. Perchance the albatross and lizard should make a play date? Hmmmm.

Today, I want to relinquish my should’s. Care to join me? I’d love to hear what should’s keep you feeling heavy and encumbered. What albatross is hanging around your neck? What is your lizard whispering in your ear?

© port orchard heron; aslan doing what he does best

Happy to be an Outcast

(Abba Nilus) said, “Happy is the monk who thinks he is the outcast of all.” (Nilus 8)

“Both the inner monk and inner artist are border-dwellers. Neither fit neatly into mainstream society as they both call us to new ways of being and seeing. The monk calls the world to spaciousness and presence rather than rushing and productivity. The monk takes the hard and demanding path of inner work and growth when the world constantly offers possible ways to numb us from these struggles.” - Christine Valters Paintner

Living on the edges while fully participating in life is a paradoxical way of being. For some reason I am reminded of the movie “Field of Dreams” where the principle character, Ray, played by Kevin Costner received the message, “If you build it, they will come.” This prompted Ray to step out of the normal paradigm of life into something that appeared crazy to the world around him. His rewards were more magnificent than anything he could have dreamed.

My life has turned into a field of dreams. It happens by living on the edges moment by moment. Stopping to smell the roses. Being in awe of the fresh green sprouts pushing through the earth. Cherry blossoms burst into full bloom and take my breath away. My world continues to expand as I follow my heart’s desire.

Living life as an “outcast” is exhilarating (while also holding moments of isolation). At a time when my peers are extolling the woes of aging, I’m in the best overall health of my life. My passport acquired in 2003 is annually adding new countries – sometimes as a woman traveling alone (gasp). I started graduate school at 47. Skydived at 49. I’ve been known to break into fits of uncontrollable laughter for no apparent reason or run through a public fountain in the midst of gleeful children. I am more in touch with God/Spirit/Life than ever before even though I “left the church” years ago. My children are quite “nontraditional” and still I’m a very proud mama.

The top comes down in my convertible if the temperature breaks 45F and it’s a particularly sunny winter day. I say 'No' at times when others expect me to say 'Yes'. A pink tutu topped my Christmas list last year. Crows call me Magic. Friends call me Crazy. I call myself Brilliant. (Audacious, huh?)

My cat, Aslan, can occupy my attention for hours by purring in my lap or doing circus tricks with my spouse. Bella, my desert ship, always makes me smile even though she snarled at me during her break. (I might have done the same thing.) My world is driven by Spirit. Refining and expanding lead my way, because even though what I have in this moment is Enough, I know abundance is my friend and thoughts of scarcity keep me limited.

I offer gratitude for my trials and rejoice in new opportunities to learn. I rage & scream & bellow at injustice, and then I let it go. I don’t “play nice” anymore. Nice kept me locked up like a prisoner for too many years. I am kind and I am free. Sanity is boring. Kookiness means loving life as it is. If this is living on the edges – it rocks!!!

Where do you long to break free and live on the edges? Invite your inner monk and artist to guide you toward the border. Perhaps you're already there. Woohoo! Let's play!!

Bella © 2010

Caught between Tangible & Intangible

Today’s Lenten questions:
“What are the things you feel pulled between in your own life?”
“How are you being called to a greater experience of wholeness and integration?”

Isn’t that our greatest movement – the steps that propel us toward wholeness and integration? Living a life of integrity and not lies. The pull of life on the grand scale between love and fear. How will I step into the places of love? Where will fear seek to overcome my integrity?

In my recent post, a commenter asked what areas of growth I thought the robin’s song was signaling – spiritual, professional or relational? My response was that it feels like they’re all nestled together. My spirituality encircles everything I do and my professional life is all about relationship. I feel pulled or torn between being a go-with-the-flow, follow-my-heart, don’t-worry-about-time–or-money kind of woman and the get-‘er-done, make-a-list, be-productive, earn-a-living while tangibly-using-my-gifts messages that run through my mind. I am caught between the tangible and intangible.

Tangible output receives praise, financial reward, acknowledgement and results in physical product. This approach glorifies product over process. Process (or the intangible) comes from the times I sit curled on my sofa with music playing and candle lit simply allowing myself to be. Ineffable moments not limited by time or space. It is 'output' that can’t be quantified (nor should it be). Yet even this sacred time can be subjected to productivity results if I judge the quality by how many pages I pen or the number of minutes my meditation lasts. The challenge for me is to simply BE(E).

While in Egypt last fall, I received the word Be(e) during a very special ritual. It is proving to be quite a powerful presence for me. Bees are longtime symbols for accomplishing the impossible. The bee is a perfect totem for this place of being caught between tangible and intangible, product over process, because in reality both are necessary to achieve the balance my heart desires.

Be. It all comes back to this for me. Greater wholeness and integration calls me to this place where tangible and intangible meet and dissolve into one. Where product and process find their perfect balance. Where prayer becomes a way of being and being becomes a way of prayer.

Will you ponder today’s questions alongside me?

Robin's Song

I awoke feeling a little restless today. Kind of excited and a bit overwhelmed. That’s what sometimes happens when life presents so many full possibilities – ranging from new creative adventures to curling up with my Lenten readings.

While sitting at my desk just now, I caught sight of a glorious robin sitting at the tip top of a barren tree. She takes my breath away as I hear her song across the rumble of a school bus and the music playing gently in the background of my room. Her wings flap and I see the brilliant orange of her chest. Ahhh. Breathe. One. Two. Three. Four. I am here now.

A friend wrote me last week about a robin that’s been banging on her window whenever she tries to sleep or read in her room. My friend was not quite as enamored with her robin and was considering homicide (due to sleep deprivation). I encouraged her to not shoot the bird as it might be a sign of new growth in her life.

When I revisited Animal Speak this morning these words for robin showed up:

“The song of the robin is a cheery, rolling trill. Part of its purpose is to help the robin establish territory… This is very significant when robin shows up in your life… it reflects a need to sing your own song forth if you wish for new growth. Any confrontations or hindrances are more show than actual threats, so go forward.”

Oh my, there’s the call of the fierce warrior yet again. Breathe. One. Two. Three. Four. I am here now.

Where are you being called to sing your own song? Can you offer it with a cheery rolling, trill like the robin?

© robin's song 3.29.11

Fierce Warrior

“How are you called to be fierce in your commitment to…?” (This question posed by Abbey of the Arts Lenten Retreat)

I am a fierce warrior. This I know to be true. Nonetheless, I have a hard time understanding how other people see me because of conflicting messages. Shy – the label of my childhood. Bitch – the critical murmurs that followed me as I learned to stand up for myself and set appropriate boundaries. Peaceful. Contemplative. Mean. Brilliant. Crazy.

There have been times in life when making a controversial decision has taken all the strength and courage I could muster. It was terrifying and it was absolutely the right thing to do. To walk away from someone or something you love is the hardest thing in the world. Agonizing. Painful. True. Even harder is to step back in when your heart’s been broken. Rewards beyond our wildest imagination beckon us forward. Risk of rejection looms with infinite magnitude.

We reject ourselves all the time out of fear. I can’t do that… I could never… When we hear those words coming out of our mouths – beware! Especially when they sound like: My child would never.. I’ll never allow… This is just the way life is… Absolutes get us into trouble most of the time. Words like: I can’t or I won’t are rigid and stifle our growth and creative movement. They also push us away from what we are authentically called to do and be. They leave us passive and without choice or responsibility.

I daily choose to step into the places that scare me. I’m not frozen with fear to do the hard or unpopular things especially if it will benefit another’s growth (or my own). There is a Hindu mudra called Abhaya. It is a gesture asserting power and giving peace at the same time. The Buddah is said to have quelled a rampaging elephant with this simple gesture. In it I see both compassion and fight. So, as I fill-in-the-blank to the above question, my answer becomes Compassion. I am called to be fierce in my commitment to compassion for myself and the world. Finding compassion in the fight, and fight in the compassion. Yes, I am a fierce warrior.

And you? Where are you called to be fierce in your commitment?

(btw-this post is my scary thing today...)

Returning Home

We have the ability to lose ourselves so easily with a thought, a word, a deed, an action. But in the losing, we leave space to be found - to find - to return.

Home. What a beautiful word filled with resonance and rich meaning. To me "home" represents the deep internal space where I am fully known. It resides in the center of fullness that is so simple and complex, it becomes wordless. Home provides shelter, warmth and comfort. It contains all of our fears, doubts and greatest joys. It is the place where we operate on all cylinders - not shutting down any area of shadow or light.

This past week I was part of an experience called "Returning Home." My role was as facilitator, but my open heart could not help but receive as participant. I returned home to Soltura (the foundation for healing and personal growth) after a break of nearly two years. The experience was reminiscent of (& profoundly in sync with) the desert time I have been following during my Lenten practice. Like the desert fathers and mothers, we committed to remove ourselves from normal lives, set aside distractions and within carefully designed boundaries find our own unique rhythm(s). In this way, we returned home.

Through experience, I discovered a fresh way to the rhythm of healing - for myself, relationships and others. Through honor and delight, the spiraling movements from deep within spread their wings into the world.

How will you commit to return home today? For yourself and thus for the world...

"port orchard heron" © ksh 3/2011

Lenten Pilgrimage

Somehow the season of Lent allows me to sink more deeply into listening, waiting and letting go. Delightful themes and synchronistic opportunities have presented themselves abundantly and the journey has barely begun. As I mentioned in my last post, I had the beautiful opportunity of physically going on pilgrimage to the desert last fall. In conjunction with that trip, my fabulous guide invited me to write a short article for an upcoming website. It was indeed a delight when Christine @ Abbey of the Arts then invited the Lenten pilgrims to answer this question:

How have great pilgrimages and journeys brought you to a new insight about your daily life?

Today, I am pleased to share the words I had already penned for my Sapira friend.

Pilgrimage calls us to find that which is essential. We learn through preparation and packing for the journey. Along the way, we explore what nourishes us through feast of eyes, body and soul. Necessity changes shape as normal routines drift away. Paring down and moving toward simplicity, a sense timelessness envelops those who dare to step into the unknown.

Having participated in three intentional journeys (two of them with Sapira), I have come to know more of myself, and the world as a whole, through these travels. To fully enter a pilgrimage is to take off your shoes and stand on Holy ground. My toes have curled in the chilling loam of Ireland and danced across the swirling sands of the Sinai. My heart has opened by stepping into the gentle rhythms of the pilgrim’s clock. Pilgrimage is like walking an ancient labyrinth – each step intentional with no straight pathway – moving toward center and then returning back into the world with heart and soul forever changed.

My blessings envelop each of you who stops by this place. My hope is you will move more deeply toward your own center during this Lenten season and return back into the world with your heart and soul forever changed.

Peace.

Desert Blooms

In October of 2010, I had the amazing privilege of journeying to the Sinai of Egypt. During this season of Lent, I am being called to return to the desert - this time in my thoughts and prayer life. There is a barrenness in the desert landscape that is in sharp contrast to the life I experience at home in the Pacific Northwest. We are surrounded by buckets of rain and lush foliage bursting with color. It can be a challenging shift between the landscapes and I am grateful to have the wisdom of the desert fathers and mothers to guide me. This morning as I pondered Christine's words of blossoming and desolation, I couldn't help but remember my camel ride through the Sinai.

My perfect mentor showed up in the form of a majestic and sultry camel named Bella. She would be my wisdom guide for that day, and she lingers with me now as I rest over 6,000 miles around the globe. Bella was truly a desert queen and knew exactly how to find blossoms in the desert. She bloomed by following her own rhythm, and in these things we have much in common. Oh my, I love that camel. We started our day with a Bedouin boy holding the ropes. Slowly slowly we built trust until ultimately I received the reins. Nonetheless it was Bella who led.

This glorious creature had an uncanny way of spotting the smallest shade of green hundreds of feet ahead. She would subtly pull away from the crowd and with precision-like focus make her way to the nourishing Acacia bush. After dining, Bella and I would take our time wandering and pondering through the dry land. At times we moved slowly and walked along the edges of our tribe. Sometimes the pace was brisk and we bumped up alongside other pilgrims. When spying the blossoms before us, we pulled away from the herd to reach our destination.

As I remember Bella and write these words, it becomes clear this will be my Lenten journey - a season woven with times of rest, nourishment and activity. I must make time for my own rhythm and meditate in my cell as I surrender to the voices of Sabbath. Community will be important, for there I am called to laugh and love. The discipline of the practice offers me restoration and rejuvenation.

Like Bella and I in the desert, we don't have a map and cannot be certain what lies ahead. There is barrenness and desolation along the way, and nourishment blossoms in the most unexpected places. Welcome to the desert. I am grateful to be here. How about you?

Quiet Voice of Wisdom

The season of Lent begins today with Ash Wednesday. Words like surrender, sabbath, and begin again greet me with the journey. Step by step I inquire where I'm going. Today happens to be a day with a bit more spaciousness surrounding me. While I have lots to do, I don't have any "official" meetings scheduled so I am able to slow down and listen more deeply. For some reason a great scene from the book Eat, Pray, Love keeps coming to my mind. (btw - the scene is in the movie, but doesn't do the book justice) In the passage, Elizabeth Gilbert has her first intentional meeting with God. As she waits for wisdom in a time of crisis, she hears the simple words, "Go back to bed, Liz." This scene is so profound for me, because that is how I often experience the still small voice of wisdom.

Today's quiet has offered direction moment by moment: read this, write that, shower now, rest, fix dinner, sit, rest, and so on. When asked a question offered by Abbey of the Arts, these words arose:

What is the grace I am seeking this Holy season?

Surrender to the voices of Sabbath.
Let the timelessness was over you.
Trust. Laugh. Love more.
Rest and restore.

What is your still small voice inviting today? What grace are you seeking this season?

After Easter

Reflecting on my past week and considering what called to be shared this morning, I looked into my past few journal entries and was greeted with a heading “Where do you experience the body of Christ?” Words flowed and I found the answer easily in those places where I feel most myself – welcomed – connected – seen for who I am versus who others think I should be.... but, life isn’t always lived feeling welcome & connected.

“We cannot live without being affected by others, but we are only real when we let truth and love shape us from within.” -- Mark Nepo

This week has been an odd one for me. Easter has come and gone. Life feels much the same as before and it feels different. How do we live after Easter? This week has been a series of ups and downs. I’ve considered where I meet the risen Christ. I’ve struggled with betrayal. I’ve experienced hope. Rejoiced in laughter and silence.

Easter Sunday this year was spent celebrating behind prison walls and in many ways it was a more sincere celebration than ever before without all the pomp and circumstance. Feelings of unconditional love and hope for restoration resounded. Still...

A big question this week has been who are my friends? Who stands up for me and meets me on the road where I am? Who stays present when the going gets rough or uncomfortable? Who is willing to die alongside me – the small and large doses of death each day? How will I meet those who grieve (myself included)? How will you?

This week, I wrote notes of condolence (which I prefer to call notes of solidarity) to two friends – one who lost a child tragically to alcohol poisoning; the other, whose father died naturally of old age. I attended a celebration for people in recovery, honoring their healing and transformation. I walked in a hailstorm and was met by sunshine when I turned a corner. Yes, it has been an odd week and a very normal one.

Reflecting again on “where do I experience the body of Christ?” I realize it is in all these places – behind prison walls & freely walking in my neighborhood – in death, life and resurrection. Struggling with betrayal and rejoicing in blessings. There is no separation. If Christ is risen – if I am risen – we must experience each other where our joy and wounds meet. Feeling the cross and the resurrection. Before. After. Now.

“Origami Emotion”
Elizabeth Barrette

Hope is
Folding paper cranes
even when your hands get cramped
and your eyes tired,
working past blisters and
paper cuts,
simply because something in you
insists on
opening its wings.

The collages shown here were co-created with my friend, MaryEllen, to honor the participants in our recent class,
Deepening Spirituality through SoulCollage.

top to bottom: Jan, Mikey, Jo, Q, Jeana

Easter Reflections

Saturday – For now we wait – in this place between death and redemption – dark and light. A mother sitting at the foot of the cross watching her son die. Others stand with her AND she can only stand alone. No one can know the heartbreak of her own cross – her flesh and blood pouring from the wounds.

Today, the day in between, we wait. Have we not always waited? Death & resurrection. Birth & new life. How did we get here? Sitting at the cross. Moving east toward sunrise . East toward the tomb.

For what do I wait? The already and the not yet. Jesus’ way. His life is my life. Buried and crucified. Killed for loving. Was it worth it? Yes – every moment. I could not be here if I hadn’t gone there. And now we wait.

“The tomb becomes a womb today.” Richard Rohr

Sunday – Sitting in last night's Easter vigil, I was not ready for the lights to come on. The darkness comforting – holding – peaceful & womblike. No resurrection – yet. No bright lights. No breaking the silence with a rousing Alleluia.

“Love is not a victory march. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.”
-- Leonard Cohen

Today, I sit with you, Lord, knowing you are risen. Knowing it’s not about the grave or the cross or even death itself. It’s about now. You are here with me in this quiet moment. Risen. Yes.

I am happy to have sat in the dark of last night’s vigil. Today the light feels harsh. The celebration of bonnets and bunnies is too much. Instead, I sit in my jeans and t-shirt waiting to go to the Washington State Penitentiary to see my own flesh and blood.

We are rising. Already and not yet. We will go and sit and keep our own vigil on this day of resurrection. And in my heart, I will sing a broken Hallelujah – remembering the beauty in brokenness - waiting - and Love.

photo © h3images

How Foolish is that?

For weeks now I’ve been reflecting on the irony of Maundy Thursday falling on April Fool’s Day. Questions keep swimming through my mind. They started in full force earlier this week when the gospel story had Mary (possibly) Magdalene pouring expensive perfume onto Jesus’ feet. How foolish is she? thought the observing witnesses. And then today, Jesus says to his disciples I will wash your feet. What? they wondered. How foolish is that? And then we go onto the greater story – a man would die and rise from the dead. He would die so that others might live. He did it willingly. How foolish is that?

I also wonder if Jesus asked the same question of his heavenly Father? Really? Put me on a stake and kill me, so others might have life? You’ve got to be kidding? They say he did not question. Still...I wonder.

The apostle Paul says, "We are fools for Christ's sake.” I Corinthians 4:10

The archetypal Fool is celebrated today. Coming in a variety of forms (clown, court jester, trickster, happy child), the Fool always causes us to take notice and reminds us how to Lighten Up! This lively character has a unique way of embracing life and turning 'normal' circumstances upside down.

Don’t you think this sounds just a bit like Mary and/or Jesus: “embracing life and turning 'normal' circumstances upside down?”

Today is Maundy Thursday and it is April Fool’s Day – I believe there is no irony. Will you consider this? Where might you be taking life too seriously? Where are you living so lightly, others are forgotten? Will you wash another’s feet today - literally or metaphorically? Will you tiptoe through the tulips of God’s creation? Will you embrace life for what it is – foolish, dark, majestic? Will you be a fool for Love’s sake?

(If you haven't signed up for my diamonds in the soul newsletter yet, click on the box in the right hand column for further discussion of "the Fool.")

'neighborhood reflections' © lucy 3.29.10

Wild Angels

The readings and practices I have encountered and engaged in during this season of Lent have been rich and full of deep meaning for me. I have found myself moving through the desert and awakening into spring. The dark of night has whispered love stories to me and the light of day has proven expansive and wondrous. Integration has been a key theme as I look back on the days and weeks proceeding this day.

Yesterday, however, after writing my post about chakras and meditation, I found myself wondering if people are confused by my writing – by me – by my faith. The church of my youth and not-so-distant past frowned disparagingly on notions of yoga and opening your mind beyond the concrete pages of the Bible. So, I guess it’s no wonder there are vestiges of personal thought that linger in that camp. Yet, when I listen deeply to my heart and sink into the word of God that engages me at every turn, I know I’m truly on a Holy path.

Yesterday’s post referred to a small portion of a quote from Tao Te Ching, but I spent much of the day with another piece pricking at my mind:

"Care about people’s approval
and you will be their prisoner."
--Tao Te Ching

Today’s scripture reading offered me affirmation it was time to let go of those lingering thoughts of worry:

“The Lord God has given me a well-trained tongue, that I might know how to speak to the weary a word that will rouse them.”
Isaiah 50:4

…and suddenly the battles of how to communicate my faith dissipated. There is a wholeness I feel that reaches beyond only the Bible’s pages. It comes from the brokenness I have experienced in my life as well as the joy I find in some pretty unexpected places. Learning to rouse myself and those around me is my calling.

Exploring the world – all corners of it – is my path to God. Studying yoga – chakras – centering prayer – praying with the elements – soul collage – drumming – water dance – laughter – tears – hours in silence – creating art – writing poetry – doing nothing – going on pilgrimage, et cetera, et cetera – are just a few of the pathways where I have met God.

If I worry about what others think – if I let them pick my path – then they own me. So, I ask myself, “What is my heart?”

My heart is connected to the world – intertwined with God – grounded in the earth – reaching toward the heavens. Knowing what is love and what is fear. We fear what we do not know. Thus, I continue seeking and hoping for a developed mind that learns to speak with a “well-trained tongue, that I might know how to speak to the weary.”

In closing, I must share the final little impetus that led me to write these words. It comes from today’s post at Abbey of the Arts where she asks us to name which angel is calling to us as we enter this final week of Lent. My angel greeted me boldly. She is one who has come before and I pray will come on a regular basis. She is the one I believe overcomes fear and pushes us toward freedom. Beware before you read any further, because I wholeheartedly offer this blessing to you (and me) from this Wild Angel ☺.

May the Angel of Wildness disturb the places
Where your life is domesticated and safe,
Take you to the territories of true otherness.
-John O'Donohue

The angel of wildness picked me up, pulled me out of complacency and introduced me to “true otherness”. For that (& more) I am eternally grateful.. May you feel whole, connected and free during the coming days. May your week truly be Holy.

Namaste ☺

The music is everywhere...

Recently I proclaimed the movie, August Rush, as one of my top favorites. In reality, I could watch only the first five minutes and be sated especially after the opening scene when young orphan, Evan/August reminds us,

"The music is everywhere. All you have to do is listen."

My morning readings today were filled with themes of listening. Today is the Feast of the Annunciation celebrating the day Mary listened to God's messenger and announced her sacred "Yes" (or "May it be") to becoming the mother of Jesus. In The Book of Awakening, these words spoke to me,

"Listening arises from a deeper place, and it seems we can only hear the living to the extent we have truly lived, only understand pain and joy to the extent that we have allowed ourselves to be touched by life." -- Mark Nepo

And in my more academic readings, neuroscience confirms the need for deeper listening to hear what's below the words. Individuals not only hold explicit memory (which can be retrieved and reflected upon), but also implicit memory that is somatic, nonverbal and not as easily accessible for conscious reflection. (Art, music, imagination and movement are some of the ways we tap into implicit memory.)

This is a long road of background to say, I believe in the power of listening - first, to the story that resides within me; which leads to the important second - the ability to listen deeply to others. I don't believe I can do one without the other. Jesus said this more simply and eloquently:

"Love God and love your neighbor as yourself."

This post's inspiration began with an e-mail from a friend who lovingly demonstrated she had been listening to me. Said friend sent me the following horoscope, and did not know, however, I had recently created this SoulCollage® collage card - "Storm's Gift."

The storm is your friend right now, Virgo. So are the deep, dark night and the last place you'd ever think of visiting and the most important thing you've forgotten about. So be more willing than usual to marinate in the mysteries -- not with logical ferocity but with cagey curiosity. The areas of life that are most crucial for you to deal with can't be fully understood using the concepts your rational mind favors. The feelings that will be most useful for you to explore are unlike those you're familiar with. from Free Will Astrology

The music is everywhere... This Lenten season has brought new and old ways of being present to God, myself and others. Some ways feel explicit (known) and others more implicit (instinctual and at times unfamiliar). Thus the journey continues - my song - the world's song ...all we have to do is listen.

Where is the song in your life? Is there a specific tune beckoning to be heard? Will you take the time to listen and perhaps like Mary amidst her fear say, "May it be"? Do you see music in the storm or dark of night? Can you hear the music?

Blessed are you...

Blessed are you, O Lord, the God of our fathers,
praiseworthy and exalted above all forever;
And blessed is your holy and glorious name,
praiseworthy and exalted above all for all ages.
Blessed are you in the temple of your holy glory,
praiseworthy and exalted above all forever.
Blessed are you on the throne of your kingdom,
praiseworthy and exalted above all forever.
Blessed are you who look into the depths
from your throne upon the cherubim;
praiseworthy and exalted above all forever.
Blessed are you in the firmament of heaven,
praiseworthy and glorious forever.

-Daniel 3:52-56

This is the passage that greeted me this morning in preparation for my morning Lenten worship. Below are the words that spilled out as I closed my eyes and considered what is moving in me this season in regard to this God of blessed be.

Blessed are you who meets me where I am,
in the quiet moments and hectic days.
Blessed are you who comes like a whisper in my breath
and spreads images of majesty before me.
Blessed are you who comes incarnate through the smile
of another, the touch of a hand or a kind word.
Blessed are you who shines in the light of the candle
and sings through the song of the sparrow.
Blessed are you who meets me where I am -
wretched, unholy, empty & longing to be filled.
Blessed are you who greets me with a belly full
of laughter under a starlit sky.
Blessed are you who remains faithful through
my questions and storms.
Blessed are you who stands as sentinel in the night
throughout my slumbering dreams or restless tossing.
Blessed are you I could name for an eternity
and never be complete.
Blessed are you who simply says, I AM,
and this is enough.
Amen. Amen. Amen.

Maui road © h3images.com- used with permission

dark

Throughout this Lenten week of praying with the hours and focusing on the four cycles of breath, I have discovered my own ambivalence with the time of dark (emptiness) that follows the exhale. This pondering continues to permeate my days and many words and metaphors have popped into my mind. For today, however, I share with you the initial thoughts in the breath cycle following dawn, day and dusk.

Darkness. Empty. Despair. I am frightened here.

The stillness in the depth of the ocean, waiting to be stirred. Waiting and knowing the hand of God will reach down deeply and meet me in this darkness.

The dark in the night of my five year old self, afraid to look under the bed.

Oh, the dark of night when stars shine and the Big Dipper speaks to me of fullness and joy. To be emptied out in order to be filled again.

God meets me in the dark.

dusk

Moving through the cycle of breath, dusk comes at the time of release and outbreath. Let go. Let down. Surrender. Feel the embrace of the beloved. Be held in those loving arms. Release into the autumn of my life. I do not have to let go of beauty. Simply - release, surrender, breathe.

"How far have I to go to find you in whom I have already arrived." -- Thomas Merton

Last evening I created the above collage to honor the hour of dusk, and this morning I stumbled upon Merton's quote witnessing to the same hour of the day. Here are the words that tumbled out when combining the three movements of breath, collage & response:

Already arrived. Already home to myself. One with God, Christ, Spirit. I don't have to go anywhere. I already have everything I need. The hour of dusk allows me to settle into those words. The words of God and the words of the day. All that has gone before me surrounds me - like laundry blowing in the wind. Perhaps it will touch me. Perchance I will be enveloped in the embrace. Perhaps I will exhale deeply into emptiness - allowing myself to be filled by God once again.

The exhale empties me. I can allow myself to feel alone - to feel the need to go somewhere - to find someone to hold me or something to ground me. Or... I can sink into the truth that I am already surrounded by everything I need. The wholeness comes by feeling all the hours of the day - every cycle of breath and every season of life. My wholeness is coming. My wholeness has already arrived.

Where are you feeling wholeness today? Is it illusive or can you rest in knowing you have already arrived?

day

"And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk to bloom." --Anais Nin

Continuing through the cycle of the hours and the breath started here, I pause after the inhale of dawn and survey what greets me in the fullness of the day. Multiple images surface in this season: standing at the edge of a high dive - clinging to the open door of an airplane - arms spread wide at the peak of a mountain top. In each case, I hold my breath. I am ready to jump and anything is possible. Will I dare to risk what lies before me? Will I accept the risk to bloom and reach further?

The pause at the top of the inhale speaks to me of fullness and risk. I'd love to know... what does it say to you?

dawn

The blessings of Lent continue to be deep and full. This week's focus from Abbey of the Arts is the spiritual practice of praying with the hours. Yesterday morning I sank deeply into the practice of following the breath throughout the hours of the day. Vivid images came to my mind as I focused on inhale (dawn); pause (day); exhale (sunset/evening); and pause (night/darkness).

This morning I chose to spend my meditation time listening to gentle, dawn-like music and collaging some of the images that entered my mind yesterday. Above is the result of today's musings. Dawn and the breath of inhale reminds me of rising possibilities; a sense of filling; and always golden light.

I invite you to take some time with your breath today (particularly the inhale) and see if there are certain images evoked when you consider the new day (dawn) and/or the inhale of breath.

Golden blessings to you this day!