Hearts Aching with Joy

“We are ignored even though we are well known. We live close to death, but we are still alive. We have been beaten, but we have not been killed. Our hearts ache, but we always have joy. We are poor, but we give spiritual riches to others. We own nothing, and yet we have everything.” II Corinthians 6:9-10.

To breathe in ALL that God offers is to live an embodied life. This morning, I was drawn to the above verses written in my journal at a time that felt more like the whirl of a hurricane than a peaceful spring morning. These days I continue to be drawn to the wonder of the simple things like breath and waiting. I live in awe of this quiet existence. I am doing work I love. People I care about (both far and near) surround me with their love. I feel healthy and strong. My heart is filled with gratitude for this life and at times I wonder if I should feel a little guilty for being so happy.

In God’s graciousness, however, I am reminded of the times (present and past) when my heart has ached and broken. Somehow, there is rest in remembering the suffering. There is release in realizing that through God’s grace and compassion, I can find calm in the midst of the storm and know it is o.k. to have joy.

Lord, today may I breathe in ALL that you offer me, knowing that heartache and joy are both who I am.

“All spiritual warriors have a broken heart—alas, must have a broken heart—because it is only through the break that the wonder and mysteries of life can enter us.” Mark Nepo

award-winning photo by bill hughlett

My Perfect Valentine

It's absolutely wonderful to be married to a man who "gets" me! This is the quote that came on my perfect Valentine card:

Then a great peace came over me...
and I seemed to hear the pines and the wind
and the rocky shores say to me, "You...lover of the wild, are part of us..."
---by Sigurd F. Olson

I love you, Wheatboy!

Dancing in the Water of Life

"January 25, 1964. I am aware of the need for constant self-revision and growth, leaving behind the renunciations of yesterday and yet in continuity with all my yesterdays. For to cling to the past is to lose one’s continuity with the past, since this means clinging to what is no longer there.

My ideas are always changing, always moving around one center, and I am always seeing that center from somewhere else.

Hence, I will always be accused of inconsistency. But I will no longer be there to hear the accusation." ~Thomas Merton, Dancing in the Water of Life, p. 67
--from antony

I love this quote. It reminds me so much of where I live my life both personally and in the therapeutic world of counseling. It is possible and often necessary to take a look at the past to see from where we have come, but I appreciate Merton's words of the futility of "clinging to what is no longer there." To cling is to be stuck with no forward movement. Change is evidence of growth and maturity, and there is also a playfulness and freedom in Merton's words: "But I will no longer be there to hear the accusation." Beautiful.

Inconsistency or change? It is my belief that with each new day and encounter, we are called to change, to grow, to dance in the water of life.

Forever changed.
We are forever changed by each other.
Bumbling, blessing, crying, laughing,
raging, pushing away and holding together.
We mark each other with indelible ink
and move a little closer to glory,
as we taste the Gospel together.

Thank you, friends, for being a part of my dance and my "inconsistency."

photo by bill hughlett

Waiting for Ruwach

I had a lightbulb moment today and found a new connection for the three words (waiting, breath & spirit) from my previous post. It occurred to me that while I have been pondering a new way of breath, God has been waiting for me to make the connection. I wonder how often that happens? I usually think that I am waiting for God, but today it feels a bit more mutual.

Something I had temporarily forgotten is that Breath and Spirit are both translations of the Hebrew word Ruwach (also translated as wind). In my "moment," I had the sense that I am being called to a new way to consider the Holy Spirit. I'm not exactly sure what it means but it feels really good and very freeing. It feels like new breath, a sweet wind blowing and the spirit of my heart lifting high. It feels whole, connected and embodied.

In my Awakening the Creative Spirit class a couple of weeks ago, I kept saying how whole and full I felt and the word "embodied" seemed very important. I did a word search and landed on this definition of embody--to provide a spirit with a physical form. This names the fullness I feel.

My dolphin studies also say when dolphin shows up it is time to breathe some new life into yourself. And, then today I ran across the tradition that the early Christians viewed dolphin as a symbol of salvation. Breath. Spirit. New life. Salvation. Coincidence or new possibilites to consider? How will I choose to view Spirit--inside a box or wide open in the world?

(A little aside here--there was a dolphin prominently featured in the Seattle Times this week AND my friends in Mexico called to tell me some wonderful dolphin stories...so my dolphin totem continues to inspire.)

One final thought (for now) is that almost three years ago, I received what I believe was an amazing prophecy and these words have been stirring within me recently:

Feel the wind. The wind blows hard. The wind is blowing our family in a new direction. Guide the sails through Me.

A new way to breathe-- To experience the wind-- To feel the Spirit?

The Simplicity of Paradox

How do simple words contain such complex meaning? My last two posts (unplanned, by the way) have been entirely about the paradox of simplicity. A twenty-five word post reveals both the simplicity and complexity involved in actually living out the “simple” words. In another post, an “ordinary” day moves into the extraordinary. Simple? Yes. And, there is absolutely nothing simple at all about it. Paradox. Small things becoming larger than life. Ground, cold and barren, suddenly sprouting new life. Sun shining brighter than normal.

This is a simple post about the complexity that is percolating in my mind. Words of waiting, new breath and spirit permeate my waking and sleeping hours. I have thoughts and ideas about what they are telling me and just when I begin to write, another image appears and the idea morphs into a new one. So, for now, I will wait.

Will you consider waiting with me? I’d love to know what images these "simple" words (waiting, breath, spirit) stir in you.

Attitude is Everything

Be kinder than necessary,
for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

Live simply,


Love generously,

Care deeply,

Speak kindly, and

Leave the rest to God.

--author unknown

Simple words are powerful words.

Beauty in the (not so) Small Things

“Beauty is the physical manifestation of the Mystery—God, Spirit, the Divine—that surrounds and beckons to us every day of our lives.” --The Invitation by Oriah

I lead an ordinary, extraordinary life. Yesterday was an amazing reminder to me. The sun seemed to shine a little brighter. The morning found me snuggled in bed—reading, writing, and listening to music. It was heavenly. Then I ventured out to work. The air was crisp and clear, springtime starting to tease. I had the privilege of sharing a young woman’s story and being with her in her struggles. There was something so good about knowing she had not been alone for an hour and neither had I. The Divine was present.

The day led me to a local outdoor mall where I made a return rather than purchasing something new. It felt good! I stood in the sunshine for a little while and pondered the possibilities of the time before my next appointment. Ultimately, I decided on coffee and a bagel at Starbucks. My bagel was fresh, my coffee was hot and the banter of baristas and customers was light. It was heavenly. And, the day got even better. I ran into a friend I had not seen in years. We stood in the fresh air, catching up and sharing stories.

All day long life brought me delight. I laughed out loud when I saw a sign for the “Dolphin Apartments”—a sign I had driven by 100 times but only noticed yesterday. I had tea with a friend and her soulful, rescued dog, Petunia who taught me much about relaxation and enjoying the moment. I saw Mount Rainier rimmed in pink clouds. I heard my daughter laugh. I knew my son was safe. I sparred and joked with my husband. I spoke to counselors and social workers. I corresponded with friends and read provocative blogs. I could go on and on about the “ordinary,” but you see, those things do not feel ordinary to me. They are beautiful and extraordinary--“physical manifestations of the Mystery.”

Blessings to you this day. My prayer is that you (and I) will see and experience the beauty of God in all that comes our way. Peace.

Budding Spring

what is awakening as we move into spring?
there is something about the depths of our souls, the bare bones of our branches, the seed that lies deep within the ground...waiting to sprout.
the beauty emerges with each slight movement...and while, we certainly do not want to rush spring, there is hope in the new buds that wait to blossom.

Lucy and Shabbat

art by sulamith wulfing

St. Lucy greeted me this morning as only she can—with surprise, delight and light. Today she brings discovery of the light of Shabbat. (The Hebrew word that is the basis for Sabbath and sabbatical.) Not being Jewish myself, I was delighted to discover it is a woman's mitzvah to light the Shabbat candles. In other words, it is a woman's privilege to bring "good" into the world through light. I love this! I, as a woman, can bring light into the world as no other can.

There is something very holy, sacred and sensuous as I think of candles and light, springtime and growth. With spring, the days are getting lighter; the ground is awakening and making space for new life to push forward to the surface. There is newness in the air. The soul is awakening from the darkness of winter.

Images of water (often associated with creation and passion) and patterns of new breath and rhythm continue to appear in both my dreams and waking hours. My journey for now seems to include the questions: Where is God calling me as I approach this new spring? How will I breathe new life and spread my light in the days to come? How will my creativity and passion express themselves? All exciting possibilities to consider. What new candles are you being called to light?

Hurricane

Current life events led me to turn to last February’s journal. I am both sobered and hopeful at where the seasons of life continue to lead.

New soil. Springtime ready to grow, but there is nothing in the current ground of my heart. It is empty. What little green sprouts will choose to grow there—weeds or beautiful wild flowers? It feels so desolate right now. A hurricane has come through and decimated the land. There is trash and death all along the shore. The birds and wildlife have not returned. Desolation on the beach—the same beautiful, glorious beach that held sparkling diamonds only moments before.

When will life return? What will the resurrection look like? Even those small words feel hopeful for now. I know I cannot rush springtime. Growth and restoration take time and great care. Who will care for me in this time of grieving?
--February 27, 2006

Shimmer (Dance of the Dolphins III)

Shimmering water beckons woman to a new dance.
Sister of Eve heeds the call.
Whole and embodied, her spirit is home.
Dormant no more below earth’s surface, passion ignites.
Breath’s rhythm shifts.
Born of joy-tilled ground and watered with tears of sorrow,
Golden light embraces her womanly body. And thus,
She,too, shimmers. She glows. She dances.

Kindness

The road to freedom and kindness is long and hard, but it is well worth the journey!



photo by bill hughlett

Kindness

by Naomi Shihab Nye,
Words Under the Words

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

Dance of the Dolphins - Part II

"dancing dolphins"

One of the most delightful aspects of dolphins is their call to playfulness and dance. Both aspects are a part of life too easily forgotten amidst busyness and productivity. As I remember laughing with the dolphins weaving across the bow of Georgia J and wonder where I am being called today, the following poem speaks loudly of my dreams.

The God who only knows four words

Every child has known God,
Not the God of names,
Not the God of don'ts,
Not the God who ever does Anything weird,
But the God who knows only 4 words.
And keeps repeating them, saying,
"Come dance with Me, come dance."
--Rafiz

I am that child, and with the dolphins as my reminder, I dance.

Dance of the Dolphins - Part I

Dolphins are pursuing me. Though I live on dry land in Seattle, I realized yesterday that for the last month dolphins have been pursuing me. They traveled along our sailboat seemingly in our first moments at sea and often throughout the trip. They have danced with me in my dreams and words throughout the month. Yesterday, they showed up fully in written form: First, through the story penned by a writing group friend, and next in a blog I visit occasionally. The power of their presence is palpable.

I am curious about this presence and felt the need to start this conversation. Since I am heading out the door this morning, this entry is only introduction and a reminder of dolphins. In one of yesterday’s readings, dolphins were referred to as “the carriers of messages of our progress.” I am excited to explore this thought. Other themes in the dolphin readings were breath, life, playfulness, sexuality and spiritual practice. Lots to ponder!

While the traditional part of me thinks this may sound a little whacky, my whole essence speaks strongly of connection to God through nature and creation. I am excited for the possibility of what God and the dolphins may be saying to me. I would love to hear your thoughts as I ponder this dance of the dolphins.

Then God said, “Let the waters teem with swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth in the open expanse of the heavens.” And God saw that it was good. Genesis 1:20-21

fyi--that is my leg in the photo--proof of the dolphins pursuit!

Does Anyone Read My Blog??

Are you out there? Are you here now? I would love to know. While I truly do write for myself (my tag line is, afterall, "I write to discover what I know."), it is affirming and inspiring to know you are here with me. Many of my friends give little hints that they have visited and say "keep writing," but being someone who loves the printed word, I would be honored if you would take a moment and click on that little comment box at the bottom of this entry (or any entry) and simply say "I was here." You can do it anonymously or be brave and give your name. Either way, it will bring a little joy to my day as I hope Lucy can bring to yours.

Home

"Home is where the heart is and thus a movable feast." --author unknown

art by Muriel Taylor, La Cruz

January almost gone. The first month of the new year. It was an amazing month. In some ways it seems like it has flown by but in many ways it has filled a lifetime. I was only in Seattle, my home, for a few days, yet I felt more "home" than ever. Home to me speaks of being connected to myself--connected to my soul. Home is where Lucy lives. Lucy of the light.

I experienced lightness and freedom among friends. Beautiful times of communion and fellowship with my family. I witnessed miracles and life with women I recently met, yet believe I have known for a lifetime. Beginnings of life. Endings of death. Ice breaking and floes starting to move. Coyotes howling. Dolphins dancing. Freedom.

These are the memories and miracles I must hold onto as the busyness of life tries to squeeze in and a new day begins. My friend, Gibran, speaks to me again:

"For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion in the sky, whose door is the morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and silences of night."

Heroes Are Born

"It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare; it is because we do not dare that they are difficult."
-- Seneca


I am a blessed woman for I have spent the last five days witnessing miracles beyond imagination.

Miracles abound.
I watched the sun rise while the stars still played in the heavens.
I heard coyotes howl in the distance and laughed to see deer dancing across my path.
I saw frightened women lean into fear.
Beautiful songs emerged from dead hearts.
Velveteen rabbits became real.
Bent over women stood tall in their beauty.
New and golden stars shined with all their might.
A monster melted into a bundle of joy.
Heroes were born.
Golden women emerged from the womb.
Miracles abound.

I am blessed and thankful beyond comprehension. Thank you, God. Thank you, Friends. Thank you, Soltura.

On Friends

And let your best be for your friend.
If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.
For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.

--Kahlil Gibran "The Prophet"

For a closer glimpse into the hours lived among friends on the Georgia J, visit the Captain's post.

Re-Entry

The Joy that isn’t shared, I’ve heard, dies young.
-Anne Sexton, The Awful Rowing Toward God


The ebb and flow of life.
Expansion and contraction.
Opening up and closing in.
Warming of heart and chilling of soul.
Hanging on and letting go.
Sunshine and snow.
Laughter and tears.
Contradiction and clarity.
Finding so much joy that it cannot be expressed.
Bursting with life and burying treasures.


Re-entry is a hard thing. To go from sunshine and blue seas to grayness and snow in only a matter of hours is a hard transition. In the past few days I have found myself ebbing and flowing as I re-enter my Seattle life. One moment I swell with joy and gratitude over the life giving time away, and the next, I am filled with sadness because I am stuck in traffic on a rain soaked highway.

How shall I incorporate my new fullness into today’s life? I am reminded of the tiny hermit crab I watched on the rocky beach at Isla Isabella. She painstakingly worked to carry her new found home from one place to the next. It was hard going, but she labored well. It seems to me that this will be my task, too—to take the joy (the home) so easily found in paradise and pull it across a sometimes rocky (or snowy) path so that heaven resides wherever I am.

I will start with the small, like the tiny crab, and see what blossoms in the days to come.

Still

Oh winter, you are here, but my heart still plays in the sun.
His rays have kissed me deeply & now warm my soul as the frost nips at my nose.

Coming Home

Georgia J--my home away from home

I am home. I am humbled and in awe for words cannot describe the past two weeks spent with God, with friends, with the holiness of laughter and the splendor of nature. The time was simple and magnificent--the air, the sea, the sky. Birds, whales, crabs and dolphins--from the immense to the miniscule--the beautiful and the awful. God's magnificent pallet. I chose to breathe it in and soak it up. My heart flushed with desire and amazement. The sun kissing my body and leaving me to feel like a wonderful, endearing child. Whispers of love from the world surrounding me. Moonlight on a dark ocean. Sun bursting forth in new day. Songs and dancing. Hard work and moonlit showers. Kisses of summer warmth and blossoms of spring in the midst of winter. It is a gift for which I am eternally grateful. A life of simplicity. T-shirts and shorts. Clean scrubbed face protected with sunscreen. Simple food tasting like an elaborate banquet. Conversations and laughter. Dancing and dreaming. God feeling near. Each day a prayer answered.

dancing blue crab
blue-beaked, red-footed friend

Gone Sailing

The Drop and the Sea

I went looking for Him
And lost myself;
The drop merged with the Sea --
Who can find it now?

Looking and looking for Him
I lost myself;
The Sea merged with the drop --
Who can find it now?

by Kabir

I am off to explore the Sea and the drop while I join dear friends for a sailing excursion from Mazatlan to Puerto Vallarta. I will be back with new photos, ponderings and possibilities around mid-January. Happy New Year!

photo by bill hughlett

Scorched Earth

“And the Lord will continually guide you. And satisfy your desire in a scorched place. And give strength to your bones; And you will be like a watered garden, And like a spring of water whose waters don’t fail.” Isaiah 58:11

Today I am saying good-bye to 2006—a year that has been difficult, painful and scorched. It has also been a year where the Lord has provided daily strength to my very frame and watered the depths of my soul.

Tomorrow, I fly to Mexico—a land of scorched earth. I covet rest and restoration as I travel from land into the immensity of the sea via sailboat—there to be watered like a garden and have my depleted springs filled. Nature calls to me. God beckons me to meet him in a new place filled with dust of the earth and water of the soul.

"coming back" photo by bill hughlett

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my childrens' lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water,
and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Wendell Berry, Collected Poems

This poem has been shared with me several times by intuitive friends. It has become one of my very favorites. May the peace of wild things be with each of us as we end one calendar year and begin another.

Spoken Words. Seen Words.

Unfolding. Seeing. Knowing. Hearing. Seeking. Seeking our story. Seeking the truth. Seeking connection to our very soul. Where does it start? How do we begin? I see Mt. Rainier outside my window and wonder, where did it begin? What is the depth of that great mountain? How high is the peak of its summit? Is it like my soul? Growing and expanding. Some days hiding behind the clouds. Other days white and beautiful for all to see?

In recent days I have been consistently drawn to the topic of knowing. Knowing God. Knowing ourselves. Knowing others. My first recent awareness of this came as I was reading an advent meditation entry by the father of a deaf child. He was quite concerned that his daughter would never “hear” the Christmas story, the story of Incarnation, in a language she could “understand.” Therefore, she could “never embrace the Light of the World.” While I think I understand his compassion and desire for his daughter and other deaf children, I somehow felt this statement to be so wrong. In my heart, I believe these children may hear and know God more deeply than this father who thinks that only man’s spoken words can adequately convey the gospel.

Since that reading, I have been ever aware of the many ways that God speaks to me and provides a deeper knowing than any spoken words can convey. “The Divine Voice is not always expressed in words. It is made known as a heart-consciousness.” (from God Calling). It is this “heart-consciousness” that seems to speak most loudly to me.

My ponderings did not end, however, with only the spoken word. I also have much considered the seen word. I am aware of how visually stimulated I am by God’s creation all around and how it is often in the seeing that I experience the knowing of which I write. Thus enters my new favorite saint, St. Lucy—the patron saint of blindness. Lucy means “light,” coming from the same Latin root as “lucid” which translates as “clear, radiant, understandable.” St. Lucy’s martyred life ended with her eyes being gouged out. Miraculously, however, she was still able to see even without her eyes.

While the stories say this was miraculous, I wonder, do we not all have this “miraculous” ability—to see without eyes, to hear without ears, to feel without touch? Is this not the handiwork of a miraculous God—the one who provides multiple pathways to unfolding, seeing, knowing, hearing and seeking truth?

I am certain this is a topic I will return to again and again. For now, however, I will end with a poem from The Prophet by Khalil Gibran.


And a man said, Speak to us of Self-Knowledge.
And he answered saying:
Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.
But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart’s knowledge.
You would know in words that which you have always known in thought.
You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.

And it is well you should.
The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea boundless and measureless.

Say not, “I have found the truth,” but rather, “I have found a truth.”
Say not, “I have found the path of the soul.” Say rather, “I have met the soul walking upon my path.”
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.


"its makers praise" photo by bill hughlett

next

winter solstice, come & gone
advent in the past
christ was born in bethlehem
now what, the days alas?

speak to me, oh sovereign lord
i'm waiting in the dark
the days grow brighter on my watch
but time is not a lark

i call to you i cry to you
i sit and feel my tears
christmas come and christmas gone
what more the passing years?

time moves fast and passes by
i wonder what is next
you're with me, lord i know that now
your world, amazing text

another night i'll hold my breath
and sense the passing day
i hear you, see you, feel you, lord,
and marvel at your ways

amen

About Me

Who am I? I awoke very early this morning pondering that loaded question.

In this crazy world of blogging, what do I want to say “About Me?” To address this seems both humbling and grandiose. It is impossibly difficult and incredibly simple. My first notion is, “I am no one,” quickly followed by the next thought, “I am an amazing, complex woman that words cannot begin to describe.” The truth is: I am both. This is the tension I live with these days. Faith is a huge part of my life and demonstrates this phenomenon well, because my faith is strong and it is weak. “Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.” It seems that the more I learn about anything, the less I realize I actually know. The closer I come to knowing myself, the more I find there is to discover.

So, what about me? I am a mother, a wife, a sister, an orphan, a friend, a lover of God, a reforming Fundamentalist, a spiritual seeker, a lover of big yellow dogs and all kinds of nature, a fan of cozy beds and warm fires. I am a middle-aged woman with the heart of a child. I am a romantic and I am very practical. I love to cook and I hate to go to the grocery store. I want my house clean, but rarely enjoy the act of cleaning. I am a trained counselor and I regularly seek personal counseling. I want to experience God outside the box and I love old traditions. I grew up in the Bible Belt (Oklahoma) and now live in the "most un-churched city in the country" (Seattle).

I hate that we must suffer so much in the world AND I know that suffering has made me who I am today. I love music of all kinds. I do not have a great singing voice, but I have long dreamed of being a doo-wap girl. I’m not a talented dancer, but I love to move. I am not a natural athlete, but manage to stay in reasonable shape. I love new experiences (like my recent forays into backpacking, graduate school and skydiving). I love books (see sidebar of 2006 reads) and movies ranging from the romantic to the contemplative. I don't have regular/cable television, but am a closet viewer. I watch “Grey’s Anatomy,” “Gilmore Girls” and “24” when they come out on DVD and an occasional “Oprah” when I get the chance.

I am too conservative for the liberals and too liberal for the conservatives. I am passionate and I am shy. I LOVE to laugh until tears stream down my face. Anne Lamott calls laughter “carbonated holiness” and I agree wholeheartedly. I love to play with friends and I adore my quiet time and solitude. I love to write but am not quite comfortable calling myself a writer. I am on a journey. If you look closely throughout this site, you will find glimpses of me, along with my friends, family and places I love. It is a scary venture to share what comes from the heart, nevertheless, I am called to take the leap and share my words. I hope you will join me!


"lovely, kind and FREE!" photo by bill hughlett

The Wall Between Two Gardens

“Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.” Khalil Gibran

It is late Christmas day. It has been a good day, a quiet day, and in the stillness of the afternoon, l have spent much time pondering sadness. While sadness may seem like an unfit topic for this day of celebration, it is, nevertheless, a feeling that abounds during the season. Often juxtaposed against the expected emotions provoked by “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays,” sadness can be buried amidst the stack of holiday cheer.

Today is a day to be celebrated and for which to be thankful. So, what is this “wall between two gardens” of which Gibran speaks? For some reason, I am reminded of another quote (by Mother Teresa, I think) where she speaks of having her heart break wide open so that the whole world may fall in. I sense this breaking of heart in myself while at the same time there is a sense of peace and thankfulness. Must we break wide open to find peace?

How can the two co-exist? Is this the paradox of love? Of God? The garden of heartbreak and the garden of thankfulness. The wall of sadness between humanity and divinity. The human part of me wants to focus on the sadness and where I don’t feel like my desires are being met, but the holy will not let me rest there. The divine requires me to remember that ALL my needs are fulfilled and I am never alone even when I may feel lonely. God is with me and I hear the words, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”

So why the sadness? Why the wall between the gardens? Images are evoked of the joy of the birth of a new babe and the sadness of his death on a cross—before his resurrection. Ahh—maybe that is the wall of sadness; the sting of death before resurrection.

It seems that this is the place we live today—having not yet experienced our own resurrection to glory, but having tasted it; known the glory in brief moments—the birth of a child, the smile of a stranger, the gift of a song. These reminders start to fracture the wall of sadness and meld the gardens—the garden of birth and the garden of resurrection. This Christmas day, hope is tangible. It is a time to celebrate and experience the glory of God. And, it is a time to sit with the sadness between the two gardens and be thankful. Merry Christmas and Amen.

photo by bill hughlett

Mystery and Mastery

A question is mulling around in my mind. It is a question of movement and waiting—of mystery and mastery. I ponder; can there be movement in waiting? A sigh. A breath. A tear. The rise and fall of the chest. The twinkle in an eye. For I believe waiting does not mean ceasing to live. It is, in my reality, living more deeply and intentionally.

“Wait here,” a mother says to her child. The child can either hold his breath and try to remain perfectly still, living in fear. Or he can begin to examine the world around him--the ant on the ground, a bee tasting sweet nectar or the wind rustling through the trees. In this waiting, this examination of mystery, is he not living more fully and mastering life?

Waiting for the birth of a child, the coming of a Savior, the easing of a pain. Waiting does not mean becoming frozen or comatose. It can be just the opposite. A heightening of awareness. Feeling the very structure of your being—the beams and concrete of your soul; the bare branches of your nakedness; the child inside the mother’s womb.

This living into the mystery is the mastery of life. It is appreciating each moment instead of worrying or analyzing what it will mean later, or like the compliant child, waiting and holding his breath until the very life goes out of him.

So breathe, feel your heart, listen to the rhythm of the earth. The axis has shifted slightly and the light will grow stronger day by day. Remember that without the dark of night, a star cannot shine. So wait. Wait intentionally; not for mastery but for the sake of mystery and all it has to offer.

We cannot see the wind except when it blows through the trees. From where does the rain begin? Was the earth created in seven 24-hour days or billions of years? Mystery. We can move toward mastery, but it is in the movement that life happens. It is the dash on our tombstone—what happens between the day we burst forth from the womb and our final earthly breath. It is movement as subtle as listening to your own heart beat or watching an ant crawl on the ground. And, it is movement as great as facing your deepest fears or having the courage to wait patiently in the darkness.

photo by bill hughlett

Belly of the Whale

Inside the belly of the whale, it is dark. Today is the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere. For a season, this season, I am being called to let the tears wash over me, to wail, to cry out and let the pain envelope and comfort me. Happiness will not suffice for now. Joy seems so distant, so far away. Sorrow—its mirror image—hangs closely round my heart and soul.

I must learn a new way to comfort myself, and the way does not involve putting on a smile and taking care of everyone around me. How can I suffer—exist—live in the dark night of the soul when all around me are hollow words of "Merry Christmas" and "Happy Holidays"? “Cheer up,” well-meaning friends say. “Get over it,” I tell myself. Easy to say, but I don’t even know what “it” is. I see fear in the eyes of my loved ones. They worry that I am not happy. “You’re not yourself these days,” they say. “I hope you come back soon.” But, I have not gone anywhere. This is me—all I am able to offer—right here and right now. Maybe it is not all of me for it is more of the sorrowful side—some would say the dark side. And, just as I have been known to burst with joy, for now I am bursting with sorrow. I am learning that both are essential for the fullness I desire.

Give your burdens to the earth—the strength of the mountains—the vastness of the sea—God—only these can carry the weight of my burdens. I am called to lay face down on the ground as the Muslims do, connecting my head with the earth. Feeling the solidity beneath me. It is holy ground.

Belly of the whale. It is dark inside here and even as I release myself to the darkness, I begin to feel lighter. A twinkling light. There must be great darkness for the tiniest light to shine. Wait. Just wait. It is the reminder I have heard throughout this advent season. Wait.

“When you are in the belly of the whale, let go, detach yourself, let the pain carry you where it needs to take you, don’t resist, rather weep, wail, cry and put your mouth to the dust, and wait.” Ron Rolheiser

Grace Abounds

sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing and yet possessing everything. II Corinthians 6:10


"life in chains" photo by maryjane hughlett

Born of earth
Seeds lie deep
Root reaching
Pushing through
Life in chains
Straining toward light
Toothless smile of poverty
Extended belly filled with love
Glittering eyes of weathered face
Hope and grace abound

Darkness hides
Darkness shields
Child in womb
Dormant field
Straining toward life
Flower of desert
Cement’s dandelion
Tiny ship in storm
Reaching shore against all odds
Sense made out of senseless
Hope and grace abound

In the darkness
Winter Solstice
Barren earth
Fallow womb
Shifting
Moving
Reaching
Resting
Growing
Soul turning
Hope and grace abound

10 Things I Love about "A"

This is a fun little game I discovered at Christine’s blog (one of my favorites) who originally found it at Cathy’s blog. (I don’t happen to know Cathy, however, we are now connected through this letter game and if I had the letter, C, I would add the word Connection, Christine and now Cathy.) Many who played the game said it was harder than you think. I imagined it would be hard to come up with 10, however, my brain switched into high gear and I had a list of about 45 “A’s” before I told myself to slow down and pick 10. So here goes.

1. Christine gave me the letter A for Awakening, so I shall start there. Awakening my creative spirit, awakening to each new day and experience, awakening to life around me. These are most definitely things I love!
2. Advent season has been an amazing time of waiting and discovery for me this year. Great expectation for the celebration of the birth of Jesus and anticipation of what new birth is happening in my life.
3. Aging. I wavered a bit on whether or not I truly love aging. It is one of those love/hate dilemmas, however, aging has provided me with a new perspective and a new zest for life that I did not have in my younger years. It provides a preciousness to each new day and each new year. I turned 50 on September 11 of this year, so hurray for Aging!!
4. Asking questions and seeking answers. I love this, particularly done in community or in my quiet time with the Lord. The beauty is that there are no pat answers and half the fun comes in the asking and seeking.
5. I love Angels! Doesn’t everyone?? I think one of the things I imagine and envy most about angels is their wings. I love the possibility that they can fly which leads me to #6 and….
6. Airplanes. Airplanes take me to far away places for adventure and reunion with friends. My favorite airplane was the tiny one that I jumped out of and flew through the air myself. The air was buoyant and felt like the hands of God gently holding me in my downward flight. It was…
7. Amazing! Life just gets more and more amazing to me. There are new adventures each day, new awakenings, new people, places and things to discover. Truly Amazing!!
8. I could not finish a list of things I love with out including at least one author, because books are one of my very favorite things. I choose Anne Lamott to grace this list. I love her irreverent reverence and her advice from Bird by Bird that if you want to be a writer, “Write!!” These are words that get me going when I often wonder where my writing will lead. Just write!
9. As with authors, the list would not be complete without mentioning a few places since I love adventure and travel. I love Asheville, NC. I have had dreams of moving there and becoming an artist full time. Arizona is wonderful with its beautiful deserts and warm dry climate. Alaska must be fabulous because it produced my dear friend, Maria, and Africa birthed my wonderful husband, Bill—both are places I hope to visit in this lifetime. (Australia is also on my very short list of places that I love before ever having been there.)
10. Since this list of gratitude and love could go on and on, I will end with Abundance and Amen!!

Thank you, Christine and Cathy. If anyone else would like to play, send me a note and I will send you a letter. Blessings and Abundance to you during this Amazing season of Advent. Amen.

photo by bill hughlett

Soul Turning

"The really real is made up of both fact and human imagination.
If you can’t think, reflect and actively imagine your life into existence,
you are condemned to a half-life of unconsciousness.
Maybe your dark night is just the opposite of what it appears—not a dying, but a birthing." --Thomas Moore, Dark Nights of the Soul


Morning glow
Golden dog
Fiery breath of dragon
Sanity slipping
Soul turning
Amazing sensation
Tasting sweet fruit
Sounds of soft cello
God’s creation
The really real is made up of both fact and human imagination.

Which is which?
What can be held?
Painful reality?
Unexpected joy?
Brilliant new vision?
What makes sense?
How do we touch?
Soul turning
Present greets past tense
If you can’t think, reflect and actively imagine your life into existence,

(Stuck in the mire
Caught in the ordinary
Stagnant new day
Unreachable peaks
Wings never sprouting
Life inside hopelessness
Soul turning
Failure flagging
Witnessing faithlessness)
you are condemned to a half-life of unconsciousness.

Imagine
Pushing through the pain
Reaching toward new heaven
Grabbing the golden ring
Soul united
Axis slowly shifting
Worthiness arising
Life giving into life
Creation’s gifts awakening
Maybe your dark night is just the opposite of what it appears—not a dying, but a birthing.


photo by bill hughlett

A Charlie Brown Christmas?

I can’t seem to “do” Christmas this year. As I sit here less than two weeks away from December 25, and time as well as the light of day grows short, I know that I have purchased 4 stocking stuffers. Period. No Christmas tree. No presents. No cards. Only the twinkling lights on my Ficus tree (a year round tribute to the dark Seattle nights) show any sign of festive spirit.

The odd thing is that I am excited about the holiday season and what it truly represents. I am not, however, excited about the commercial pressures and expectations of what the season “should” look like. Each year I have felt myself pull away a bit more from the hubbub and must do’s of the season. I find myself more enlivened by purchasing a simple unexpected gift rather than one given out of obligation, or taking a walk in the winter rain and seeing God’s splendor all around, and best of all, spending time with a friend I have not visited in awhile.

Maybe the change in focus has something to do with my children getting older. The 17 year old seems quite indifferent about the season and the younger one is caught between a mixture of “I don’t care” and wondering with anticipation when we are getting a Christmas tree and what we’re doing for the holiday. Gone are the school holiday pageants of days past. Our annual trip to see Santa faded out a couple of years ago and our celebratory relatives and friends seem to have gone their own ways. I have more time to think about what Christmas means to me.

I have made several attempts to get into the "normal" holiday spirit. I have perused Christmas cards for purchase and listened to a few carols. I considered shopping yesterday, but opted for a holiday movie instead. Today, I saw a little Charlie Brown tree and actually turned the car around to go see about bringing it home, but alas my cell phone rang and one of my teenagers was in need of immediate attention.

Maybe these interruptions are telling me something. Slow down. Take in the season. Enjoy the music. Smile at the neighbors’ lights. Do your own thing.
Or just maybe, I am already “doing” Christmas exactly as I want to do it—savoring the darkness and anticipating the “coming”.

For now I think I’ll just call things good, sip my tea from a holiday mug, put on a Christmas CD and enjoy waiting here in the dark. Waiting with anticipation for what may come next.

Dream Houses

When does God sleep? It is a wonderful childlike question with an equally simple answer: He doesn’t. Today my morning advent reading declared, “and he waits anxiously for us to wake up.” I believe in his excitement, playfulness and care that often God does not wait for us to wake from slumber, but instead whispers to us through our dreams.


Last night was a major dream night for me. I think most nights are, in fact, filled with dreams, but this morning I chose to lay still for a while and tend my dreams—to listen and ponder what they had to say. This particular dream world was filled with houses of all shapes, sizes and impressions. While the dreams did not seem remotely spiritual in the moment, I cannot get away from the holy images that fill my mind as I write in the light of day.

The first house was made of white brick. It had been stripped down to the bare bones, but was still standing after what looked like an internal bomb or blast of fire had exploded. The walls were charred with soot, but the house stood firmly on its solid foundation. It was truly a house built on rock.

Next came the house with many rooms. A feast was being prepared but the food I offered was not well received. I had the sense that what I brought was not my best. It seemed to be an afterthought as if I were just trying to get by with a minimal offering. Now, in the waking hours, I am reminded of the joy I experience when I do bring my best and don’t worry about how others will receive my gifts. I am warmed with the sense of my complexity as a woman with many rooms in my house. Some days I can fill the largest banquet hall and other days my best may more closely resemble a simple broom closet. There are always many rooms waiting to be explored.

Another house seemed very comfortable and it was a place I longed to linger. In the yard was a magnificent fruit tree bearing huge berries. This is an image that has become closely identified with me in my dreams, collage work and poetry. ‘I am the luscious berry, bursting with flavor.’ This is an image that delights me.

Still one more house spoke of large ugly beams and cold concrete floors that were not visually welcoming. There seemed to be an urgency to cover up what was not aesthetically pleasing. I am aware, however, that the beams and concrete are foundational to the strength of the structure. If they are taken away, the house will collapse into a heap.


In the final house, there was a choice to be made. I could enter the yard through the gate or I could go into the garage. There was a man leading the way who gave off the essence of good and evil simultaneously. The first time I pondered this dream I thought he was Jesus, but now it feels like he represents the holy and evil that reside in me.

Using the gate at first glance appeared to be a poor choice because it would cause me to be soaked by a sprinkler. The path through the garage was safe and dry but it was a dead end. There was no way out, so I would remain trapped and shut away from the world. A second look at the narrow gate revealed the sprinkler water to be holy and representative of baptism. Often I wake up from dreams before I feel like I am at the end. The delightful result of this dream is that I did not awaken before I made the choice to get wet and experience the water’s cleansing.

God is an amazing God of creativity and infinite possibility. He speaks to me in my dreaming hours and gives me the choice of whether or not I listen to him in the waking time. He offers many houses in which to live. The rooms are always there for me, but sometimes it takes a secret passageway to enter (like something discovered through a dream.) I am not always aware of the door that sits right before me. It reminds me of another Lucy stumbling through the wardrobe that led to Narnia—a magical other world. I am so glad that God does not sleep; that he is mindful of me all hours of the day and night. I hope I will choose to remain mindful of him.

“He will not let you stumble and fall; the one who watches over you will not sleep.” Psalm 121:3

photos by bill hughlett

Passel of Pups

a passel of puppies.
cozy and warm.
keeping each other close.
all arms and legs and snuggly warmth.
adolescent pups, warming each other with friendship & care.

one small pup will not enter the pile.
he sits cold and lonely to the side,
whimpering on his own.
another nudges him toward the heap, but
he is stubborn and weak all at the same time.
he cannot see the warmth and healing to be found in the pile.

a passel of puppies.
all adolescent arms and legs.
words neither needed nor wanted.
their warmth & care speaking volumes.
all snuggled up, piled upon, tumbling over each other.

five young pups. a perfect litter.
goofy, cozy. warm & caring.
nurturing their own.
eyes not yet open, instinctually looking out for each other.

a passel of puppies.
cozy and warm.
keeping each other close.

Memory demands so much

---by denise levertov


Memory demands so much,
it wants every fiber
told and retold.
It gives and gives
but for a price, making you
risk drudgery, lapse
into document, treacheries
of glaring noon and a slow march.
Leaf never before
seen or envisioned, flying spider
of rose-red autumn, playing
a lone current of undecided wind,
lift me with you, take me
off this ground of memory that clings
to my feet like thick clay,
exacting gratitude for gifts and gifts.
Take me flying before
you vanish, leaf, before
I have time to remember you,
intent instead on being
in the midst of that flight,
of those unforeseeable words.




photo by bill hughlett


Someone very close to me nearly died this weekend. “Memory demands so much” speaks volumes. Giving and giving can feel like drudgery (Is it ever enough?) Caught in the mire. A slow march. I have been here before. Stuck. Hurting. Sad and Angry. Seeking communication. Yearning. And I am ever reminded of the little girl who forged her way on her own. Alone.

Leaf, take me away. Let me soar high above the pain with you. The trails of a leaf are like the roads on a map. The paths of our journey. Slow march in the heat of the day—the heat of life’s battle. Or bundled, cold and shivering in the dark of night. Praying for comfort and sweet release in whatever form it might take. Death? Peace? Are they one in the same? Will we only find peace when we finally get to heaven? Or is heaven right here on earth and we are privileged to catch small glimpses of it throughout our earthly lives?

“Memory demands so much.” Fragile child on an emergency room table. Teen with eyes rolled back in head. Comatose? Dead? Witnessing the dance toward death—a slow painful march. Memory demands so much.

Can I remember my flight with God holding me in his arms? It demands so much. The hard times seem to flow easily through my brain—present and at the forefront. But can I remember the glory? Those brief moments when I have been known by another? Moments in community battling for the glory of God?

Evil wants us to be overtaken by the dark moments—the emergency room lights—the harsh sunlight of day—the agony of watching a child leave, again and again.

I want memory to turn to the good times. Riding with my daughter on a ferry. Laughing with my son in the car. I did not know how swiftly the time would fly. Memory demands so much. I have been here before—on the edge—on the verge of losing—being left—bereft of God. I feel the rhythm; the moving away, that has become so familiar.

Memory demands so much.

Desert & Darkness

photo by bill hughlett

Desert & Darkness. Is there a difference between being in the desert and living in the darkness? Both seem to include waiting. Waiting is something that is welcomed and revered during this season of Advent. Are desert and darkness the same states of being? Is the difference between darkness and light defined simply by the attitude with which they are received? Where is light found during desert times? And, for what were the desert fathers searching? Were they barren and bereft of God’s holy presence? Or were they closer to God because of the barrenness?

Two books come to mind: Alan Jones’ Soul Making and the devotional book, Streams in the Desert. Both of these are reminiscent of a moving toward something. It may be painful in the midst of the experience, but the message is hope for something less painful—something more solid on which to stand. Does having hope mean we want to leave the desert or need to leave in order to find solace?

What has prompted this line of questioning? It must go back to old fundamental roots that clash with my present aversion to a theology that insists if we are not “happy” then we are not walking “properly” with the Lord. This was kicked off by the question “Are you in a ‘desert place’ in your spiritual life right now? If so, what are some things you could do to re-kindle your excitement with the Lord?” I think the words “if so” and “re-kindle” tell me being in the desert or the darkness is not o.k. And thus I come back to the question, are darkness and desert the same space? I believe, the overriding question is: how will we choose to receive God in those places of difficulty in our lives?

This advent season has brought many reminders that darkness is seasonal. (Seasonal in an ebb and flow sort of way in our lives, not just the physical moving toward darkness as we approach the winter solstice.) Darkness provides us with a time of rest and a time of waiting. Thomas Moore in Dark Nights of the Soul says darkness is often associated with or labeled as depression. It is something we want to get out of or away from. I, however, have found periodic solace this year in the darkness. Therefore, I was bothered when it was suggested to “re-kindle” my time with the Lord because that indicates I am not meeting God in the darkness (or desert). The opposite, however, has been true because in many ways I have been met more distinctly in the darkest places than I have in the shining light of day or good times.

So once again I return to the question: Are desert and darkness the same place? And, is it all about the attitude with which we view them? I do not believe either place to be void of God even though at times we may not feel His presence. Maybe it all is about the attitude. Maybe it is about our personal relationship with God. Maybe it’s about unearthing our own rhythm in the darkness and finding our oasis in the desert. Maybe, it’s something I will ponder awhile longer. What do you think?

Six Senses of God

No old man in flowing robes and long white beard for me. My God looks like the wind, the rain, the sun & moon. He is creation all around--both seen and imagined.

Rainstorm beating on a tin roof & brook gently babbling through the forest. The laughter of children and screams of childbirth. Tinkling bells and booming gongs. These are the voices of Majesty.

God smells like spring after the first rain. Roses, old and fragrant. Wet dog and fresh baked bread. Homemade cookies & pie.

Taste the sweet nectar dripping from fresh berries. Complexities of a gourmet meal. Chinese food and take out pizza. Communion wine. God pours flavor into life.

Experience God with the touch of a newborn’s bottom, a soft kitten or the bark of a gnarled tree. The suede of a child’s head and the crepe of a woman’s weathered hand.

A presence that embodies pain and sorrow, joy and laughter. A tugging of the heart and a whisper in the ear. The flutter of stomach and the pounding of heart. Our God is the feast of eyes and the fullness of soul.

In Praise of Sweet Darkness

The following poem by David Whyte was selected for inspiration to write and experiment with new kinds of poetry during a session of The Sacred Center’s Awakening the Creative Spirit program. In this exercise we used a modified and condensed version of the Glosa style to create "In Praise of Sweet Darkness."

Sweet Darkness

When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.

When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.

Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.

There you can be sure
you are not beyond love…

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

Anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.

-- David Whyte



"ancient" photo by lucy


In Praise of Sweet Darkness

The dank, moist smell of a cave.
The skin of a snake molting away.
The rich loam of life.
Time to go into the dark where the night has eyes to recognize its own.

A mother’s womb.
One mustard seed of hope.
The blood of crucifixion.
There you can be sure you are not beyond love…

Holding & sustaining.
Nurturing & growing.
Rising from the dead.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn

Birth moving into new life.
The oak rising from an acorn.
Darkness giving way to light.
Anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you.

Remembrance & Surprise

"offering" photo by bill hughlett

I don’t recall ever being so focused on or interested in the season or spirit of Advent as I have been this year. The word advent means “coming” or “arrival.” For me, it also feels like a time of remembrance. A remembering of story—the story of my personal life as well as remembrance of the greatest story ever told—the coming of Christ, the birth of a King in a manger and the resurrection of a man from the dead.

The advent season is also one filled with surprise. I cannot help but imagine the surprise (more likely shock) of a young Mary when the angel told her she would give birth to a Savior. Fast forward thirty or so years and witness the surprise of the women who found the tomb empty; their friend and king gone.

We live with a God of surprise. Advent is filled with both surprise and anticipation. These are the themes for me this year as I sit in the darkness and wait. Part of me knows exactly for what I am waiting. I am waiting expectantly for the coming of the Lord and the celebration of his birth. More present in my mind, however, is the anticipation for the coming surprise. What will happen next in my life? From where will the next surprise come? How and when will I leave this darkness?

It is important for me to remember I have been here before—in the darkness—in this time of waiting and in this season of Advent. I will do my best to wait patiently but I am also filled with an excited anticipation—like a child waiting to open the first gift on Christmas morning. While I know the greatest gift was given with the birth of a small child centuries ago, I am still called to remember that each day is a new gift waiting to be unwrapped. Sometimes it feels like a cruel joke because the layers of wrapping paper are so many that I feel it will take forever to get to the present. Still, I will wait and I will pray to see each layer as a gift in itself with something to offer.

Remembrance and the willingness to be surprised are two of the greatest gifts we can offer ourselves each day. Advent is a time of waiting in the dark—waiting for the next surprise. My goal is to appreciate the darkness and remember it allows the light of surprise to shine even brighter.