Sacred Sunday: Walkin' on Sunshine

I love Sunday mornings. Lingering. Journaling. Taking time and space for me to see what rises up. Images - visual and written stir through my mind. The past week gone. The next not yet here. I sit in the sacred present. Only now.

Candlelight and gentle music. Fan blowing. Family sleeping. Coffee, hot and warm by my side. “Live with Passion.” Yes. Choose life. Choose me. Images call my name. Some already gathered. The girl in the pink sweater. She beckoned to me while I was preparing for my workshop. She was mine. Held in space until just the right time.

“Walkin’ on Sunshine.” My day yesterday. My life now. Inseparable from the universe. One moment folds into the next. Grounded. Whole. Light and airy. Held by the hand of God. The hands of my father. My ancestors.

Walking towards Ireland. Walking toward myself. I hold on and I move forward. With trepidation, not fear. Quivering, undulating movement. The pendulum of my grounded heart swings. The souls (soles) of my feet dance and move and walk on sunshine… with sunshine… through sunshine.

I am sunshine. Lucy of the light. Illuminated and free. My passion glowing and growing for others to see. I am Norah – the one of compassion. And Lil – life’s beauty. They surround me. Bold and emboldened.

The past and present collide and unite with the girl in the pink sweater. Head tossed back and laughing with glee. Trusting. Trusted. Held. Safe in the arms of my father and my mother. Grounded. They offered so much. Did their best. Healed me. Broke me. Made me.

Skipping and dancing, I share my light. My unique image of God. Belly full. Day arising. Lovely. Beautiful. Creating and created.

Vessels

Vessels. Mother as vessel. Woman as vessel. Broken. Cracked. Whole. Sacred vessel. Holy vessel. Pregnant with hope and life.

A vessel for the season of Lent. If the vessel is closed, I cannot be fed. If it is poured to overfilling, it may crack. Today my vessel feels empty. No, it has been emptied for Lent with wonder and expectation, but the filling of Ash Wednesday was painful and venomous. I would rather be empty than filled with this poison. I do not enjoy this process of filling and emptying. Especially when my choice feels limited. When a fire hydrant opens and pours into your tiny jar, how can it not be tossed around, cracked or broken?

The choice becomes how to be in the brokenness. How to become a vessel that is open to let in the feelings that need to be felt, but to narrow the opening and not let poison fill me to the top. How do I learn to receive the pain that is mine to receive and not carry the guilt for that which I have no control over?

This season of lent feels so much about tending to my vessel. Being gentle with the cracks while not ignoring them. Mending the breaks that I can. Seeing myself as whole. A sacred vessel. Pregnant with hope and life…some days a little more than others ☺.

How are you called to tend the cracks of life? Have you ever considered yourself as vessel? What will help you stay open to God rather than closing off and obstructing your own pathway?

collage by lucy

Shadows

I just lit my “candle for writing” and simultaneously I am thinking about darkness. The words ‘shadow side’ are bubbling in my head. Why do we avoid our shadow? Steer clear if we can. Think it is ‘bad.’ We hate to even acknowledge that we have a dark or shadow side to us, but guess what ...pretending it’s not there does not make it so.

Lucy Van Pelt represents my shadow side. People have come to see “My” Lucy as playful and creative rather than bossy and crabby. Is it because I do not let her ‘shadow’ side come out so much on the page? Or is it maybe things have shifted inside me as I have come to embrace what she represents?

Lucy is my inner (and outer) critic, but she also motivates me. This was a great productive and creative week for me with much of it driven by shadow and hurt. There were dark pages in my visual journal that I have not shared. And, my ‘darker’more challenging soul collage cards did not appear to be well-received (at least based on the lack of comments). Ironically, the process of making those cards helped me process some of the chaos and anxiety I was experiencing thus helping shed some light so-to-speak.

If you look closely at my collages there is always light in the ‘dark’ cards and darkness in the ‘light’ cards. (This is unintentional, by the way.) Just as initially Lucy Van Pelt was rejected by me as too crabby, bitchy & bossy, she has now become my greatest ally as I have learned to embrace her.

My greatest joys have come with much pain….(childbirth, for one.) Also, who has not experienced deep loss of some sort? If the hurt is acknowledged and processed, is there not some growth and healing that happens? Sometimes the best thing to be able to do is say, “I am sad” or “I am having a shitty week”, but in some ways I feel censored to be so honest. (My inner censor speaks loudly.)

One reader said I was in a “dark” period and subsequently quit commenting—resulting in more sadness over that loss. Others may consider overabundant joy and consecutive weeks of fabulousness to be too shallow and impossible to believe. So where is the balance? For some reason FDR's quote: “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself” comes to mind.

I need to be able to share when I am sad and when I am joyous without being afraid of the response (or lack thereof). My emotions produce great creativity from both sides. I do not believe that makes one better than the other. They are simply different, but it appears that “darkness’ is less appealing to many. It seems frightening perhaps.

The length of this post is beginning to 'frighten' me now ☺, (I do prefer shorter discourses). So, for today I am going to consider why you (I) run from the shadow side. Or maybe you don’t. Either way I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. Why do you run or avoid shadow? How do you embrace it?

Wishing you lightness in your day, so you may also see the shadows ☺. Peace.

photo by h3images

collages by lucy. see related post here.

This is what I see...

I look into her eyes and see the wisdom of the world. Young. Old. Ancient. She transforms into the white-bearded God. The humble servant. Christ on the cross. Mary. The eyes of the ancients. The core. The source. The atom of God.

I see God in those eyes. All-knowing. Kind. Wise. They are my eyes. At my core. At my source. They are my heart. My soul.

Again she grows the beard and wears the ancient robes. She spreads her arms and lifts into flight. God. Sun. Source. Water. Fire. Earth. Air. The promise of the rainbow. The covenant. The wings of angels. The stars in the heavens. Creator of heaven and earth. Miracle of transformation. Dark & light. Serious & playful. Mischievous. Serene. Calm. Reaching—not striving. Moving. Growing. Changing. Transforming. Universal.

I look into those eyes and I see peace. Life. The paradox of creation. Unique. Odd. Magnificent. The tree of life. The covenant of the rainbow. Welcoming arms. Arms that say, “This is my world. Come to me. Look at me. See what I can do. You can do it too.” She is I and so are you. The source of life. The atom of God. The core. The beginning. The seed. Rest. Chaos. It’s all there.

The eyes of a child. Where we meet God. Yea, lest you become like little children…that is when you enter the kingdom of God. She speaks to me. She calls me. She touches me. Light. Life. Wisdom. Source. The tree. The miracle. The eyes of the world. The stranger. The foreigner. The dog by my side. My beautiful children. Everyone. I see the world when I look into those eyes.

collage by lucy. see related post here.