Truth of an Ending

Relationships are complex. I realize large doses of energy are spent considering relationship of some form - with myself - with others - with God. I woke up this morning with these words running through my mind - It is in relationship that we are broken and in relationship we are healed.

There's a theme of abandonment that runs through my personal narrative... So, much of the time I feel as though ended relationships are a failure on my part. If only I'd done something different, perhaps the relationship would have survived. If only I'd been a better friend, mother, daughter, fill-in-the blank, maybe they wouldn't have left. Sound familiar?

And then there are those relationships where I know I was the one who threw down the gauntlet and said, "This isn't working. Something needs to change" and the other party chose not to engage, and the relationship ended. So then what? Who has failed? Perhaps no one. Maybe everyone.

As I awoke this morning, I was greeted with these words, "magically" appearing in the form of "Today's Gift":

"Regret is an appalling waste of energy, you can't build on it: it's only good for wallowing in." - Katherine Mansfield

"Sentences beginning with "if only" can go nowhere but straight to regret... At times it's we, ourselves, who do the leaving. We can count it a success, not a failure, when we've had the courage to acknowledge the truth of an ending." -- Joan Larkin

That last sentence is slowly creating a shift in my perspective. Can I claim the bravery in seeing 'the truth of an ending'- the wisdom of letting go - the necessity of saying good-bye?

Are there places where you hang onto regret and find yourself wallowing in "if only's"? Would your perspective change if you saw the ending of a defunct relationship as a success rather than a failure? Can you listen to the truth that lies within your own heart - remembering there are three kinds of relationship - with God - with others - and with yourself?

Will you ponder alongside me?

"friends" photo © lucy

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.

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 ☺

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?

Letting Go - Ritual

Ritual Saturday. A walk to the beach to celebrate letting go of vestiges of 2009, and to unite fire and water. My heart says to let go with fire (not of it), knowing that fire and water will both work to purify me in the coming year.

I begin today’s journey at the top of 300 stairs. Each step down a reminder to let go, until I finally reach the beach. It is windy and cold – not quite deserted. My first moments, I find sea glass – a rarity on this stretch of sand.

A small sailboat races across the Sound. “You are the boat. Life is the sea.” The sails are at full tilt. Shall I move head first into the year? A giant piece of ancient roots sits like a sentinel in the sand. It is the focus of my attention – grounded and solid.

Continuing down the beach, I seek a fire pit to burn my list of good-bye’s. I know my matches will not take hold in this mighty wind. My lone fire will not be enough. How can I burn my list? I need fire to let go. Spying a family gathered around a flame, I understand I can ask for help. I don’t have to do everything alone. Fire is meant to be shared. Someone else can help warm me.

“May I feed your fire?”

“Of course,” they respond. And so I drop my list of good-byes into the pit. It doesn’t light at first. I feel silly for a moment – old judgments stir inside my gut. The man tells me it is an “inherited” fire, left by someone who came to burn a Christmas tree. The flame is being passed. My list crinkles at the edges, bursts into flame and then it is gone – just like that. I thank them. They thank me and I realize how deeply we have shared without full explanation or many words at all.

As I walk away, there is a tugging in my heart. Did I expect to feel lighter? I have let go and now I feel a little shaky and not sure what to do next. So, I head back toward the stairs, but first I must pass through the tunnel under the railroad tracks – retracing my steps. My shakiness dissipates as I witness what is before me in mosaic-form– fire and water together. It is a sign to me that I don’t have to give up one to receive the other. I can have them both.

But, just in case my thick head won’t remember and forgets too quickly, there is another gift on the wall. “May your soul always be on fire.” I am overwhelmed by the welcoming of the Universe – God surrounding me. I am the boat and life is the sea. We are in this together.

One foot in front of the other, I begin the climb back up the steps. Step. Receive. Breathe. Step. Receive. Breathe. Upward and onward into the year. Fire inside. Moist air surrounding. Solid ground beneath my feet.

all photos taken Saturday, January 2, 2010 © lucy