Forget About Comfort - Part 1

reflections from bermuda #5

Comfort. Forget about comfort. Penetrating words of the soul. Those words seem pointed even poignant as I sit here in the middle of this tropical paradise. It is a glistening summer morning and I am perched upon a hilltop veranda overlooking the shining town of Hamilton.

Forget about comfort. What comfort? The padded cushions surrounding my body? The chilled water cooling my throat? Hmm. This setting does not belong to me and yet I am grateful to be a part of it. The opportunity to sit in contemplation. Butterflies. Peepers. Kiskadees. All break the reverie. Wait. Do they break it or generously add to it? They are all a part of this tropical Eden.

The garden. The beginning. “And the man and his wife were both naked and were not ashamed.” (Genesis 2:25) Why are we now so fearful to be naked—both physically and I believe more accurately, spiritually? Given the choice, I imagine people would choose to bare themselves physically more easily than let someone see the inner recesses of their heart. Why? It is such a paradox, because we live our lives desiring to be seen and truly known yet still we hide.

“And the man said, ‘I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid myself’.” (Genesis 3:10). And so we hide in our comfort. We hide behind our clothes. Our image. Our jobs. Our homes. We say we are serving others; catering to their needs—our children, spouses, bosses, friends. Of what are we afraid? Being selfish? Being wrong? Being seen for who we truly are? Being naked?

We build up savings accounts for old age. We work until we can work no more and then ask, “Where did my life go? I have built this comfort and still I am not comfortable. What happened?”

Comfort. The comfort of the womb. The safety of a bosom cradling a child's head. The joy of being seen and truly known. Connection. Relationship. True comfort comes from authentic relationship. Relationship with God; with others; with ourselves.

Forget about comfort—whatever comfort is. These are words spoken to me from the inner most recesses of my heart. And as I write, I realize that it is not comfort that I should forget about, but the illusion of comfort for it is the illusion that has the ability to keep me locked in fear and turmoil. (to be continued)

7/26/07

photos by lucy

Kiskadee

reflections from bermuda #4
kiskadee
kiss-a-me
let me fly to worlds on high
listen dear for words so clear
kiskadee
kiss-a-me

photo by bill

Gombey Dance

reflections from bermuda #3
The gombey dancers spin and twirl bringing color and life back into a day that has been clouded with conflicting emotions and gray skies. Paradise. Heaven. Will there be both dark and light in heaven? Are we in reality already living in the heaven or hell of our very own making?

Choice. We get to choose how we will be but sometimes the choice feels out of our hands. Old hurts and childhood (often childish) responses get in the way and even when we want to respond otherwise, we hold tight to the preferred reply of the moment—hurt; anger; bitterness; confusion. The clouds appear too thick to see the sunshine. We can only hear the thunder roaring in our ears.

Yet still a piece of our heart reaches for the light. The heaven that lives inside our soul. The light that is as old as time. Created in the beginning. “Let there be light.” We struggle. We push. We yearn, but we are stubborn—strong—proud. And so the battle goes. Hang on. Let go. Hang on. Let go.

And then as if by magic you begin to hear, to feel a different rhythm. A soft pounding of drum and heart. It is slow at first (possibly even annoying) but soon you feel the pull to follow the new rhythm. You are drawn to the beat. Two hearts—multiple hearts—sounding as one—spiriting joy into the world. And then the crowd parts and the dancers spin and twirl bringing color and life back into a day that has been clouded with emotions and gray skies.

The skies are blue again. The light shines all around. Your heart leaps and you begin to smile and dance for this you know is heaven. Music. Color. Rhythm. Life. Young and old. Mother and child. Husband and wife. Friend and friend. Unity. The world spinning and twirling as we choose to experience heaven on earth.

7/26/07

photos by lucy

Re-Entry

“How beautiful it is to do nothing, and then rest afterward.”
--Spanish proverb

I stumbled across the above proverb early this morning (as I am still running on Atlantic UTC-4 time versus PST or simply put--a 4-hour time difference.) The proverb seems highly appropriate today as I am trying to decide how I shall “re-enter” my “normal” life after two weeks away. My mind is full of memories, thoughts and ponderings as well as “lists” of things that probably need my attention. So, I am not really sure where to start.

To name the time away as doing “nothing” would be a gross injustice for it was full of life, adventure and miracles. I think I might state the proverb more truthfully for myself as “how beautiful it is to do nothing except that which our heart calls us to do, and then rest afterward.” Some might call this interpretation slothful or unproductive, however, I believe that when we are truly attuned to God, our hearts engage in a life full of meaning and productivity. (We just may need to shift how we define words like meaningful and productive ☺).

And so, today I think I shall re-enter blogging with a simple “hello” and “it’s good to be back.” My adventures led me on a wonderful trip to the islands of Bermuda preceded by an amazing workshop at Soltura. The coming days will most likely be sprinkled with more “reflections from Bermuda,” so I hope you will revisit often.

Have a great day!

photo of st. peter's church by lucy

Thunder's Applause

reflections from bermuda #2

The thunder sounds like applause rippling across the gray Bermudian sky. Clapping for us here at Paget Parish—
away from the rush of the normal day. Read. Rest. Write. Those are the words I heard this morning in my quiet time. Today I have slept the sleep of the drugged—washed over by the cool sea breeze until the blowing rain prohibited leaving the balcony door open.

Lines are imprinted on my face like that of a sleeping child awakened too soon from an afternoon slumber. The skies continue to rumble and soon my stomach will join in for I have slept away half of the day and it is now well past lunchtime. Read. Rest. Write. Today it is heaven.

At present I do not mind that the sky has gone gray providing cover from the brilliant sun. It is so quiet; even the birds have retreated for a while. I imagine their feathers full and heavy from the summer rain. Maybe they, too, are napping on this glorious overcast day.

If it stays this way for the week will I still call it glorious? I hear the applause of the sky again. The majesty of God. The rumbling of the universe. I need rest. My stack of books awaits me and my computer sits nearby ready to transcribe my handwritten notes. Read. Rest. Write. Rejuvenate.

I am called to marry the week of holy work before with a week of wonder at this paradise around me. The yin and the yang. Both were entered into without concern for clock or schedules. Small boundaries to keep things in check: hunger, exhaustion, laughter, overload. The cycle of day and night.

It is magic when we can connect to our natural cycle. Today mine is read, rest, write. The thunder sounds like applause confirming my choice. Amen.

7/24/07