To Be

My thoughts wonder if it’s vacation? Lent? Something else? But, I have been experiencing a rather odd aversion to communing with my computer. My quiet time seems of utmost importance lately. I just want to be. Slow. Still. Present.

I returned home from vacation with a slight cold and it seems to slow me down even more. I find myself just wanting to close my eyes and be. No input. No output. A recent Lent reading* spoke of Jesus in the desert. I’d love to be in the desert for 40 days to just be, but what in the world does that even mean? Right now it feels like no details – no have to’s – just show up and be present to God. To be one with the world. Sit in the glow of the sun or feel raindrops on my face. Watch water trickle from the edge of the Creator’s fingers while matching the pace of gentle, falling rain. Pondering what it means to be.

"Be still and know I am God."
Be still and know I am.
Be still and know.
Be still.
Be.

*Luke 4:1-13

shilshole gull © lucy 2.20.10

Ingredients of Inspiration

Recently I received a comment from a reader who was intrigued to know where I come up with my post entries. The response immediately popped into my head: Life. They come from life.

It’s like a big pot of stew that has grown from being awake to and aware of what is all around me. Adding elements from the smallest raindrop to the most profound quote, pulling from past experience and present moment. Things start to bubble and stir. There is musing and pondering until all of a sudden “pop” and the words fall onto the paper with my hand only an instrument.

It hasn’t always been this way for me. In fact, I have lived most of my life in a pretty structured and linear state. But once I started noticing all that is around me, I couldn’t seem to stop. There is always something to see or hear or experience. I could barely get through my walk the other day, because I was so mesmerized by raindrops. Teeny tiny drops. Millions. Trillions of them lined up along the evergreen branches and the naked limbs of winter. There they sat, just like stories waiting to be told. Which one will drop off the branch and onto the page?

Often times, it is in the writing that the words unfold. "I write to discover what I know." -- Flannery O'Connor. Mysteriously, by putting words onto paper, I find myself connected to something that my body and ancestral mind knows and carries, but my human brain couldn’t quite wrap around.

Being in nature, I know I am part of something greater, and everything down to the tiniest grain of sand or merest drop of water is part of the same thing. And so, instead of pushing the image away or ignoring it all together, I pause and ponder and become aware. I stir it into the pot that is uniquely me. This new ingredient changes who I was only a moment before which can be kind of scary, but I want to know the flavor of right now.

In this moment, I put these words out into the universe, knowing you perhaps will add a word or comment that I hadn’t considered and it will become something new. The ingredients come in a variety of measures. Stirring them in is daring. It's scary. It’s intriguing. It's a bottomless stew of inspiration - with enough to go around for everyone!

What are your ingredients for inspiration?

If you knew I was sad, would it make a difference?

Life upon return from Ireland hit hard and fast. I find myself rising and falling like the rhythms of the ocean. Sometimes the waves are gentle and I float as though on a blowup mattress in the middle of a still Oklahoma lake. Other times, I feel as though I have been slammed by a giant Tsunami – shaking myself off and gasping for air from the force of the hit.

I have been lonely here at Diamonds. Not sure if my readership is down, if my topics are not engaging or if people are just plain busy – or maybe I sound so content you don't realize I crave your company and comments. So, I ponder the question in the post title… If you knew I was sad, would it make a difference? Would you make a little more effort to comment if you knew I needed it? Would you stop and speak to a co-worker or a child or a stranger if you thought your comfort would make a difference? I wonder how often I settle for the pat answer when someone responds with a standard, “I’m fine?”

I wonder about people’s interior journeys (those who confide in me and others I pass on the streets), realizing I can only know a fraction of their stories – if that much. We are complex beings and have a capacity to present many faces to the world. Does showing joy when grief lurks inside (or vice versa) discount either emotion? I ask, because, the waves that follow me these days are somewhat confusing. I feel both the gentle rocking of comfort as well as the motion sickness of constant movement. I find it near impossible to answer the question, “How are you?” for the water that washes my spirit clean and gently holds the raft upon which I float is the same element that threatens to drown me and take away my breath. The two cannot be separated for they flow in and out of each other like waves moving against the shore – both gentle and wild. Hmmmm.Anybody else ever feel confused by two seemingly contradictory emotions that flow in and out simultaneously? Reminds me of the old lyric “hurts so good”…or maybe not. I’d love to hear your thoughts (but a simple hello works, too).

ireland brook ©2009
dublin river ©2009

Hospitality, Abundance & Scarcity

It is a glorious, overcast & mellow Saturday morning at my house. As I scooted around and visited some of my favorite blog sites earlier, I found several connected themes arising: hospitality, abundance and scarcity. All over the web are wonderful dream boards prompted by Jamie Ridler Studios. They honor the harvest moon and speak of our connection to earth and its abundance.

Pausing at Country Parson, the theme of scarcity popped onto my list as I read his post, Don't Spoil Them. In a nutshell, the question I heard was “if we give too much to them, will there be enough left for us”? Yikes! is my inner response - which leads to the last theme of hospitality.

This premise actually began stirring yesterday as I read the wonderful words exploring Emily Dickinson found at The Feminist Shepherd. "The Savior's only signature to the Letter he wrote to all mankind, was, A Stranger and ye took me in." How often do we turn away from “the stranger” and manufacture walls between us and them?

The final post that got me going may seem an unlikely one, but it was Kate I’s request to ponder Coffee and Tea. Her lovely photo of teacups sent me back in time to the day my siblings and I cleared out our mother’s cupboards for the final time. Tucked way in the back was a collection of gorgeous cups and saucers that I didn’t know existed. My sister assured me that Mother had indeed collected teacups – a fact totally new to me.

The contrast of Kate’s words inviting the hospitality that is unique to sharing a warm beverage with a friend (or stranger) against my mother’s hiding of these beautiful treasures sent me first to my camera and next to my keypad. You see, I know my mother was saving those cups for a “special” time. I grew up with lots of lovely things surrounding me, but most of them were tucked away – unburned candles, lace tablecloths, unopened bottles of wine – reserved for just the right time. In this I see a mentality of scarcity and separation. Who? When? What day would ever be special enough to bring out these treasures?

The battle of scarcity and generosity is one that still rages within me. I must be mindful to be extravagant rather than stingy and greedy. Today, I proudly exhibit those teacups in my home. While I prefer a heftier mug for my warm beverages, I love the beauty of these delicate pieces of china. I burn new candles almost as soon as they arrive - sometimes on the altar I share only with God in my silent moments. Other times they light the way for guests arriving at my home. It has been hard to break a mentality of scarcity. But really, who is more special than the person nearest in the moment – even if it’s only me?

In the coming week, I shall carry these themes with me: hospitality, scarcity and abundance. Whether I am sharing a cup of tea with my kitty cat, being served on an airplane by a flight attendant or enjoying a pint in an Irish pub with old and newfound friends, I pray that hospitality will prevail - leading to abundance and shutting the door on the mentality of scarcity. Love, after all, is meant to be shared.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on hospitality, scarcity and abundance as we enter the fall season here in the northern hemisphere. Perhaps today you will break out that special chocolate, use a quilt that has been tucked away or share a cup of coffee with a stranger. The possibilities are abundant!

mother's teacups 10.10.09

Labyrinth of Life

“Furthermore, we have not even to risk the adventure alone, for the heroes of all time have gone before us. The labyrinth is thoroughly known. We have only to follow the thread of the hero path, and where we had thought to find an abomination, we shall find a god. And where we had thought to slay another, we shall slay ourselves. Where we had thought to travel outward, we will come to the center of our own existence. And where we had thought to be alone, we will be with all the world.” -- Joseph Campbell

The image of the labyrinth is one of a journey both inward and outward. It appears to meander and as with most journeys in life it is not linear. Lately, I seem to find the theme of pilgrimage everywhere. Part of it is that I have surrounded myself with books on the topic to help prepare for my own journey next week to Ireland. However, even as I am entering into those texts, I find how they overlay with my daily life and how I walk the path of pilgrimage each day.

Recently I was asked by my therapist (yes, I go to therapy and spiritual direction) whether or not I often ritualize things. My initial reaction was “no” and then I realized that ritualizing or re-creating experiences is what I do to make meaning. The therapist was referring to a recent event I relayed about visiting my parent’s grave in Oklahoma. It was a surreal and impacting event. As I sat between my parents’ gravesites, I listened to the silence around me and was gently led through a process of ritual that led to new healing in my relationship with my parents. It was a time of journeying inward to see what needed tending. I could not have planned it or if I had, I am certain the outcome would not have been the same. Nevertheless, I chose to enter the labyrinth of my childhood and was surprised by the healing that took place through a reenactment (ritualizing) of another time in space.

Last weekend, I led the Returning Home to Yourself workshop. It was yet another holy time. Looking back, I noticed how I had prepared and planned each exercise in great detail and with loving care. I was ready for the journey. Once it arrived, however, I found that by holding lightly to how I thought the group might respond and letting go of any perceived outcomes, the experience became richer than anything I might have imagined. A universal holiness came over the room as we engaged in ritual created in the moment. I stood in the center of our own labyrinth and let the spirit of God meet me there. In doing so, our group became one and more healing occurred.

In my last post, I asked the question, “How do you prepare for pilgrimage?” I am learning how it is I prepare and for today I believe this is my modus operandum: I do my homework, set aside time and space, lay the groundwork and then let go of everything I just did. In other words, I get out of my own way. Expectations and what if’s vanish into thin air and God moves in and creates something greater than I could possibly imagine. Sunrise Sister writes of a similar experience while visiting the holy land of Ephesus and Rebecca shares the same as she enters quiet time in her own home.

Today my pilgrimage has included an unexpected visitor early in the morning. Followed by the welcoming of a furry friend to visit for a few days. Sunshine. Blue skies and even a short nap before heading to work this afternoon. This evening, my family will gather to celebrate my daughter’s 17th birthday. All of these things make up the journey of a lifetime right here in my own backyard. They are the labyrinth I enter into and out of each day. They are where I meet the world and where God meets me. How can I possibly prepare? My only hope is that I be ready when the moments come.