fire of freedom

This theme of fire continues to find and follow me. The candle beckons me first thing in the morning to light its flame. It dances in the peripheral of my vision and reminds me that We are One – dance – flame – God.

A little journaling and then a “random” opening of “Thomas Merton: A Book of Hours” reveals this:

"The fire of love for souls loved by God consumes like the fire of God’s love, and it is the same love. It burns you up with a hunger for the supernatural happiness first of the people that you know, then of people you have barely heard of, and finally of everybody."

It is easy to love the lovable, but what of the not so lovable? My heart is big even though it grew up in a home of judgment and criticism. My mind turns to Linda on the playground. We are seven years old. I feel her hand in mine. It has a slightly different feel - a little drier – a little coarser, but still it is a small hand like mine. Fingers entwined as we skip across the playground, joyously together.

During that moment, I did not know this was considered an outrage to many. It was 1963 in Bethany, Oklahoma. Linda was black and I was white. I did not know that during this same time period, perhaps even the same week, four African American girls just about our age had been killed in a bombing in Alabama while attending church. I did not know it could be considered dangerous to be friends with this girl who was just like me. I did not know that some considered her unlovable.

I have no idea how long we were friends. It might have been only that one day. She disappeared from our school as quietly as she had arrived. Still 35 years later, she lingers in my mind.

Have you ever heard the saying, “You cannot skip and be angry at the same time?” Try it sometime. Two images of freedom come to me most strongly when I think of my childhood. One is skipping by myself on my way to Kindergarten - scuffing my perfect little shoes along the way. The other is skipping hand in hand with Linda on the playground of our elementary school.

So why does this come to my mind now? I believe Linda has reappeared to me today as that symbol of freedom both for myself and for our country, even our world. We are in an historic time right now. Can you feel it? May the fire of freedom burn brightly!!!

Bless you, Linda, wherever you may be.

Consider this: Who are the "Linda's" of your life? What does "fire of freedom" say to you?

First Moment of Dawn

"There's a sun in every person--the you we call companion." --Rumi

Sometimes it is hard to know where the beginning of the thread is. Or maybe it is more like tiny pieces in a mosaic that look indistinguishable until you stand back and see the picture as a whole. Barbara used the metaphor of a movie to comment on my last post:

"We don't see the big picture. We each only play a bit part in that movie, but one that is key to the movie's completion."

And so the thread continues and more thoughts bubble around in the stew. This happened when I read Mind Sieve's reflections on Veteran's Day. It is a moving post and well worth taking the time to read. It was the last line that has stayed with me:

"Should we look away and save our hurt at the loss of others while our families remain safe....or should we watch and realize that their losses are our losses as well?"

It is my belief that once we begin to look into the eyes of another as though they are our own, we cannot look away...unless, of course, that is how we treat ourselves. Do you look away from your own hurt and suffering? Or do you choose to enter the suffering, so that it can begin to heal? Again, I believe that our threads cannot be unentwined. Our piece of the mosaic is not easily distinguished. We never know how our bit part may affect the outcome of the great movie.

So, in closing, I would like to leave you with this parable to consider. It is from the Talmud and I ran across it this morning in The Book of Awakening.

A Rabbi asks his students, "How do you know the first moment of dawn has arrived?" After a great silence, one pipes up, "When you can tell the difference between a sheep and a dog." The Rabbi shakes his head no. Another offers, "When you can tell the difference between a fig tree and an olive tree." Again, the Rabbi shakes his head no. There are no other answers. The Rabbi circles their silence and walks between them, "You know the first moment of dawn has arrived when you look into the eyes of another human being and see yourself."

Blessings to you this day. May you see yourself in the eyes of another. May you experience the first moment of dawn.

"face of sagada" found here
"dawn" by lucy

challenged

"Being true to who we are
means carrying our spirit like a candle
in the center of our darkness." --Mark Nepo

What does it mean to weep for “the poor”? After spending my last two posts commiserating of the woes of having a teenager, today I was confronted by two articles about random attacks on 16 year old people. A young man at a county fair is beaten because of the color of his skin. Girls walking to school in Afghanistan have acid thrown in their faces for wanting an education. It makes me sick. It makes me mad at the seeming selfishness in my own home. It makes me sad to feel my own heart that wants to turn away from the violence. Yet I cannot turn away. Once I have seen it or read it or heard it, it is imprinted on my heart.

Everyday I sit with people and hear stories of hurt and rejection. Parents that refuse to hug their children. Others that use demeaning words and shame to control. Men and women who are beaten or sexually abused. Some that can name their pain and others that can only feel the emptiness at the center of their chest. No one is immune. Everyone has a story and a hurt that is exclusively their own. So, what is my part? How can I help? Sometimes it all feels like too much. I think of the theme that God never gives us more than we can handle. At times I feel strong, because I feel like I have and do handle much. Other times, I find myself feeling small and weak because I live such a privileged life. Could I handle being hungry? Cold? Physically abused?

I consider what the election of our new President means for me. Reading the post at Mind Sieve I am challenged again (and still) to know what my part is. How will I speak? How will I live out of the gifts that God has given me? How will I carry my candle into the darkness? Some days it feels like enough to listen to one person at a time and help them see their own gifts so that they may go out into the world a little better equipped. Sometimes I feel like I am living into my full self. And other times…well…I feel at a loss. I wonder what will ever be enough.

Originally, I stopped writing there: I wonder what will ever be enough, but that feels hopeless and dead. If I stop there, then evil wins. If I turn away and refuse to listen, others are left alone. When I consider things globally, it quickly moves beyond my scope and I do become paralyzed. So my personal challenge is to learn how to keep moving forward. One step at a time. One moment at a time.

Today my first step was to ponder and not immediately turn away. The next step awaits…maybe it will be a big one. Most likely it will seem small. Can I let that be enough today? Could you?

photos taken 11.09.08 in my neighborhood

hope

A dear blogging Canadian friend captured my heart this morning with her post which I have audaciously copied verbatim. It is one that I would love every voter to see and take to heart (regardless of party or candidate affiliation!) Please get out and vote if you have not already!!!

[photo by Callie Shell]

Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but rather the certainty that something makes sense regardless of how it turns out.

-- Vaclav Havel

Blog Action Day

Poverty: the state of being inferior in quality or insufficient in amount.

Where do you experience poverty in your life? Do you listen closely to those around you? Do you feel that others listen to you? Do you go through life on autopilot, hurrying from one place to the next? Do you wonder what a blog action day about poverty has to do with you?

Consider this: When we are not fully present to the stories that surround us, we close off the possibility that there is something new to be heard or discovered. We close our minds and our hearts to the possibility that we have something in common with the child in Africa, the mother in Harlem, the Senator in Congress, the homeless man on the corner, our next door neighbor and even the person(s) who sleeps in our own warm house.

On this day of poverty awareness, I would like to pose that we experience a paucity of listening. How might our world be different if we fought the poverty against our own cold hearts of stone? What if we started listening more deeply today? How would the world change? How would you? If only for today, I hope you will choose to listen a little more closely to the world around you.

Peace.