Paradox...Conviction

"Meeting the world in all its painful variety with feet spread and arms open, neither accepting everything nor rejecting everything, but leaning into what is nourishing and letting the rest move on through." -- Mark Nepo

Recently I have been pondering what it looks like to live in paradox. The already and the not yet. The both/ and. The Kingdom come. If we are not definitive, does that mean we lack conviction?

Having grown up in a pretty black and white, right and wrong environment, I must admit that I struggle a bit with the need to take a stand. I find, however, that being a person who “takes a stand”, who is unwavering for the sake of not being “wrong,” is no longer who I am.

I find I am more drawn to words like mystery and possibility rather than good or bad, right or wrong. Does this make me wishy washy and indecisive? I think not. Mystery and possibility feel so much more expansive than toeing the line.

The poet Rilke’s words speak deeply to where I feel I am in life today. He says, “I want to unfold. I don’t want to stay folded anywhere, because where I am folded, there I am a lie.” If I try to keep things folded up or in a box, it seems so limiting. It feels like a lie. And so I want to open up the lid and unfold the mysteries--the areas where I have placed limitations with my judgments and insecurities. I want to live in the paradox where by appearing as though I may not have convictions, I, in reality, have more conviction and truth surrounding me than ever before. The possibilities and the mysteries are limitless. To that I am convicted.

photo by bill

Journey through the Night

Do you ever have those mornings where you wake up and feel like you have been on a long journey throughout the night? I slept well last night…I think. As I started to awaken, I realized I was dreaming and so I lay there and tried to stay in the dream. It was neither a pleasant or disturbing dream, but it was intriguing nonetheless. I finally sat up, gathered pen and paper to me and started to write the dream.

It was fragmented and I could not find the flow which is much like the dream itself. I hesitate to put too much down here because it feels like a lot of processing is still going on. As I said earlier, it felt like I had been on a long journey. There was a bus ride, a pick-up truck with its bed filled with loads of baggage, a parking lot with only handicapped spaces available. I pitched a tent next to the lot. It was in a huge field of dry grass. My tent poles got twisted up and a woman I know (one that I see as quite depressed, sarcastic and conflicted) helped me realign the poles. There were two other tents in the field, but I have no recollection of other occupants.

After pitching the tent, I was riding along in my little convertible, going through the fields of dry grass. I was standing and trying to climb through the car while attached at the ankles to my husband. No one seemed to be driving the car. (Yikes! I can only imagine the symbolism in that one.) It felt as though I was constantly looking for water. Usually my dreams contain water and ironically while lunching with a friend yesterday, she suggested that I am closely associated with the element of water. Hmmm. Was I looking for myself all night?

There were lots of other unusual little images and symbols throughout the dream. It felt like a very long, foggy journey. Therefore, it was no surprise when I looked out my window this morning to see the neighborhood blanketed in white mist. It feels like a good day to cozy up in bed and see if the fog lifts.

I’d love to know what you think of dreams…yours, mine, or generally speaking.

fabulous new photo taken in whitefish, montana by bill

Connected...Yes? No? Maybe?

“What she is dismantling is the woman who was once asleep in her relationships, her religion, her career, and her inner life, the woman who never questioned any of it but blindly followed prevailing ideas and dictates. She is the woman severed from her own true instinct and creativity.” from Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd

Whenever I feel the pull of two seemingly unrelated things, I must begin to wonder how and if they are connected. The predominant pull for me lately has been toward a greater understanding of what it means to be a woman and more specifically a woman of God. I have been reading Sue Monk Kidd’s, The Dance of the Dissident Daughter which is her own personal journey from a traditional Christian background toward the Sacred Feminine.

The second topic that keeps popping up for me is that of grief and maybe more accurately “unresolved grief.” Mind Sieve had a provocative post talking about shielding grief for a child and how it moves with us into adulthood. Yesterday at a counseling session, my therapist asked me, “How much have you really grieved?” I wanted to say, “Lots” which is probably accurate, but then I must follow with “Is that enough?” “Enough” does not seem like the appropriate response, because it feels like however I grieve today will be different rather than just more of the same.

And then this morning, Christine’s post spoke of “a fear of darkness in our culture – a denial of death and a resistance to the work of grief.” So as I pondered that post, the thought of unresolved grief and my new awareness of the sacred feminine collided. At first glance I would call the two unrelated. Given a moment to think, however, my answer seems different.

For a few years now I have grieved for a little girl (me) who felt silenced throughout her life. Consequently, I have begun to connect with the woman (me again) who feels alive and vibrant in her own skin. As journeys go, however, the path must continue forward. And thus today, I believe I am being called to consider more deeply the missing pieces. It may include a visit into the darker sides of life, but it feels like light will greet me along the way like sunrays filtering through the heavy forest.

What path are you being called to follow during this changing of the seasons?

photo by lucy

Live Big!

No original words here today, but this really resonated with me. It showed up in my mailbox a couple of days ago. Since it continues to stay with me, I thought I would share it with you. It is from More Language of Letting Go by Melody Beattie

Live Big!! Sometimes, that's the best advice we can hear. Win or lose succeed or fail, go for it, and go all the way. As my flight instructor told me on the first day of flying lessons, "Keep one hand on the throttle and one hand on the yoke." "Aahhhhh!" I would say during my early lessons as the plane lifted into the air, but I kept the throttle pushed all the way in.

There are times when it's wise to be cautious. And there are times when the best thing we can do - the only thing we can do - is go for it by living big. Ask her out. Request the raise. Say no - and mean it. Learn to drive a racecar or climb a tall hill. Learn to snorkel or surf. Dreams remain dreams until you act upon them. Then they become real life.

Will you throw a few coins into the beggar's cup, or will you bring him a hamburger and fries from the local fast-food place? Will you do an average job at work, or will you look for ways to go big - really give it your best - in the everyday areas of your job? Will you put your all - your heart and emotions - into the relationship with the people you love? Will you wait for another, more convenient time to pray, or will you start genuinely trusting God?

You don't have to get a life. You've already got one. Live it, and live big.

The Sky is on Fire

"Why didn't I see this before? That my creative life is my deepest prayer. That I must pray it from my heart, from my soul. Not from my head or my need for security or approval or to gain some sort of repute. I must write from the Self. The deep true place." --Sue Monk Kidd

The sky is on fire this morning. The orange ball has exploded and spread a wash of pink, orange, red and yellow across the fall sky. I cannot capture it with my camera. Can my eye hold the image? Can my words? So ethereal—slipping through my fingers. I want to hold it, touch it, capture it, roll around and bathe in it naked to find myself washed with the colors of the roses. Fragrant and sweet. A pleasing aroma to God.

Whole. Pure. Naked. Blossoming. My body is filled with desire for this feminine being. She has spread the colors through the heavens. Who else could yield the paintbrush so lavishly? It feels erotic and exotic—washing, spreading, bursting, filling the sky with gentle and bold colors. Both. Both/and. Gentle and bold. Tender and strong. The images of God. How can we hold that God is only male or female? How can we hold that God is anything we can name? Anything we can “hold?”

The image of the sky brings me alive. Washes away the pain in my head and arm. I am slipping. Moving back into my body. For a moment or two I was gone. I was one with the sky. The pen and paper. The world. One with God. More me than the moment before and the moment after. The glimpses of heaven. The shout of purity. The paradox. The both/and. The beauty of God. How can we say he or she? Why must we define? What is our need to categorize? Good. Evil. Right. Wrong. Both/and. Perhaps they just are. Who am I to say?

The sky is on fire this morning and of course it is not.

photo by lucy 10.09.07