The biblical wisdom on Godde's lovely lips written by Isaiah lets us know that Godde's ways are not our ways. BUT there is no judgment in this so don't put it in there.
The degree to which I critique, compare, condemn,judge, interpret negatively the ways of another is the degree to which I lack appreciation for my own ways.
Damn. Hard to give up that old sin.
I'm abstinent from sin on occasion only and with Godde's grace.
I have learned this truth from years of creating, participating in, observing sibling warfare.
My sister and I still react. Her ways are airy, light and lovely when she's not on a rampage. My ways are dark, dense and lovely when I'm not in my cave assessing my ways.
Life is not a battle to be won or a success to make me better. It is a spiritual gift to embrace and pluck from, yes, the forbidden Tree of Life
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
2011.07.10 Out of Eden?
I’ve noted this before I think but I feel the need to note it again, mostly because I find myself back in Eden passing blame around like a hot potato.
Much of what I read and hear on the news or on internet chitter chatter and in conversations is addressing important issues, which is a good idea, and then coming up with a culprit, not as good an idea.
Adam and Eve blamed each other, God and the snake and God is portrayed as quite fed up with the blame/shame process, enough in fact to institutionalize the breakdown, to make it so humanity will have to take responsibility for their life on earth, with God’s help of course.
Nobody blamed the tree or the infamous apple whose fault it was that the couple got into trouble in the first place.
Finding a culprit makes everyone feel safe—temporarily. Wasn’t it the old priest Caiaphas who suggested that if one man were eliminated peace would be restored. Thus began the plan to execute Jesus who hadn’t preached rebellion but had told people of their worth and value in God’s eyes. It was easy to conclude that they were not being valued at all by those with earthly authority who likely blamed themselves for their destiny.
This can happen in families too of course. We’d all be fine if it weren’t for XX. It’s a habit. I don’t know why it happens.
The current blamee for all of society’s ills is the media. Oh dear the trash they present! But who do we imagine creates the market that buys and tunes into these media reports?
Who is responsible for healthcare or the schools, or church attendance? Doctors, educators, clergy, yes, but ALL OF US are responsible for our institutions and their well being.
What do you complain about most often? It’s a very good spiritual question. Follow it.
Much of what I read and hear on the news or on internet chitter chatter and in conversations is addressing important issues, which is a good idea, and then coming up with a culprit, not as good an idea.
Adam and Eve blamed each other, God and the snake and God is portrayed as quite fed up with the blame/shame process, enough in fact to institutionalize the breakdown, to make it so humanity will have to take responsibility for their life on earth, with God’s help of course.
Nobody blamed the tree or the infamous apple whose fault it was that the couple got into trouble in the first place.
Finding a culprit makes everyone feel safe—temporarily. Wasn’t it the old priest Caiaphas who suggested that if one man were eliminated peace would be restored. Thus began the plan to execute Jesus who hadn’t preached rebellion but had told people of their worth and value in God’s eyes. It was easy to conclude that they were not being valued at all by those with earthly authority who likely blamed themselves for their destiny.
This can happen in families too of course. We’d all be fine if it weren’t for XX. It’s a habit. I don’t know why it happens.
The current blamee for all of society’s ills is the media. Oh dear the trash they present! But who do we imagine creates the market that buys and tunes into these media reports?
Who is responsible for healthcare or the schools, or church attendance? Doctors, educators, clergy, yes, but ALL OF US are responsible for our institutions and their well being.
What do you complain about most often? It’s a very good spiritual question. Follow it.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
2011.07.06 Private Property?
It occurred to me recently that there is no such thing as private property. Everyone squawks about abutters and their infringements and how dare they.
Everything abuts. Everything exists next to something else. All is connected. Remember the butterfly wings that affect the weather thousands of miles away?
Suddenly your property is contiguous, not yours at all. It belongs to you AND everyone around you—even globally.
If we are to love our neighbors as ourselves and abut them and they us, then property is contingent and collective. What happens to your property happens to mine so best it be ours. We all are responsible for its well being. It is not about moneyed ownership and property lines, but a spiritual issue.
If only we could believe the basics of creation theology: that it all belongs to God, even our children whom we also think we own. It's all on loan, none of it is private, all of it is sacred, divinized, as is every human being, every plant, every animal and every sunset.
How do you view and treat something you consider sacred?
Everything abuts. Everything exists next to something else. All is connected. Remember the butterfly wings that affect the weather thousands of miles away?
Suddenly your property is contiguous, not yours at all. It belongs to you AND everyone around you—even globally.
If we are to love our neighbors as ourselves and abut them and they us, then property is contingent and collective. What happens to your property happens to mine so best it be ours. We all are responsible for its well being. It is not about moneyed ownership and property lines, but a spiritual issue.
If only we could believe the basics of creation theology: that it all belongs to God, even our children whom we also think we own. It's all on loan, none of it is private, all of it is sacred, divinized, as is every human being, every plant, every animal and every sunset.
How do you view and treat something you consider sacred?
Sunday, July 3, 2011
2011.07.04 Independence?
Today I wonder......
I have often imagined my life metaphorically as a jigsaw puzzle, myself a piece in the puzzle that had fallen out and was trying to figure out how to FIT back into the picture.
This is personal and political. Much that I read about women tells me they are still trying to fit into a system that grew up around us and seemed as right to us as rain or sunrise. But it’s not.
The workplace is an example. Women are returning to the job market after a break from career for birthing and parenting. I wanted children very much and love them today but I also wanted something beyond motherhood.
Women who get the choice jobs are the ones who return rarin’ to go. They are ready, fit to FIT into the breakneck pace of commerce, great workers. If there are adjustment problems some companies set up internships to facilitate the fit.
Some woman opt out of the insanity of the culture’s rhythm and they will likely be judged inadequate as has happened in the Church.
I remember when a woman bishop retired earlier than expected. She said she wanted to spend time with her grandchildren.Some colleagues said she shirked her responsibilities. Might that be a sexist perception?
WONDERINGS:
Who is looking at a bigger picture? Who sees the forest?
Who is daring to imagine that instead of expecting women in particular to FIT that we reform the system, change the way we do business? Who asks what motivates, fuels this “rat race?”
Has anyone thought that these same dynamo worker women may in just a few years be drawn toward caring for aging parents?— “children” at the other end of life.
Who thinks about initiating WORK-LIFE POLICIES that make it easier for women, really for ALL parents and the children they raise who represent our future, should there be one?
It took me years to realize that I didn’t have to lop off pieces of myself to FIT into the jigsaw. Every single piece as it is shaped has its own place and without each piece, exactly as it is, there can not be a whole picture.
A spiritual vision to ponder and pray. Happy 4th!
I have often imagined my life metaphorically as a jigsaw puzzle, myself a piece in the puzzle that had fallen out and was trying to figure out how to FIT back into the picture.
This is personal and political. Much that I read about women tells me they are still trying to fit into a system that grew up around us and seemed as right to us as rain or sunrise. But it’s not.
The workplace is an example. Women are returning to the job market after a break from career for birthing and parenting. I wanted children very much and love them today but I also wanted something beyond motherhood.
Women who get the choice jobs are the ones who return rarin’ to go. They are ready, fit to FIT into the breakneck pace of commerce, great workers. If there are adjustment problems some companies set up internships to facilitate the fit.
Some woman opt out of the insanity of the culture’s rhythm and they will likely be judged inadequate as has happened in the Church.
I remember when a woman bishop retired earlier than expected. She said she wanted to spend time with her grandchildren.Some colleagues said she shirked her responsibilities. Might that be a sexist perception?
WONDERINGS:
Who is looking at a bigger picture? Who sees the forest?
Who is daring to imagine that instead of expecting women in particular to FIT that we reform the system, change the way we do business? Who asks what motivates, fuels this “rat race?”
Has anyone thought that these same dynamo worker women may in just a few years be drawn toward caring for aging parents?— “children” at the other end of life.
Who thinks about initiating WORK-LIFE POLICIES that make it easier for women, really for ALL parents and the children they raise who represent our future, should there be one?
It took me years to realize that I didn’t have to lop off pieces of myself to FIT into the jigsaw. Every single piece as it is shaped has its own place and without each piece, exactly as it is, there can not be a whole picture.
A spiritual vision to ponder and pray. Happy 4th!
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
2011.06.23 A Condition Exists...
Life is so serious it’s lovely when a quirk of unexpected humor seizes both me and Dick at the same time. It’s so funny we forget to blame or justify.
Background: he tends to leave early and I tend to leave late. We both make it more or less on time but it’s a constant difference over which we tangle.
Hence: when we are readying to head off somewhere he can be seen striking a casual pose leaning against the door post, one leg draped over the other tapping his fingers together. Oh ye of the ample sigh! Very rakish.
I am bustling around always almost ready, “Be right there.” The time is usually exactly when we decided to leave or maybe just a mere 2-3 minutes past that time. Or, our departure time is lost somewhere in my short-term memory fog.
OK I’m ready.
He turns to push buttons to set the house alarm. He punches in the correct code and a voice (don't you just love the almost liturgical solemnity of computer voices?) informs: “A CONDITION EXISTS.....” Then info flashes on screen informing: “movement in guest room.” The alarm won't set if there is movement in the house It's triggered unless it is set for "stay" ie. we're in for the night. Good thing...we wouldn't want to lock up and secure any unattended burglars.
The alarm also blasts if there is movement in the house after it is set and we're out. Once we forgot this sensitive information and our son's Jack Russell terrier Victor ran upstairs to jump on the bed after we left. The computer voice went into apocalypse now mode. We could hear Victor's panicked barking from 2 blocks away before we got the police call that our house had a "condition."
"Conditions" have names, Victor and Lyn. Victor was innocent. I, however, am taking a last look in the mirror or grabbing a cough drop or my T pass, etc. etc.
Now, Dick waits for me to stop being a condition, pushes the alarm buttons, gets the all clear, and we both exit with a grin and a wave saying, “A condition exists!”
Spontaneous laughter is a sign that Spirit is playfully about. Her job is often to lift us beyond idiosyncrasies or little “wars.”
A conditions exists indeed!
Background: he tends to leave early and I tend to leave late. We both make it more or less on time but it’s a constant difference over which we tangle.
Hence: when we are readying to head off somewhere he can be seen striking a casual pose leaning against the door post, one leg draped over the other tapping his fingers together. Oh ye of the ample sigh! Very rakish.
I am bustling around always almost ready, “Be right there.” The time is usually exactly when we decided to leave or maybe just a mere 2-3 minutes past that time. Or, our departure time is lost somewhere in my short-term memory fog.
OK I’m ready.
He turns to push buttons to set the house alarm. He punches in the correct code and a voice (don't you just love the almost liturgical solemnity of computer voices?) informs: “A CONDITION EXISTS.....” Then info flashes on screen informing: “movement in guest room.” The alarm won't set if there is movement in the house It's triggered unless it is set for "stay" ie. we're in for the night. Good thing...we wouldn't want to lock up and secure any unattended burglars.
The alarm also blasts if there is movement in the house after it is set and we're out. Once we forgot this sensitive information and our son's Jack Russell terrier Victor ran upstairs to jump on the bed after we left. The computer voice went into apocalypse now mode. We could hear Victor's panicked barking from 2 blocks away before we got the police call that our house had a "condition."
"Conditions" have names, Victor and Lyn. Victor was innocent. I, however, am taking a last look in the mirror or grabbing a cough drop or my T pass, etc. etc.
Now, Dick waits for me to stop being a condition, pushes the alarm buttons, gets the all clear, and we both exit with a grin and a wave saying, “A condition exists!”
Spontaneous laughter is a sign that Spirit is playfully about. Her job is often to lift us beyond idiosyncrasies or little “wars.”
A conditions exists indeed!
Monday, June 27, 2011
2011.06.27 MIRAMAR of Beauty
I’ve just returned from a week’s silent retreat at MIRAMAR in Duxbury, Massachusetts.
MIRAMAR is a five star retreat center, my review.
Entering into the silence is always daunting no matter how may times I tell myself I’ve done this before. I’m afraid of myself.
So I came with armor: a satchel full of books few of which I read, and comfort food, though the meals were ample and I ate everything in sight. Praying and strolling, breathing and gazing into beauty makes me sooooo hungry.
I brought M&Ms. I ate 25 the first night and never touched them again.
MIRAMAR as its name suggests provides a view of the sea, a long distance view, a streak of blue across the horizon. Beaches and a full view are in easy distance but the streak is all I needed because I felt part of a painting, a great work of art.
I came feeling sad and left rejoicing. No, I didn’t forget or cease to love my usual retreat place Mercy Center, closed for renovations. I simply learned to appreciate Godde’s many and varied outfit changes. What a closet!— and we think women are wardrobe addicts.
The grounds of MIRAMAR deserve special mention. They are tended lovingly by a gardener named Yvonne.
Her predecessor was the late “Spike” Dudink of the Society of the Divine Word (SVD), the order that owns and manages MIRAMAR. Dudink, an artist, created a Zen garden, exquisite in every blossom, tree and fountain. Retreatants, I was told, used to weep watching Dudink tend each small plant with a tenderness of the quality that assures thriving. This man prayed the gardens into being, an artist like his Creator.
He also created a tabernacle the like of which I’ve never seen. Most are ugly brass vessels, dumpy and unlovely, not fit for any food let alone spiritual food, my opinion. But this one is made of 6 concentric circles, the outermost one about 4 feet in diameter. The outer 3 circles, made it would seem of sturdy wallboard painted in blues from pale to vibrant; the center three of hammered silver, the centermost a raised metal sculpture of Jesus with his two friends, a woman and a man, breaking bread together and recognizing each other in meal and gaze.
The image is from the biblical story of the road to Emmaus in Luke and of course the Christian eucharist, but the blessing of being daily in sweet communion over good food is like a dream to me and perhaps to others. (How many happy-family meals end in tears I wonder?)
Gardener Yvonne is not a monastic and I don’t know her spirituality but you only have to look around to discern divinity in her designs, her prunings and plantings. If a tree is sick it gets immediate attention. This gardener is a birther and healer of plants. I understand why Mary Magdalene mistook Jesus after his resurrection for a gardener. Not a mistake.
And the two trees with their two trunks I mentioned in my last post, the two that grew into one and brought forth a third and altogether different tree? Is that resurrection or what?
(OK I know I project the beauty of some basic Christian ideas onto everything in sight but who could argue with new life ever-renewed & transformed, abundance, and the divinity of all things?)
There is also much human beauty at MIRAMAR. The staff smiled. They greeted you with a nod. They were silent and they spoke. The inside is as well cared for as the outside. The hierarchy or role and rank was obvious but not intrusive, just part of the fabric of life. Some cooked and some cooked eucharist. Some preached using words and some proclaimed truth with breath.
I have to mention the geese, notorious pests. They reminded me a bit of sheep, all day grazing and fouling the grasses and the small pond, their camp ground for now. They are waddly critters unsteady of gate. They followed the leader well. I never saw them fly except to catch up with the line-up doing a quick hop-flutter.
The flock of nine were military, patrolling the grassy slopes in a wobbly line around the pond. The poor things could hardly thread their way through the pond waters because it was so full of their poop. Clockwork regular, they bedded down at the foot of a line of shrubs every night at 8:15 p.m. in a huddle. (The birds, au contraire, stayed up to party and rose before dawn rose.)
At night I heard the geese make muffled grunty sounds too subtle to be croaky pond frogs. Do geese snore? I listened for the odd sound as a child might for a lullaby.
Geese!? I’ve romanticized. But ah, when they fly off in perfect formation, they touch heaven.
Jessica Powers, OCD, a Carmelite sister and fine poet—published!—sums up the spirituality of MIRAMAR and my retreat experience best.
“The desirable thing about beauty is that we can find great rapture in it, without any consideration of our inadequacies. In this vein I have often thought that the beauty of God is more than the love of God. When I think of the love of God, I become aware of my own emptiness of heart; when I think of the goodness of God, I remember my own failure; when I think of the beauty of God, I cease to exist at all. I become a living adoration.”
MIRAMAR is a five star retreat center, my review.
Entering into the silence is always daunting no matter how may times I tell myself I’ve done this before. I’m afraid of myself.
So I came with armor: a satchel full of books few of which I read, and comfort food, though the meals were ample and I ate everything in sight. Praying and strolling, breathing and gazing into beauty makes me sooooo hungry.
I brought M&Ms. I ate 25 the first night and never touched them again.
MIRAMAR as its name suggests provides a view of the sea, a long distance view, a streak of blue across the horizon. Beaches and a full view are in easy distance but the streak is all I needed because I felt part of a painting, a great work of art.
I came feeling sad and left rejoicing. No, I didn’t forget or cease to love my usual retreat place Mercy Center, closed for renovations. I simply learned to appreciate Godde’s many and varied outfit changes. What a closet!— and we think women are wardrobe addicts.
The grounds of MIRAMAR deserve special mention. They are tended lovingly by a gardener named Yvonne.
Her predecessor was the late “Spike” Dudink of the Society of the Divine Word (SVD), the order that owns and manages MIRAMAR. Dudink, an artist, created a Zen garden, exquisite in every blossom, tree and fountain. Retreatants, I was told, used to weep watching Dudink tend each small plant with a tenderness of the quality that assures thriving. This man prayed the gardens into being, an artist like his Creator.
He also created a tabernacle the like of which I’ve never seen. Most are ugly brass vessels, dumpy and unlovely, not fit for any food let alone spiritual food, my opinion. But this one is made of 6 concentric circles, the outermost one about 4 feet in diameter. The outer 3 circles, made it would seem of sturdy wallboard painted in blues from pale to vibrant; the center three of hammered silver, the centermost a raised metal sculpture of Jesus with his two friends, a woman and a man, breaking bread together and recognizing each other in meal and gaze.
The image is from the biblical story of the road to Emmaus in Luke and of course the Christian eucharist, but the blessing of being daily in sweet communion over good food is like a dream to me and perhaps to others. (How many happy-family meals end in tears I wonder?)
Gardener Yvonne is not a monastic and I don’t know her spirituality but you only have to look around to discern divinity in her designs, her prunings and plantings. If a tree is sick it gets immediate attention. This gardener is a birther and healer of plants. I understand why Mary Magdalene mistook Jesus after his resurrection for a gardener. Not a mistake.
And the two trees with their two trunks I mentioned in my last post, the two that grew into one and brought forth a third and altogether different tree? Is that resurrection or what?
(OK I know I project the beauty of some basic Christian ideas onto everything in sight but who could argue with new life ever-renewed & transformed, abundance, and the divinity of all things?)
There is also much human beauty at MIRAMAR. The staff smiled. They greeted you with a nod. They were silent and they spoke. The inside is as well cared for as the outside. The hierarchy or role and rank was obvious but not intrusive, just part of the fabric of life. Some cooked and some cooked eucharist. Some preached using words and some proclaimed truth with breath.
I have to mention the geese, notorious pests. They reminded me a bit of sheep, all day grazing and fouling the grasses and the small pond, their camp ground for now. They are waddly critters unsteady of gate. They followed the leader well. I never saw them fly except to catch up with the line-up doing a quick hop-flutter.
The flock of nine were military, patrolling the grassy slopes in a wobbly line around the pond. The poor things could hardly thread their way through the pond waters because it was so full of their poop. Clockwork regular, they bedded down at the foot of a line of shrubs every night at 8:15 p.m. in a huddle. (The birds, au contraire, stayed up to party and rose before dawn rose.)
At night I heard the geese make muffled grunty sounds too subtle to be croaky pond frogs. Do geese snore? I listened for the odd sound as a child might for a lullaby.
Geese!? I’ve romanticized. But ah, when they fly off in perfect formation, they touch heaven.
Jessica Powers, OCD, a Carmelite sister and fine poet—published!—sums up the spirituality of MIRAMAR and my retreat experience best.
“The desirable thing about beauty is that we can find great rapture in it, without any consideration of our inadequacies. In this vein I have often thought that the beauty of God is more than the love of God. When I think of the love of God, I become aware of my own emptiness of heart; when I think of the goodness of God, I remember my own failure; when I think of the beauty of God, I cease to exist at all. I become a living adoration.”
Thursday, June 23, 2011
2011.06.23 Bursting With Style
I am on a silent retreat this week and there is noise and clattering joy all around me. It is the liturgy of the natural world doing a shout-out for Creator Godde.
Goldfinches dart and swoop in and out of the Lupine.
A tiny redbreast catches my eye as I gaze into a shrub. He is the first baby out of the nest peering peeping to the world in which he will soon fly up.
A topiaried tree leans toward its neighbor. Wait. Look. The two have two trunks but one has leaned into the other's branched topping so they are one. They have merged and as my eye travels up I see an explosion of new growth. A completely other tree, one we would call a Christmas tree, soars upward.
I am not making this up. (I understand why St.Paul wrote this as he struggled to define grace—the indescribable look and feel of divine creativity.)
It smells like lilacs, is the color of new grass, and tastes like the finest red wine accompanied by deep dark real chocolate.
And Godde said to Abram and Sarai. Go forth! Choose life!
And they went.
And from them grew nations and scriptures and a people of covenant blessing.
And God said to Jesus. Go forth! And he went.
And from his healing and teaching grew gratitude and new life for all. And when Jesus hung dying, then dead, and could no longer go forth or sing or pray, could not choose life Godde did it for him.
The beauty of Holiness is the same for humanity as it is for nature. A shout-out!
And Godde says to me, Go forth and Choose life. And I open all my senses and my pores and taste goodness and touch the sky.
It's raining so I grab my umbrella, grouse, then I go forth.
As I go I shout to Godde, Go forth and strut your stuff. Be Aslan. Rush. Hurl wisdom into all souls. Fling your word far, far, far. This is no time for anonymity or letting be. Make lots of noise. Burst with style. Shout out with all your might. Go!
Todo en el aire is pájaro.
Goldfinches dart and swoop in and out of the Lupine.
A tiny redbreast catches my eye as I gaze into a shrub. He is the first baby out of the nest peering peeping to the world in which he will soon fly up.
A topiaried tree leans toward its neighbor. Wait. Look. The two have two trunks but one has leaned into the other's branched topping so they are one. They have merged and as my eye travels up I see an explosion of new growth. A completely other tree, one we would call a Christmas tree, soars upward.
I am not making this up. (I understand why St.Paul wrote this as he struggled to define grace—the indescribable look and feel of divine creativity.)
It smells like lilacs, is the color of new grass, and tastes like the finest red wine accompanied by deep dark real chocolate.
And Godde said to Abram and Sarai. Go forth! Choose life!
And they went.
And from them grew nations and scriptures and a people of covenant blessing.
And God said to Jesus. Go forth! And he went.
And from his healing and teaching grew gratitude and new life for all. And when Jesus hung dying, then dead, and could no longer go forth or sing or pray, could not choose life Godde did it for him.
The beauty of Holiness is the same for humanity as it is for nature. A shout-out!
And Godde says to me, Go forth and Choose life. And I open all my senses and my pores and taste goodness and touch the sky.
It's raining so I grab my umbrella, grouse, then I go forth.
As I go I shout to Godde, Go forth and strut your stuff. Be Aslan. Rush. Hurl wisdom into all souls. Fling your word far, far, far. This is no time for anonymity or letting be. Make lots of noise. Burst with style. Shout out with all your might. Go!
Todo en el aire is pájaro.
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