The Sacred Mother

It is my mother's birthday today, so perhaps it was only fitting that the spiritual direction work I would be doing this day would focus on images of the "Divine Mother". The first image I created of my female God ideal and my own relationship with my mother reality were very different, and yet on closer look, there were many connections.

As I processed through my images with another person, I finally realized that the feminine god ideal is alive in all its wholeness-- and it includes those qualities which I had first separated out.  The divine mother is serene peace; but she is also a fierce protector. She is vitality-- the earth and her rivers and trees.  She is flow and breath and stillness and the courageous rise of sea.  She is human vulnerability, and humor and resilience.  She is compassion, the spirit of life- and all that sings in me.

I have done so much inner work over the years around this most fundamental and difficult relationship with my mother, so to hear another person name what has finally emerged in me as compassion was valuable and affirming; perhaps there are still eggshells we walk on, places I fear to tread, but there is also softness and tenderness and appreciation for the woman who gave me birth.

My own mother is a human being, and like me she is not perfect. But I hold a deep deep love for her.  Our lives are intertwined.

May each of us on our journeys find peace and strength.  May we be breathed in the spirit of love and life of the feminine divine.

Mountains and Angels

Years ago I dated a guy who was a track coach for a high school in the Bronx.  As part of their training, he arranged a trip to take some of the kids hiking in the Adirondack mountains. One of the boys, Jose', had never been out of the city, and as we crossed the Tappan Zee Bridge and got a glimpse of the Palisades, he asked if those were the mountains we were going to climb.   "Not even close" was my boyfriend's response, as we continued to drive. Over and over again, Jose' asked the same question- past the Hudson Highlands, the Shawangunks, the Catskills, and finally the glorious high peaks of the Adirondacks.  With each successive range, the mountains grew taller and taller-- and his eyes wider and wider. By the time he had climbed to the top of the mountain, looking out over the amazing vista, he let out a howl at the top of his lungs-- "Holy Shit!  It's Fuckin Beautiful!"

 Jose's expression of wonder and unabashed exclamation of expletives may have captured the feeling perfectly. I think my own heart leaps up, like Wordswoth, when I behold this much beauty. There is still a gasp of awe in me, for instance, when I turn off 87 and start driving toward Lake George.  Then the mountain rising over the lake, in the dimming light of day is certainly * beautiful. 

Maybe we all feel this the first time we see or experience something new, but how often do we become disenchanted with life?  How often does life strike us simply as ordinary and dull? How often does it seem that we are boxed in by buildings that block out the sun, and leave us no place for our spirits to run free?

At this time of year, the holiday blahs strike many of us-- and the commercial holidays (Black Friday, Cyber Monday, even Giving Tuesday) do nothing to inspire.  What we need in this time is not advertisements telling us where to spend our money, but magical and mysterious beauty to awaken the wonder within.  We need to become enchanted, to open our hearts to the spirit of Christmas.

As I drove up to Silver Bay in the Adirondacks today, I listened to choirs of angelic voices singing Christmas hymns.  The human voices on this cd are the only instrument;  the sound is simple and empty- and amazingly beautiful.

We stand now in the darkening of days....we need the songs of angels to awaken in us a deeper hope.
And sometimes we need to step out of the every day into a world beyond to hear them,  and to become enchanted by life yet again.

Until Tomorrow...

Tomorrow I will head up to Silver Bay, continuing my program in The Art of Spiritual Guidance. This past month since my last visit seems to have flown by, and it is only this past week that I have finally begun to regain some sense of flow and order again.  Writing practice has been incredibly important, and tonight's post will mark my seventh subsequent journal meditation.  These nightly reflections restore my balance, create meaning from my hectic days, help me to see clearly once again.

I have uncompleted assignments- reflection papers and reading- which life has crowded out.  I look forward to moving at a slower pace, taking the time to quiet and settle into the inner life. And I look  forward to feeling that freedom that can only come from diving deep within.

Namaste. Good Night.

Until tomorrow, my friends....

A Stone of Hope

Today I found my stone of hope. It is a smooth white stone which I received on my first visit to Silver Bay back in September.  The stones were given as small gifts to the newest spiritual guidance program participants.  They have been prayed with by past participants and passed along to the newest journeyers, so that we might also hold them in our palms during prayer.

But my special stone has been been missing for the past month. I thought it was lost for good-- but somehow it magically appeared in a pocket of my purse this morning! (I could have sworn I'd already searched my purse.) I was in my car when I found it- in the parking lot at my daughters' school after dropping them off- and as I drove away, I noticed the sign of the first street on my right: Stone Street.  It is a street I have turned down so many times, but until today had never even noticed the name. Hmm...

So why does any of this even matter?  Well, I have actually been thinking about the "stone of hope" quite a bit since last Saturday.  It was on that day that I had been driving around running errands with my 8 year old daughter, Camille, and flipping through the radio stations when I landed  on a recording of Martin Luther King's full "I have a dream" speech.  Camille was as attentive as I was, listening to the powerful cadence of the preacher's voice--

...With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair, a stone of hope.

There it was.  Alleluia.  Blessed Be.

The stone of hope.

And what are we without hope?  How can we recover ourselves, our communities, our wholeness and healing without this most precious of stones? And where- in this crazy world- do we find hope?

This week my spiritual director spoke of hope in his weekly eblast to his list, as the Hope Center that he and his community have established officially opened its doors.  I have written of this before;  this is the place in the inner city of Newburgh where I find much hope and light for the city.

It is also a stone of hope which is held up in this video, in words spoken to deploying troops, by a chaplain I know who embodies the presence of peace in the midst of conflict.

These people and places have played a significant part in my spiritual journey. In so many ways, they are my hope.

And perhaps they are also my call...though I still ask the question how. 

[I can see my spiritual director nodding and saying:  You'll know.]

It is without doubt that I will follow wherever the call will lead...though I can certainly do nothing on my own.  The stone of hope I hold can only be hewed from the mountain of despair by the joined hands of many in beloved community on this journey to wholeness and healing. 

May it be so. 

Broken and Vulnerable

Today was a difficult day, and I am sitting here now with tears gently streaming down my cheeks....feeling simply wounded and hurt.  These are just slight bruises, which I have felt many times before, and I'll recover surely.  I always do.  I am resilient.

But in moments like these, when I am tender and weary, the question arises- to whom can I turn? When trust has been broken, it is great protection to close a door and lock myself into a quiet place.  I turn, wailing in prayer, knowing that even this need for solitude and healing is one that I must protect.  I experience comfort in ritual, in silence; I am able to regain my center and remember who I am.

The truth is there are very few people I can be completely vulnerable in front of....and yet, in order to grow, I have to also reveal my scars, my wounds, my broken soul.   The ones I have come to trust are dearer than dear to me, and my heart is full of their loving presence when they cannot be here in person.

Over the summer I was able to prepare and share a sermon about personal despair, which is often compounded by despair for the world.  In preparing the sermon, I began to read Proverbs of Ashes by Rebecca Parker and Rita Nakashima Brock. Both authors throughout share personal stories that allow themselves to be vulnerable and exposed.  Early on in the book, I learned of Rebecca's multiple suicide attempts.  Previously I had known of Rev. Rebecca Parker as the head of Starr King School of the Ministry; I had known her as a woman whose poetry I loved, whose example I admired, whose scholarship and leadership inspired me. After reading about her experiences of personal despair, I knew her in a different way-- as a friend.  I was so grateful for the personal struggles she shared,  and I felt deeply in my heart that my own struggles with my demons- my doubts and struggles with self-worth- do not make me less than whole.

There is still a lot I don't know, a lot that feels unclear. But there are spiritual practices, and there are also relationships to get me through.  I am counting the days until I am at Silver Bay this week... there is a new safe and healing space that has formed with the cohorts I am coming to know and trust.  And for now, in the quiet of this space, I hang in there... I offer lovingkindness to myself...I pray. 

God in the Other

Today I met with a few different individuals who have requested membership in my congregation. This is a role I have been asked to take on over the current church year to fill a ministry need. For me it is also a joy and an opportunity to get to know our newcomers and meet people where they are on their journeys. The  purpose of the meetings is simply to hear their stories and questions, particularly in relation to spirituality and faith, and to offer them any guidance I might be able to offer in helping them to discern and align their gifts and needs within our UU congregation.

As I've met with people the past two weeks, I am reminded how spiritual conversations play a central role in my life.  What is unique about these is less the topics discussed- although lately these have tended toward the deep- but more the space that is created between us, a space of openness and trust.  Lately- in local restaurant, coffee shop, a friend's attic, or a UU sanctuary- I have been blessed by encounter, delightful laughter, heartfelt tears, or simple connection in sharing our most meaningful stories.  In some of these, I have offered the gift of accompaniment- putting my own story aside for the sake of another's journey; in others I have been listened to and guided; and in still others, we have chatted together as companions.  But in all of these I have been delighted by the divine present in each person's uniqueness. These are the myriad ways  we dance in spirit- sometimes leading, sometimes following- as human beings on this earth.

As I am now just a few days away from my next visit to Silver Bay, I have been reflecting upon my journey over the past month. At my last visit at the end of October, we were given an assignment to create and follow a daily schedule of contemplation.  It has been quite difficult the past month to come up with any semblance of regularity in personal practice, but I think that God has been very present in my relationships both old and new. Other people have been touchstones to finding the holy in my hectic days, and through all the craziness, moments of connection have given me a chance to 'stop short', to 'take stock'-- to listen to what is speaking to me, right before me, in the person I am with:  God in the other, and in between.

Perhaps these meetings have been the answer to a prayer I wrote during my last visit to Silver Bay--which I have reprinted here on this page:

O Gracious God, 
Spirit of Life and Love,
Holy One-
Lead me on. 
Be my heart,
my hope, 
my hands.
Open my eyes to see-
You are here always...
your voice ever-present, 
as in the waterfall,
where you renewed my soul. 
Guide me, help me
to meet you in all I see, 
to serve you in all I encounter. 
May your presence
always be revealed 
even in the most mundane. 
I ask of you only-
remove the ego-glaze
that keeps me from trusting, 
from loving,
from seeing you. 
Amen.

Yes, the answer to this prayer is quite clear to me now:  I am blessed by the many unique people who I know and am continuously meeting every day, who reveal to me God's presence shining in the daily mundane.

Saturday's Child: The Spirituality of Work

Saturday's child works hard for a living, the familiar poem sings.  But for us Monday through Friday, 9-5ers, isn't saturday supposed to be a day off?  And yet, such a division of days seems a but outdated for many-if not most-in our current times. I am a full-time working mom, and by full-time I do not mean merely the 40 hours each week that I spend at an office.  Today was a "day off" from work- but there was much to be done.  The tasks of laundry, dishes, preparing meals, running errands, and the endless "teachable moments" of child-raising remind me that there are really no days off. And it is such with the spiritual life as well.  Be it sabbath or work day, the laboring of the inner life continues- reaping its own rewards along the way.

And what are these rewards? If the goal of work were monetary reward, these daily tasks would not amount to much. Even paid work offers little extra, as we barely chip away each month at the debt we acquired in those lean beginning years when state aid pulled us through.  Making ends meet makes us lucky ones now.  I know many people who are struggling financially- job insecurity, home foreclosures, overwhelming medical bills are an everyday part of so many lives.  In this world I live in, we are all treading water. Some are on the verge of sinking, and in this broken system we lean on each other. The economic paradigm we were handed no longer works, and we must create new ones. These same struggling ones I know are the groundbreakers, laying the foundation of a new local economic paradigm. Together we lean into a new vision of community.

This new vision is spiritual too.  As I labor at my household- the inner rooms as well as the inner life-  I wonder often:  What am I laboring for?  What is birthing in me?  And I wonder if this work of the spiritual life is heading somewhere too.

At the end of the day there are new dishes in the sink, newly soiled clothes in the hamper.  Work is an ongoing cycle, and the end of work cannot be the destination.  Rather, it is the work itself that must bring its own reward. It is my 6-year-old peeling carrots beside me,  and her delight at the yummy healthy tomato sauce we have made. It is my 8-year-old asking over and over the meaning of new words she has encountered in her quiet reading.  It is the challenges of these labors that bear their own fruit- the learning, the laughing, the mind-stretching and growing that offer their own reward.

In this new paradigm we work so that we may grow.  And the measure of good work- just work- is not in the price society has placed upon its worth- but rather in the depth of its roots reaching downward into the soul of one who labors.  Even the seemingly mindless repetition of dish-washing is a chance to practice patience-- to follow the breath, to be present plate after dirty plate.  My work too is this listening, this diving deep into the meaning of things, this passionate loving of my life-- a life of immeasurable price.

Black Friday

My town is rich with gravestones, aflame with late November leaves.  Yellow covers us in sunlight over stones, as we relish what I hope will become a new Black Friday ritual.  I walk the Beacon streets with my 6 year old daughter, a child overflowing with life and freedom, the perfect contrast to the melancholy somberness of the day's activities.   The day after Thanksgiving does seem the perfect day to visit cemeteries, and Beacon is blessed with an abundance of historic ones.  We live with the dead on many corners, filling old churchyards where children play and people walk their dogs.

It is one of the things I love most about my town.  The seamlessness I experience between past and present is what first enchanted me to this place.  I love the ruins of old buildings and the cornerstones that mark the dates of lives lived long before mine. Old factories are not demolished, but transformed into conference centers and art museums.  We vision the future as we walk on. Overlooking the creek, we imagine old train tracks converted to bicycle paths.  Everything is ripe with the possible, radiant with resurrection. 

Recently I met a woman who moved from the Silicon Valley to New England. The reason she gave:  there are no cemeteries in LA.  In sunny southern California, the dead are hidden and tucked away.  Age is disguised, despised, defied-- the eternal sunshine of youth lifted up as some Hollywood sign.  But these are people of a lie, covering death with botox masks and costumed lives. 

True aliveness requires an encounter with death, woven into the fabric of our existence. Here on these Hudson River shores, life is real and I walk this journey in many footsteps that have walked these paths  before. Today we read of tragedies etched in stone, lives cut too short. These people of another century lived daily with the scourge of loss and grief; too many children did not make it to adulthood, and too many young sons and brothers died at war.  But then again, so do we... don't we?  Just this week, I met with a couple who had lost a young daughter earlier in their lives; a friend's teenage daughter lost a classmate in a horrific car accident; and my neighbor's elderly father suffered a fatal brain injury from a random bathroom fall.  Meanwhile, war rages on in distant corners of the world- though we may have forgotten all too easily these young lives.

This is the reality we swim in: Death around us, before us, inside us.  Like it or not, try to defy- we are all going to die.  

It does not matter- on this Black Friday- how fast we shop or fill our carts, how crazy we enter the madness of indulgent rush, the consumerism of forgetting. It does not matter how much we accumulate here on earth- we are all still going to die. What matters is the fullness of this life we leave behind- these leaves bursting with color, this child skipping and singing down the block, this day we open our hearts to dance beneath the mountain's light.  

And so I mark this day- for the second year in a row- by walking through cemeteries and remembering so many lives. Facing the end of breath, I grow less afraid. I say this now, although my heart still breaks for the stories I have heard this week, and I fear the loss of my own loved ones.  But courage is standing in that place, and staying put.  This is the deep truth I encounter here-- that as long as there are ones who age and grieve and drift away, there must also be those who stand beside, who stay at the bedside, who accompany at the grave, who show up with casseroles and love and remembering.  For isolation and loneliness are far far worse than physical death-- those are the crimes against humanity which I rage against.  Those are the crimes that mark too often the numbing blindness of these times.  

Yes, may we make a place for the dying and the dead, the lonely and the lost, here in our beautiful, beloved communities.  May we love beyond measure, including all those who grieve in our embrace.  And may we encounter our lives, each and every one of our sacred breaths- until that final one becomes not a rage against the dying of the light, but a crescendo into oneness with all and everything that is.  

  

Thanksgiving Reflection

On Thanksgiving Day, I am grateful for returning- for the cycles of seasons, holidays, and holy days that bring me round again to a place of peace.  Like all years, my heart is full with the love of family and friends, and all the many blessings in my life.  But this year my heart is also full of a wider awareness.  As I climbed Mount Beacon alone in the early morning hours, my footsteps echoed with the struggles of many others in their walks, the particulars of each story in every prayer, in every breath.  And as I stood at the peak, I was encompassed by the largeness of all that is--looking out on a world that is my world, but shared by so many other lives.  I was aware that though adversity and struggles continue, there is an underlying peace and presence that holds me- holds all of us- and I am whole.

Up until that point I was not feeling very grateful- not really looking forward to a day of football and overeating.   But beginning the day with an early morning gratefulness climb, prayers and incense burning, and moments of pause, I move into a larger view of life.  Life at the bottom goes on, messy and broken.  My kids are chasing each other around the house when I return-- but there is love, and by the end of the day, we are lulling one another to sleep with stories and kisses. There is a car alarm going off in the street, but I am so so grateful that I am here to hear it, to tuck them into bed each night, to reflect on all these things.  

Now for many this season marks the beginning of rush...but the past few years I have experienced exactly the opposite. December is a quiet month at work, marked by contemplative days and time away.  I also manage to avoid most of the season's consumerism- buying only gifts for close family online or from local artisans, and steering clear of malls and big box stores. Instead I savor these days between Thanksgiving and New Years as a season of deeper contemplation.  Advent begins next week, and I may be more excited to begin the rituals of waiting than I am for the culminating celebration of Christmas!  These days of reflection are especially good as preparation for two services that I will be leading on Christmas Eve and Epiphany.  May they be fruitful with insight and light to share. 

Turnings

Pray without ceasing....In the distance, a train whistle blows.  I returned to my train commute today after two weeks of life disorder.  Returning, I move at another pace.  Life has not slowed down; I have. I read the story of the rabbi who when he is extra busy prays for 2 hours, instead of his usual 1...and I get it.  I walk through woods, over and under fallen trees- hurricane remains.  I feel the cool air, the impending darkness in evening, and I am once again alive.  Driving to work may be easier and more convenient, but I have not been able to experience that same sense of time slowing down and connecting to presence in a daily drive. For this, I must return to train and woods.

The blessings of last evening's spiritual deepening group are with me today.  Singing together in the sanctuary, praying together out loud, creating a shared altar, sharing our experiences and thoughts on worship-- I experienced a kind of unity and oneness, and am grateful for this flow. This is exactly where I needed to be. 

So today I celebrate yet another transition, a slight turning perhaps, but a bit of a milestone- as I have, after six years of committed participation, stepped down now from all administrative and committee leadership in my congregation.  All this comes more easily than expected, as elections are right around the corner.  It comes easily, as I let go of the old and rejoice in the new.  And all that I felt that I could not let go of for so long comes easily as I begin to transition very slowly in new relationship.  In fact, it is by stepping down from my role as a congregational leader, that I can feel myself moving more fully into my calling to ministry- as a contemplative writer, worship leader, and spiritual companion. Now as I clear the space, I can offer gifts of myself more fully and from the heart. 

One step at a time, keep living from the heart.  That is what I am hearing... So many ideas pop into my mind of "projects"...but really it is only what is right before me:  Prayers tonight for a world ripped apart, the people of Israel and Palestine; and for dear friends who struggle with depression and fears of losing it all;  and joy for the whistle of a train; for these words on a page.  

Resilient Spirits

Outside, the wind howls.  It was a beautiful sunny day today, and I spent it hiking with family and friends.  Now, I am sitting curled up with blankets- and two little kittens-in my newly cleaned meditation room.  Ah, at last... after two weeks of disorder, the room is returning to its ordered state.  And perhaps my prayer life will too.

But is prayer life ever ordered?  Prayer comes as it will: the crying out in the car, in the witness of  the international news, in the heart's response to a letter or an email- worry, fear, brokenness, joy and elation, in the everyday moments- like my daughter Elisa smiling her toothless grin, holding up her second bottom-front tooth.

Over the past few weeks and days, my mind has been spinning with thoughts about resilient communities, and a real longing to be still and integrally connected within my own.  Now I recognize the ways I will need to let go and simplify.  As once again the room has returned to order, and I return again to spiritual discipline.  As this little black kitten who almost died at eight weeks now lies sweetly plump and purring next to me.  We share a resilient spirit.

These are all my thoughts for the evening...just fragments of the ways I might begin again, more simply.