The word contemplation comes from the Latin templum, meaning an open place, sanctuary, temple. I have heard it spoken and relate most strongly to this idea that "to contemplate" means "to clear a space". The meditation room and altar within are this space of sanctuary in my home; the river is this space at work. Even the act of cleaning the room (or moving the laundry to the side), and setting the altar anew. Today this meant removing the cat from her table-top perch (though the thought of worshipping her was tempting and on some days appropriate!), and rearranging the few remaining objects- a singing bowl, a candle and incense holder, palms from sunday's street side Ecclesia gathering, river rocks from today's trip to Plum Point.
Then music- tonight, a song of surrender- Take Lord Receive, on Holy Thursday eve. Then silence. Breath. A clearing of the mind. A letting go.
The space within widens, and the heart expands. I must remember all this at a time when the tasks before me appear overwhelming. I found myself holding back tears of fear and frustration, as the words- How am I going to do all this?- went through my mind. I am reminded of my own daughter looking at packets of homework and literally freaking out with how much she has to do. But I tell her, just a little at a time. There is only the question right before you now.
And there is only the moment right before me now, I tell myself. I have been here before, and know that this is sacred work. I know that by being present and aware there is a spirit that has lived through me, through these hands, this voice, this heart. I am reminded of my sister's wedding, of words and silence I have shared this year, of circles of healing and prayer I have participated in and led. I am reminded of all who have held me, and of all whom I have held. I am reminded too of the soul that is whole, beneath this brokenness, that opens and expands with the breath eternally and always as I let go.
It is Holy Thursday, and as I stare at the clock at this late hour, I am reminded of the story- the agony in the garden, the night of sleepless prayer. But the tasks before me are not ones of sacrifice and death- except perhaps of that ego life. There is always the dying of that small self that clings to the worries and the pride. It is this I must surrender that I might live in the Spirit of all that is. I remember the work before me is not mine alone, but there is a love- bestowed on me by so many, and by this earth, and by this silence- and it is this love I pray that will flow through me. So it is not at all about "getting through the trials", but about awakening and rising and being born into new life.
For this I pray- to clear a space in me- that the interconnectedness of being, the spirit of love and life, the silence of all that is- might rise within. And then through my mouth, my hands, my feet, that I may be the gift.
Amen.
Then music- tonight, a song of surrender- Take Lord Receive, on Holy Thursday eve. Then silence. Breath. A clearing of the mind. A letting go.
The space within widens, and the heart expands. I must remember all this at a time when the tasks before me appear overwhelming. I found myself holding back tears of fear and frustration, as the words- How am I going to do all this?- went through my mind. I am reminded of my own daughter looking at packets of homework and literally freaking out with how much she has to do. But I tell her, just a little at a time. There is only the question right before you now.
And there is only the moment right before me now, I tell myself. I have been here before, and know that this is sacred work. I know that by being present and aware there is a spirit that has lived through me, through these hands, this voice, this heart. I am reminded of my sister's wedding, of words and silence I have shared this year, of circles of healing and prayer I have participated in and led. I am reminded of all who have held me, and of all whom I have held. I am reminded too of the soul that is whole, beneath this brokenness, that opens and expands with the breath eternally and always as I let go.
It is Holy Thursday, and as I stare at the clock at this late hour, I am reminded of the story- the agony in the garden, the night of sleepless prayer. But the tasks before me are not ones of sacrifice and death- except perhaps of that ego life. There is always the dying of that small self that clings to the worries and the pride. It is this I must surrender that I might live in the Spirit of all that is. I remember the work before me is not mine alone, but there is a love- bestowed on me by so many, and by this earth, and by this silence- and it is this love I pray that will flow through me. So it is not at all about "getting through the trials", but about awakening and rising and being born into new life.
For this I pray- to clear a space in me- that the interconnectedness of being, the spirit of love and life, the silence of all that is- might rise within. And then through my mouth, my hands, my feet, that I may be the gift.
Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment