Tuesday Noticings

Where is God in this day?  This day where I find myself cursing the phone that won't stop ringing, the endless emails and the long to do list. This day where I find myself whining in exhaustion at 9PM, in line at the Goodwill to buy the white button-down shirt my daughter needs tomorrow for a school performance- the shirt I've already searched 8 stores to find- as my kids dance loud and dizzy circles through the aisles.    And this day when the first moment of silence I've had all day is broken by a knock at the door, "Can I come in? I've had a hard night..."

Surely, God is present and moving in me. I feel wholeness in the movement toward compassion- in the prayers for a grieving friend, in the awareness of the fragility of life, in the hug of comfort for an over-stressed co-worker, in the moment of a conversation when I know to stop laughing and be silent- to be reverent and honor the unspoken pain.  It's in the wave of so many unexpected rushes to deeper meaning and call beneath the chaos...and the moment when I stop steaming with frustration at the long wait and begin to see the people around me as human beings, struggling with their own lives:  the woman haggling over the price of a coat at the goodwill- for whom every cent seems to count; and the man who shuts down his register early- who appears exhausted and longing for a break.

And surely God is present in others- in those unexpected gifts of generosity I don't expect.  Maybe a part of me thinks I don't deserve them, that I have to carry life all on my own.  But to block a gift is to create false separation- isn't this also to block the flow of God? ...So I say thank you, thank you, thank you-- to the friends who take tasks off my to-do list (who do not wait for me to ask); for the moments of connection and the appreciation of my family; for the invitations to my soul that come in places I do not expect- whether it is the executive office or the Goodwill; for the flow of collaborative creativity- beauty and poetry- in planning a worship service in shared ministry; and for all the countless gifts that are being offered- like tiny hands supporting me from so many places- if I can let go and let in.

The fire of life moves in me and all around, and is transformed- from selfishness to interconnection.  From anger and self-pity- to gratitude and compassion.  From me to we.  From separation to love.

Memorial Day Service- and the River that Holds and Heals us All

This UU Memorial Day service from the Church of the Larger Fellowship is powerful and poignant- there is no making it through without tears.  I had watched this last night, and posted about it- but I must have accidentally deleted that post.

So let the worship service speak for itself....we celebrate in community, each of us holding our own story, our own names.   But as we mourn and weep together, the river flows through as a reminder of that which holds and heals us all. May we gather to lift up and honor the lives that have been lost, as the river carries us along with all our yearning for forgiveness...our hope for healing...our promise of peace.

*Note: the service which aired on 5/26 and 5/27 can be found in video archives.  The service includes footage of Rev. Chris Antal speaking of his recent experiences in Afghanistan, and honoring and remembering lives lost.  It was filmed in Garrison overlooking the Hudson River, with West Point in the background... a place that is sacred ground for me. 

The River

I don't know if I can imagine my life without this river.  It is as though no matter how many times the world is destroyed-(and by the world I mean their worlds, our world, my world- as if there were ever any separation)- there is something that flows on and on through it, recreating life. And by this river I mean all of it- not just the pretty hilltops and the mystical woods and the sailboat harbors.  I mean the boys who are shot on the streets of Newburgh. I mean the ones who are learning to shoot behind the towering gray walls of West Point.  I mean the bridges and the tracks too many have tossed away their lives on.  I mean the boardrooms and the bedrooms, the hospitals and the bars, the churches- and the disastrous house.

I dreamed of walking beside the river. There was a sacred rock in my dream, and a gathering of people in an adobe castle. The next day in real life there was a pancake breakfast with community in Beacon, music and children in Newburgh, and a prayer circle in Rock Tavern.  Sacred space.  Safe space.  

I woke from the dreamstate knowing- the healing of this world and your own are interconnected.  I woke from the dream knowing I must heal myself.  And today I knew again if my own life is to be of service, there must be inner restoration.  And then, oh then, imagine....

You are holding a lot- but are you held?  Can a river create space? And who holds you?  I hear the questions they ask though I have closed my eyes. I know only that I am held.   I cannot answer.  But there is a river... a blue blue river reflected, surrounding me.  I cannot answer, though I long to say:  this is why I have come. This is why I am here now- to know only this greatest love and be held, to know only this river that holds me, the river that holds the life.

Sanctuary

There is another song on my heart tonight.  Sanctuary is a Christian worship and praise song-  though I first heard it in a synagogue, while sitting next to a UU friend and behind a man I'd met on a Buddhist retreat.  The Presbyterian minister played it on his guitar, and we sang it over and over that night like a taize chant in the interfaith candlelight service held in my town in the wake of the Newtown shootings last December.  It was a balm for my hurting soul, as we lit candles in that sanctuary, and repeated these words.

Oh Lord prepare me... to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true

and with thanksgiving, I'll be a living, sanctuary, oh for you.

I am struggling with my own scars that have resurfaced in unexpected ways the past few weeks. I joked recently that it was shadow month (we are supposed to dress as our shadow self at our visit to Silver Bay next weekend)- but I did not know the shadow would be showing up all over the place and knocking me over in real life. Though it is bitter tasting medicine, there is wisdom to be gleaned from her arrival-- the unveiling of my limits, the humbling of my arrogant 'I can do it all' attitude, the revelation of my foolish attempts to play savior to others, and the turning of my heart in prayer- if only to cry out, 'I surrender... help me'.   

In the helplessness and the hurting, I sing- a soul in search of refuge and peace.  And I pray for the wholeness of God to create holy space in me, to be near and close and present, and to create sanctuary- a safe space for healing in my home, my life, and within.  

I know this rose will open...

"I know this rose will open
I know my fears will burn away
I know my soul will unfurl its wings
I know this rose will open."

This song has been playing through my mind this week.  On Sunday, my minister sang it while drumming the rhythm as part of a Time for All Ages; and if this alone had been his sermon, it might have been enough. He told the story of the school children he drummed with during  his recent deployment to Afghanistan -"the greatest gift" he told the children in our UU congregation- and this sharing during our worship service was a gift for me too. 

But of course there was more to his time in Afghanistan, shared in the sermon that followed after the children had left for their Religious Education classes. Stories pulsed In the space between drumbeats- death and drones, pain and prophecy, insulation and isolation, moral injury and healing. 

Together in community we hold this, in the space of our shared sanctuary we hold this, because every story spoken in the light of the flaming chalice is a sacred story we walk with and bear witness to together. 

I pray for that turning of the heart which moves us all closer to world peace. I pray that the arch of our souls curves toward justice, that we do not lead insulated lives, but face together the collective shadow of war. And I pray that we bear witness- not only to the collective- but to our own inner shadows. May this be the work we do- that each one of us in his or her own way find a sanctuary in the larger whole to bear and hold the pain. I pray this for others- and for myself too.

This was my prayer as I sat today overlooking the river, after the rain had passed, quietly singing this song to myself- "I know this rose will open...". I laughed as a groundhog stuck his head up from the lush green foliage at my feet.  And I marveled as a small bluebird perched on a tree branch then flew away, and a little yellow warbler took its place.  The waterfall rushed across the way and the river flowed upstream- past the Thayer Hotel and the West Point museum, through the deepest waters that flow between Garrison and the military academy's high gray walls, and further on down the Valley. I listened to the flow, as even the river seemed to sing-

I know this rose will open.  I know my fears will burn away.

I think of a friend who recently wondered- the rose is so late to bloom, and will it open? We are so many wondering aloud- in bathrooms, in halls, and at the riverside too. We fear it is too late.

But we have seen so much in bud, so much in bloom. Though the medical reports return bleak, the headlines continue to raise murderous fists to the sky, and the gunshots continue to resound, there is a small thing with feathers that nestles close and ruffles in our souls.

Beneath the uncertainty of life, there is this underlying trust. Life whispers- I cannot give you promises that you will not die.  I cannot give you promises that you will succeed.  I cannot give you promises that there will not be pain.  But I do know- yes, I know- this rose will open.  Get closer, and let your fears burn away by the quiet fire.  Get closer, and listen, Life cries- touch me. Touch me and let your soul unfurl its wings. 

On Happiness... and Affirming Life

This is my second post in one evening... but I feel compelled to write again, to reflect upon what has emerged for me lately.

It may seem ironic that while the last post focused on demons and darkness, the theme of this one is happiness.  And yet in the midst of all that pain I was just writing about, I have had these days and moments of peace and bliss- not manic highs that crash into dark lows the next day, but rather a real sense of interconnection and balance that have assured me I am exactly where I need to be in the moment.  I have also recognized the role my own choices have made in creating this happiness, as it occurred to me while struggling with feelings of dullness (a subdued ho-hum kind of depression?) that I do have the choice to be happy. That is, I might be able to generate more happiness by choosing actions that generate well-being. For me that means nature walks and long talks, quality time with my kids, shared rituals and spiritual practices, and healthy habits. It also means living from a place of authenticity, and leaning more deeply into those things which affirm life, and away from that which denies it.

One of those moments occurred last Wednesday, May Day, when I decided to take a personal day from work to go on a field trip- a river hike- with my daughter and her class.  At the end of our hike, we stood on the boardwalk and watched a great blue heron perched still on the river bank for moments gazing outward into the water. Our eyes followed the great wings spanning into the air, the gentle flap, and then the glide. It was my daughter, Elisa, along with others in her first grade class, who'd spotted the creature on our river walk, and it was these children who stood in awe-filled imitation of the heron- still and quiet- a pause in their play, a rest in their hyper childhood chatter.  And I too- in their glow- felt happy and alive.

I experienced this same happiness this past Sunday when I skipped the congregational meeting and took a trip with my girls to the Zen Mountain Monastery instead.  My children and I participated together in a Zen Kids program. Together we sang and laughed and washed windows (!) and meditated and bowed and ate mindfully and created art and poetry.  We were surrounded by happy people who cared for us, and who shared their affection and practices of Zen living with the attending families.  As we left, my 8-year old daughter announced that she wanted to live there!  My daughter has been struggling with anxiety, but in that place she felt at home. And I- in her glow- felt happy and alive.

It was the kind of happy that wanted to make more happiness, though the call was not to stay and live there, but to take pieces of that experience back with me into the world. I know that every day life has its problems, but living with peaceful mindful discipline and attention create a way of being that opens the heart in equanimity, joy, and compassion. The challenge is to live in the tension between those problems and that way of inner calm.

In reflecting upon these experiences, I have also been stirring with a sense of emptiness and humility, of offering my life fully for something greater. And what is the meaning of that?  So often my ego gets caught in the middle.  That is not it.  No, there is something else- without rank, without measure, without title.  Something I have come to call: serving life. 

If I am offering myself in service to Life, then this is true humility. It is not self-deprecating, if there is a greater justice and a greater love that I pledge myself to.  The primary question I have been asking then is this:  IS this choice life-affirming?  Can I remain in the tension of brokenness- where there are elements around me that are harmful- and still affirm life through my choices?  Or am I denying my own authenticity- and in fact harming myself- to be in relationship with a particular person, place, or organization?

In many ways it is a dance- into those places I am supported, held, loved, and renewed-- and back again into those places where I must be the light and change through my own ethical and life-affirming choices. There are times when a situation itself- a job or an organization, for example- is not life-affirming, but perhaps our role within it might be.  Perhaps it is my place to offer love and light where it is so much needed.  Then, still, I am affirming life because I am finding it in small pieces, and magnifying it in darkness.  

One example of this comes from my own past experiences. When I was a young teacher I stuck my neck out for things I believed in-- and got it chopped off practically by a heartless administration that placed policies over people. I spoke for justice and reported the actions of a principal with a harsh temper, who was creating a culture of distrust and fear among teachers and students. And I lost my job (of course other reasons were given, and of course, in time the layoffs produced a stir, the truth was illuminated and the principal was removed). And yet, in spite of the personal pain, I always felt that I made the right choice to speak.

Perhaps over time I have lost some of that courage, as I think that early experience has made me fearful to be authentic and brave in certain contexts, and I've chosen safety over life in some cases, keeping hidden my own true heart and voice.  This is rising up in me now, that to be authentic, I may have to take those risks again....pledging allegiance not to personal security but to life in all its fullness, to that which opens my soul and heart.  

Authenticity, ethical choice, making decisions that bless the world and move me fuller into aliveness. These are the tools on the path to happiness- not always the easy path, and not a path of immediate bliss.  Rather it is that sustained equanimity that even my children can recognize in moments of pure presence and mindful attention, as they learn to take only what they can eat in their bowls (the practice of oryoki), so as not to waste... and sweep the floors of a monastery office, remembering to gently care for the small things in their midst. Moments when we are blessing life, choice by choice, word by word, moment by moment. Moments when we are learning more fully how to live in this world. 

Dreams, shadows, demons...light

A few weeks ago I had a vivid dream- a nightmarish vision really- of a woman who had drowned in an indoor hotel swimming pool. There was a large group of fun-loving party-goers who had inadvertently held her under water, crowding on top of one another for a photo shoot.  She had fallen to the bottom, lifeless, unnoticed.  I seemed a third party omniscient observer in this scene-(or was I the drowned victim?- it was hard to tell.)  Later her sister noticed her missing, and began to search for her. (In some ways I was also the sister...)  She realized what had happened and approached the pool.  I watched from a distance, at this point full of terror and paralyzed- afraid to follow.  Even when I heard the young woman, who had discovered her sister's body, scream and scream, I turned away- unable to approach the pain....but knowing that I must.

I dreamed this dream during my most recent visit to Silver Bay.  I often have vivid dreams there, and carry a journal with me to record them.  My trips there over this past year have provided a space to deepen- in mystery, in prayer, in affirmation of call, and in awareness of shadow- and one part of that processing is  through these night-time revelations.

The night before I'd had this dream, I had stayed up late talking with my teacher about the call to spiritual direction- full of excitement and plans, and nurtured by her affirmation and support. So the dream was a strange contrast, perhaps- and yet also a foreshadowing of what lie ahead, as shadows have crept in to the living world as well these past few weeks.  The gnarly faces of demons I thought had been expelled long ago have reappeared in recent weeks, since the first appearance of this dream, and since my return home from much traveling.  What I had thought would be a time to move more full speed ahead into the call of spiritual direction has instead found me taking a step back to peer into and confront my own inner darkness.

But the spiritual life is not a linear journey.  We don't simply advance through stages.  There are dark nights and shadows and even demons from our past that return- again and again- sometimes in new ways, and sometimes in the familiar ones we thought we'd left behind.

What changes, at least in my experience, is the growing strength to hold them.  When I awoke from the dream of this drowned woman, I had a sense that I had to face some profound fear that I was afraid to face.  At the time I thought the fear was an experience outside of myself- another's painful story, perhaps- but as I have moved forward, I have seen that it is my own pain that needs embracing, and that this is necessary work that I must do in order to move more deeply in compassion.

But I also have found what changes is that deep knowledge that I do not have to hold this pain alone. To hear words today from one I trust... I can help you hold your pain... and knowing fully and certainly the truth of those words, was a gift on the journey to healing and becoming whole.  It was not the gift I thought I needed, nor the one I had planned to seek- if I had sought anything at all.

I had wanted to share my gifts- not my scars- with this one, and with others. But if I have learned anything at all, it is that the scars hold gifts, if we can allow them the time and space to surface in the light. If I have learned anything at all, it is that I cannot be a healer for others, unless I am able to face and hold my own pain. It is then that the work I do for myself becomes a gift for the world.

Finally, the most necessary lesson of all- if I have learned anything- is that the Holy is always present.  And God shows up- beautifully, wonderfully, joyfully- in the brokenness- like the stillness between downpours- a rest on murky rain-beaten water...like the candle that illumines the darkness, offering sight... like the all-embracing love that holds us and heals us and helps us to carry the pain.