The doors of my heart

No words tonight...or only a few... and gratitude.

And a poem by Mary Oliver.  These lines have been going through my head this week: "If the doors of my heart ever close, I am as good as dead."

Can there be any other meaning than this for spiritual community-- to help each other to keep those doors open?

I don't care about growth, or about programs, or about getting spiritual 'needs' met. There might be just one essential question to measure the pulse of a congregation: How is your church doing at keeping the doors of your heart open?

Because this is what we are all in dire need of in a world that is doing everything possible in its power to close them.

So tonight, my gratitude is for spiritual friends- soul mates- far and near:

 Who walk with me through autumn woods and when I declare: I am burying my soul for the time being-  get tough and challenge me to bare it instead... as I learn to walk the journey again over fallen leaves and stone altars...

Who send heartfelt stories of their own lives and blessings over email with wonderful surprises that delight!

Who even walk with me in their dreams-- and perhaps, dream my new life in the Spirit into being?

Who inspire me with reminders in Sunday sermons, prayer circles, and one-on-one conversations- calling me out as a teacher of Spirit... And in hearing my name, reminding me that to be true to others, I must also be true to myself.

And for nature paths, deer step like quiet thunder, cricket song, and even ticks-- a reminder to remove what can possibly destroy.

And for sleep and all its dreams-- violent and epic, but cleansing of toxins- and from which I wake up purified, renewed, all anxiety fallen away.

And for the excitement of activities I thought I despised.  That even work holds soft surprises in its folds...


And for poems.

Landscape

by Mary Oliver

TUESDAY, 22 MARCH, 2005
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Poem: "Landscape" by Mary Oliver, from Dream Work. © The Atlantic Monthly Press. Reprinted with permission.

Landscape

Isn't it plain the sheets of moss, except that
they have no tongues, could lecture
all day if they wanted about

spiritual patience? Isn't it clear
the black oaks along the path are standing
as though they were the most fragile of flowers?

Every morning I walk like this around
the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart
ever close, I am as good as dead.

Every morning, so far, I'm alive. And now
the crows break off from the rest of the darkness
and burst up into the sky—as though

all night they had thought of what they would like
their lives to be, and imagined
their strong, thick wings.

Thoughts on Compassion

There is no enemy; there is only the shadow of your own worst thoughts.  In the midst of meditation, a loud jet flies overhead, disturbing the deep peace and quiet sublime.  I have wondered lately how it is that in the midst of idyllic scenes like gentle Zen monks, river views, and autumn leaves I have felt so much anxiety, brought about in part by my own mind.  (I say ‘in part’ knowing that all is not idyllic as it may seem, and sharing the story with others who know our common challenges.)

But, haven’t I faced so much worse?  In my past work as a teacher in the inner city and reservation, I faced Code Orange and sniper scares, angry principals and slamming doors, teachers in tears, termination slips, shadows of child assault, suicide and gun threats, broken windows and empty bookshelves... the classrooms in the 3^rd world places of this nation, where I was teacher in those early career years.  Surely these days the places I spend my days are beautiful, bright, and benign in comparison?   

And yet the mind is disturbed. Shouts come from unexpected places;  there are good days, and there are bad days- many of those more in this past year of information overload, extended hours, and workplace stress. I can no longer say I am a contemplative at work, though I have certainly found a peace there in the past.  I pray that the current situation will subside in a little over a week's time, and then hopefully I will see more clearly the decisions that need to be made. Then I can create much more space for my soul to breathe. 

I remember as a child when my grandparents and my parents felt fear, how I held their hands.  When my father was in an accident, I prayed the rosary with my grandmother to keep her comfort.  And likewise, when my students in the Catholic school where I taught were scared- when just one year after 9/11- we found ourselves on lockdown; I recall a young girl’s shaking, and offering her prayers of comfort as the children sat up against lockers on the classroom floor.

I have calmed my daughter in her fear also; I’ve been with others in time of trauma, and helped them to breathe, held in a larger spirit of compassion.  I hear another voice on the line- “I’ve never been so scared in all my life.”  I understand the fear of another, and I respond from a place that is much deeper and much larger than myself.  For some reason, this compassionate response comes naturally- and in that connection, I am also held. 

So that's what I was trying to articulate about Compassion-- that sometimes it is another's pain which brings me out of my anxiety and despair, and into a larger field of Love.  

And yet- I know there is something I am having difficulty receiving.  Can I find comfort in the face of my own anxiety? The truth is that being the receiver of love and compassion overwhelms me—it is as if I am standing in the light of the sun with all its power, and I don’t know quite what to do with that experience.  Is it the larger sense of God? Or just human neediness and attachment? — I do not know.  It has been both to me at times, depending upon my response. Learning to trust and let go is the place where I am healed, where I am saved.  It may be my own vulnerability, the openness of my heart to pain, that scares me the most.  Honesty= vulnerability; and to be honest may be to risk loss.

So today I remember the return to practice- because- I am reminded- this is essential to my own wellbeing and the world's; this is offering a practice of compassion to myself.  I need not drown in the disturbances of critical and despairing thoughts.  Though the loud noise enters the stillness, there is a deep and eternal river that continues to flow beneath.  And I, too, am worthy of entering its waters.

Gratitude

There is a little black cat rubbing against me who will not let me write; he purrs and chirps with pleasure and affection.  In the quiet of this house, there is contentment.  The girls are sleeping over at their grandparents' house tonight, and my husband and I have had the weekend to ourselves.

We climbed Anthony's Nose today- a lovely three hour hike to a point overlooking the Bear Mountain Bridge.  The Autumn leaves cascaded everywhere.  We have been discussing theology, philosophy, politics, and all the usual discourse...Tomorrow is our eleventh wedding anniversary and we celebrated with dinner at an Italian restaurant, followed by a movie (Memoirs of a Geisha...) that we rented at the library. As we held hands on the couch and sat by the fire of our pellet stove, I felt extremely grateful for my life. There's a scene in the movie hat takes place under the Japanese cherry blossoms, and I was reminded of our own UU ritual of planting a cherry blossom tree a couple Easters ago;  this symbol of life- transient and overflowing. While it is true we have very little money in our bank account, my life blossoms like the trees. There is nothing I lack....except perhaps a little more space to appreciate all these gifts.

Tomorrow we'll browse through books at a used bookstore, and drive over the bridge to pick up the kids.  Life can push all of us to our limits sometimes;  we need the fall colors to remind us of our abundance, and the cascading leaves to show us how to fall.  We need the cool breeze to teach us how to breathe.

There is so much to be grateful for...it's a rich life, with all its joys and sorrows, trials and tribulations.  If we can only take the time to love each moment: transient and full. 

Poem by Mary Oliver (see 'Fear and Love', October 7th)

Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches?

by Mary Oliver

Have you ever tried to enter the long black branches of other lives --
tried to imagine what the crisp fringes, full of honey, hanging
from the branches of the young locust trees, in early morning, feel like?

Do you think this world was only an entertainment for you?

Never to enter the sea and notice how the water divides
with perfect courtesy, to let you in!
Never to lie down on the grass, as though you were the grass!
Never to leap to the air as you open your wings over the dark acorn of your heart!

No wonder we hear, in your mournful voice, the complaint
that something is missing from your life!

Who can open the door who does not reach for the latch?
Who can travel the miles who does not put one foot
in front of the other, all attentive to what presents itself
continually?
Who will behold the inner chamber who has not observed
with admiration, even with rapture, the outer stone?

Well, there is time left --
fields everywhere invite you into them.

And who will care, who will chide you if you wander away
from wherever you are, to look for your soul?

Quickly, then, get up, put on your coat, leave your desk!

To put one's foot into the door of the grass, which is
the mystery, which is death as well as life, and
not be afraid!

To set one's foot in the door of death, and be overcome
with amazement!

To sit down in front of the weeds, and imagine
god the ten-fingered, sailing out of his house of straw,
nodding this way and that way, to the flowers of the
present hour,
to the song falling out of the mockingbird's pink mouth,
to the tippets of the honeysuckle, that have opened

in the night

To sit down, like a weed among weeds, and rustle in the wind!

Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?

While the soul, after all, is only a window,

and the opening of the window no more difficult
than the wakening from a little sleep.

Only last week I went out among the thorns and said
to the wild roses:
deny me not,
     but suffer my devotion.
Then, all afternoon, I sat among them. Maybe

I even heard a curl or tow of music, damp and rouge red,
hurrying from their stubby buds, from their delicate watery bodies.

For how long will you continue to listen to those dark shouters,
caution and prudence?
Fall in! Fall in!

A woman standing in the weeds.
A small boat flounders in the deep waves, and what's coming next
is coming with its own heave and grace.

Meanwhile, once in a while, I have chanced, among the quick things,
upon the immutable.
What more could one ask?

And I would touch the faces of the daises,
and I would bow down
to think about it.

That was then, which hasn't ended yet.

Now the sun begins to swing down. Under the peach-light,
I cross the fields and the dunes, I follow the ocean's edge.

I climb, I backtrack.
I float.
I ramble my way home.       


               *Poem referenced in 'Walking the Journey'- Fear and Love entry, October 7th.   

The Other Side

Have I finally passed through, to the other side?  I decided on the way to work to give it a try.  To try what it would be like to walk through the anxiety, and to give my life to a path-- not out of ego or pride, but out of a calm and abiding 'yes' to love.

I drove to work in this knowledge that I would need to continue through work I did not want to do, because it was not important whether I liked this work or not, but whether I could walk through it with love.  If I could do the drudgery of the every day tasks with steady love, then perhaps I could face much harder tasks than this which I would surely encounter, for much greater cost, for much greater price.

I walked to the riverside with this wisdom, and the words "make me an instrument of your peace" were on my lips.   Only this time it was those first two words "make me..." which repeated like a mantra, when I knew really it was out of my hands.  There was nothing more I could do to resist the fullness of my soul.

A few weeks ago I had faced inner resistance and tears. Deep within a voice was crying out- "Stop!".  It was pleading with all those around me who were encouraging me:  "slow down!" And there were also voices shouting out for approval- "love me more, please!", "Am I good enough yet?", those voices of selfish pride and self doubt so loud I could barely hear the deeper, truer voice within.   And yet none of those voices held that deep wisdom I was seeking.  None of those voices were me.

The phone calls of encouragement, the blank stare, the judging within... those were not the voices of truth.  And finally when all the voices around me quieted, only then could I hear my own inner wisdom, the still small voice within.

It was when I said 'no' to the path as I thought it had to be, and 'yes' to what felt truer to me that I came back around to seeing myself differently.  To seeing myself as I truly am.

And maybe seeing is believing.

Seeing is believing what you you hold most essential...and what you are willing to stand for- and live for- too.

In light of this realization, what was today like?  Absolutely ordinary. Moving past the anxiety was far from heroic, but I focused on the work at hand at a good and steady and focused pace. This was administrative work, planning an event that is unlikely to succeed, but letting go of the outcome.  Doing the best I can, and knowing my limits, knowing what is out of my hands. Knowing I am just a small peg in a larger picture, and I am not to blame. And what is really at stake, but pride?

As it turns out, such steadiness of heart and clearness of head, opened doors.  I received a request for spiritual direction from someone on a journey of her own.  The recognition that I have now been through my own worst self at work made me understand that I might possibly be able to offer something to the soul of this place as well.

I told my husband tonight that I would like to apply to divinity school in the spring.  I laughed and said, it doesn't mean that I will be going to school in the fall, only that I will apply.  For many reasons, it is impractical, but I can certainly put my heart forward in the direction that it is pulling me. What this journey has shown is that I can make seemingly foolish steps forward from a deeper sense of who I am, to offer the world more fully of myself.  It has shown me that I am able  to step into call and step out on faith, and to simply see what doors might open...or perhaps which ones will close.

This decision to move forward on this path comes on the heels of the decision just a few weeks ago to reduce my hours at work, which comes on the heels of a decision a few weeks before that to focus my energies more fully on spiritual direction.  Each of these decisions has been born of a wild and almost-torturous discernment process (really, I've argued with the burning bush, wrestled the angel, and hid out in the whale's belly until I just can't stand fighting or running any longer...eventually you just lay down your weapons, forget about failing, forget about pride, and surrender to love and joy).

But what comes now is simply acceptance.  Calm. What has come after each decision has finally been reached is a calm and radiant being and belonging.  A quieting of the storm.  A steady and courageous walking through whatever challenges are before me.  An abiding trust in the ability to proceed. And a love for the people and creation of this world beyond measure.

Presence and Compassion

It is the wisdom- the inner wisdom- I trust.  A wideness in God's mercy.  An expansion of the soul.  A parting of the Red Sea, on the path to freedom and salvation.

These are words I use to mean only this:  the here and now.  I drink the cup of salvation- not for some fancy afterlife.  We are here for the loving to go deeper into this world, to taste and see this life more fully.  It's a rich life- and this is the cup of joy and sorrow, this cup of blessing which we bless.

This is my faith.  This life, this celebration of life. It is the reason I am a Unitarian Universalist.  Though I could be a Sufi whirling, or a Christian on my knees, or a Buddhist meditating-- and I could dive deeply into the richness of each tradition, each practice-- it is the celebration of this Life, this universe, these human faces that saves me.  It is the leaning and working toward justice.  It is the open search for meaning. And it is the wonder of all of us- full of questions- on this journey together.

Like all religions, there is the institution and there is the faith.  I find my faith in that larger vision; institutions are imperfect.  Faith is all-encompassing.  But the imperfection is community, it is where we do our living.  For me, the wideness is there- at the pulpit, in a prayer circle, in a spiritual journeying group, in a moment of spiritual guidance and pastoral care, in the shared work for justice.  All is ministry and living out of this great call.  We are bound together.

You are already a minister.. the question is whose version of ministry will you follow? said my spiritual director.    And my boss said recently- trust your inner wisdom.   Tonight I re-read words I'd written in the summer of 2012, words about compassion and salvation.  There was wisdom there, and in reading those words I answered my own question.  All this anxiety I have been experiencing, all this suffering, is not mine to hold.  What does it mean to have compassion for the self?  It's not a vacation or a withdrawal from the world.  No, it is an opening to the presence that holds us.

And so I ask- can I have compassion without presence?  I can be empathetic.  I can take action.  But only Presence is the antidote to Pride.  Presence is the awareness that I am a part of something much larger than myself; it is awe, it is opening to the Spirit, it is true humility. With practice of presence, there is no fatigue.  There is only interconnection.   It is an essential practice in spiritual direction- not to offer my own wise words, but to listen for the wisdom of another.  Today in listening to a woman on the phone, I heard this blessing.  The gift of a sacred story shared: wholeness.  A reminder that in the midst of great fear, there are angels, there are guides, and we are held.

The Current's Pull

The experience of being pulled by an irresistible current has become very strong.  There is both joy- incredible joy- and fear existent in that pull.  It appears that the fear is of losing control-and yet, what joy to lose myself in this great see of Being! Oh, says the drop- what is this great sea we are falling into?

Anxiety and tears at work have become overwhelming, and threatened to pull me under again today- and this came after a very grounding and encouraging morning session with my spiritual director.

I am grateful for soul companions on this journey, and feel that I have set up my weeks just right to make certain I have at least one meeting per week with someone who is a spiritual support to me. I'm lucky to have three people who have a special role in walking with me on this path.  My guides are telling me that this work of being in these difficult places is growing the soul, growing my own capacity for compassion and healing.  They are my anchors in this storm- and they are also my midwives!  Midwives seems an appropriate term- not only because they keep telling me to 'breathe'- but also because this certainly does feel akin to labor.  Only this time the baby, the new life, is me- in the wholeness and fullness of all I am in the Presence.

As I was leaving the Hope Center, my spiritual director offered me use of the space if I ever needed it to offer my own work.  This seemed a synchronistic next step because it was a 'where' question I had been meaning to ask...and only last week my minister had made that same suggestion (that I might consider the Hope Center for a place to offer my services).  Of course I had thought of this many times, but I was waiting for the right moment to ask.  It was a gift to be given the suggestion from one source, followed just a few days later by the invitation.  And now it seems when I put out the intention, the door will open just a little bit more as gift.   It seems the more I open the door, the more appears. And the more that appears, the wider the door needs to open.  It is the opening that is difficult (think: contractions!)- And yet what appears on the other side is not only these faces with their stories, but more clearly the face of Presence.

I also think that while soul is at the center of this deep work, it is evolving in a new form.  So spiritual direction is not about finding the light on a mountaintop, but about seeing the face of God in the heart of the city and in places of suffering and darkness.   The philosophy and action of Martin Luther King seems essential here-  to work for healing caused by the great evils of militarism, racism, and poverty. (And in this I would also include other forms of discrimination and oppression based on gender, sexual orientation, religion, etc.) There is a movement here that moves us from individuals to a collective whole. Wholeness- not only of our individual selves, but of the entire world- is the one true goal of this work.

After much deep thought, I know this is the place of love and joy I am being pulled into- to be a part of this movement of Spirit, a Spirit which is calling all of us to birth this new world into life.

As Arundhati Roy writes-- Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.

Be still my heart. Breathe. We are birthing into light.

Fear and Love

I woke to the dream of fear- a flooded road- 9D, right before the tunnel under Break Neck Ridge.  I dreamed of busses overturned in the river- and of my own helplessness as we navigated the storm.  I dreamed of the people we could not save, as we tried to save ourselves. I dreamed of fear, that we too might fall into the river- and then the skidding of the car as the river threatened to engulf our lives. And finally, I dreamed of clinging, of holding on- and of surrendering to love.

Today as the wind struck windows outside the office- white washed tornado gusts swirling through bamboo groves- I thought how suddenly the landscape can change.  Last Friday was warm, with retreatants and staff members strolling through gardens and grounds, and Sufis whirling in the meditation hall.  That day radiated an Edenic glow.  Inspired by spinning dervishes and blue skies, I longed to take my shoes off and twirl around barefoot in the grass- and so I did, if only for a moment, like some Maria Von Trapp in the hills of Austria, before returning to the dark cloisters of an upstairs office.

If Friday moved me to dance, then Sunday may have been a lure into repose- in and out of dreams with the rain's steady patting against the window pane. This too- the pattering, the torrents, and finally the storm- signal an awakening of the soul. And what is woken- but in the midst of all this fear, a deep deep opening to love.

I realized this morning that I have been holding fear larger than life, like some faceless monster.  I see the changes I might be moving into, and a part of me panics:  Am I up to this?  Can I do this?  In this sea of change, what holds me and keeps me from falling into the river?  Or perhaps I am yearning to fall- as in the words of Mary Oliver- Are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?...  Fall In! Fall In!

And will I fall in, or just dip my toes into the water of life?  It seems that even to dip my toes, I am pulled by a current stronger than myself.  But there it is- and it is getting harder and harder to resist this current...this call.

But even as I fear, I am reassured that I am loved.  This I know in my bones, have felt beyond a doubt.  You are the result of the love of thousands... writes Native American author, Linda Hogan. And in spite of fear of that unknown, I know my soul is held and there is love.

A Poem by Rumi, heard today

You are Joy!

Oh my God, our intoxicated eyes
Have blurred our vision
Our burdens have been made heavy,
Forgive us.

You are hidden and yet
From east to west you have filled the world with Your radiance
Your Light is more magnificent
Than sunrise or sunset
And you are the inmost ground of consciousness
Revealing the secrets we hold.

You are an explosive force
causing our dammed up rivers to burst forth.

You whose essence is hidden
While Your gifts are manifest
You are like water
and we are like millstones
You are like wind and we are like dust;
The wind is hidden while the dust is plainly seen.
You are the invisible spring
and we are your lush garden
You are the spirit of life,
And we are like hand and foot;
Spirit causes the hand to close and open.

You are intelligence,
And we are your voice
Your intelligence causes this tongue to speak.
You are joy and we are laughter,
For we are the result
of the blessing of Your joy
All our movement is really
A continual profession of faith
Bearing witness to Your eternal power
Just as the powerful turning of the millstone
professes faith in the rivers existence.

Dust settles upon my head and upon my metaphors
For You are beyond anything we could ever think or say
And yet this servant cannot stop trying
to express Your beauty in every moment,
let my soul be Your carpet.

Mathnawi V: 3307-3319

Translated by Kabir and Camille Helminski

Perfect

The meaning of the name Camille in French is 'perfect'.  The Sufi teacher, Camille Helminski, told me this today. Camille's parents found her name in a book by Dumas; I found the name in a painting by Monet.

A few days ago my husband showed me the video "Perfect" by Pink...It was a very difficult video for me to watch, hitting so many personal, painful chords.

A few things though are becoming clear:
1- Too, too many young girls and women are bullied and assaulted physically, sexually, and emotionally-- by individuals and by our culture at large.
2- Loneliness and isolation are painful- there is a longing for belonging;
3- The imprisoned soul longs to breathe and cries for fullness of being. There is a longing for wholeness.Who is the stranger this longing seeks?  A mirror of ourselves radiant and free.
4- Too too many young girls and women have longed for and have taken the pain out on themselves, on their own lives.
5- Healing begins at home, with ourselves, in our most personal relationships, but has far-reaching effects.
6- Something in me is raging, rising like a dragon on fire, demanding a larger justice.

On the banks of the river a few months ago, as the rain pounded down upon the gazebo, a friend guided me in a systemic constellation--which I might describe as a physical guided meditation process using the felt sense of the body and intuition to connect with our pasts, ancestors, etc.. In the pounding downpour I heard and felt our ancient mother's crying.  I experienced her power, heard her calling, and felt the charge in my bones to stand up to defend the woman and nature under attack. That weekend I dressed up as Artemis, the hunter, an archetype of the woman warrior/protectress. (It was our spiritual direction shadow party... though it was rage personified I wanted to reveal, there was another self there who needed to emerge- a stronger warrior archetype than I had allowed to be seen. What is it you are willing to stand for, to live for, to die for? The answer was beginning to emerge in me.)

And then there were the visions and dreams filtered throughout the summer- real life stories remembered and told.  The cries at Wounded Knee. The woman who drowned in the river.  And a phone call.  I heard and grasped at that which upholds all of life, promising that healing was possible.  And I felt the Spirit present in the pain.

A few weeks ago in a fit of rage, images of my past overran me in a dreamlike state... I grabbed the nearest book and banged it against a wall.  Looking down, I saw the name of the book I held: Woman and Nature. What irony! Oh, how many times will we continue to slam her up against a wall... and will I do this too to my own self?

There is still so much healing needed-- we must begin in this fundamental place to heal centuries of oppression, centuries of pain.  We must begin by reclaiming the goddess within (all of us, male and female), knowing her power as part of this necessary healing work.

******

There is one ever constant gift that I hold as a knowing for the reason of this healing work. Her name means perfect, and she always has been to me.

She is nine and these days she likes to fall asleep to guided meditations.  I set her up with an ap on her tablet, and we are insight timer friends. Every night she sends me sweet messages, which I read and respond in my own silent sit. Tonight I tell her:

The name Camille is Jamila in Arabic, and in that language it means 'Beautiful'.  You don't have to be perfect to be beautiful, my dear one.  Your beauty radiates from within; it is your soul.  May your soul shine brightly!

Oh mom, you silly goose, she may write me back.... What's your favorite sparkly color? I read her little slogan- Be loving, like me! 

And she is... loving. And perfect. To me.

The Fly Zone

I am watching my cat, Smokey, who is chirping at some invisible-to-my-eyes distraction on the wall. He is intently watching whatever he sees and stealthily stalking it.  His sister, Magic, has joined him now and they have just captured a fly and are swatting it between them.  For these two little cats, in this moment, catching (and eventually eating) the fly is their entire world.

The inner world is my 'fly zone' these days; I watch it carefully for every motion. I am examining motivations and noticing those knee jerk impulses.  Without this kind of close observation, I might easily make rapid-fire decisions based on emotional desires- desires for attention or praise, desire to fill a space when I desperately need to remain in its emptiness.

Staying with this practice is where I need to be right now-- though the world tries to pull me into its craziness.  I believe this self-examination work is essential, and will gradually allow me to move into a clearer reality.  It is polishing the heart which in time also polishes the voice of justice.

So I look and I ask:  Why do I feel anger or sadness or hurt during a conversation where no harm was intended?  And if I cling tightly to something or someone is it out of love, or out of fear?   I watch my wants and needs arise without demanding they be met.  I watch them and I let them go; noticing where I am being called; asking inner questions instead of reacting; and when there is silence, allowing the silence to be.