Letting Go of Those Damned Expectations

To “let go” does not mean to stop caring; it means I can’t do it for someone else.
To “let go” is not to cut myself off; it’s the realization I can’t control another.
To “let go” is not to enable; it is to allow learning from natural consequences.
To “let go” is to admit powerlessness, which means the outcome is not in my hands.
To “let go” is not to change or blame another; it’s to make the most of myself.
To “let go” is not to care for, but to care about.
To “let go” is not to fix, but to be supportive.
To “let go” is not to judge, but to allow another to be a human being.
To “let go” is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes, but to allow others to affect their own destinies.
To “let go” is not to be protective; it’s to permit another to face reality.
To “let go” is not to deny, but accept.
To “let go” is not to nag, scold or argue, but instead to search out my own shortcomings and to correct them.
To “let go” is not to adjust everything to my desires, but to take each day as it comes, and cherish myself in it.
To “let go” is not to regret the past, but grow and to live for the future.
To “let go” is to fear less and to love more.
(Part of the closing ritual of the Hospice Training for Volunteers.)

I painted this mandala as a prayer for a couple of dear friends who are being asked to “let go” of unmet expectations and move into a new phase of their lives this year. Damn, that’s hard work.

I’ve been reading a lot (go figure!) on archetypes, and I’ve revisited Carolyn Myss and her book Entering the Castle. Myss loves the work of St. Theresa, so she takes St. Theresa’s Interior Castles and helps plumb the depths of it. St. Theresa wrote about the “reptiles” that roam around the lower rooms of our interior castle, biting, scaring, scarring, wounding us all the time. Myss writes, “Expectations are the reptiles of the worst kind, whether they are expectations of your sojourn into your Castle or any expectations you have of life….[including]you must first confront this sense of entitlement about God, so that you can actually encounter God.” (paren is mine)

It is so hard, so demanding, to have to let go of our expectations, our dreams and hopes, not only for our own future, but for the future of our children as well. We have them. I’m not sure we can NOT not have them.

But it seems that part of our mid-life growth process is having dreams and expectations turn to dust or ashes. We reach a certain time in our life, take a hard look, and realize, “Who’s life am I living anyway? This isn’t what I planned. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. I’ve done it all the best I knew how. I played by the rules, and I tried really hard. This shouldn’t have happened. What have I done wrong? Why is this happening to me? (or my children, or my family, or my friends…the list goes on).

Damned unmet expectations, and we find our house really IS built on sand. Our houses get blown away; our wineskin breaks, our dreams turn to dust. We seem to be at the end of everything.

And then, somehow, we let go. And it’s in the letting go in spite of all our fears and all the mind games—it’s in the letting go that new life appears.

I believe in resurrection. I’ve seen it over and over again. I’ve experienced it over and over again in my own life. I see it in the changing of the seasons and the bursting forth of the lilies in Spring.

So, here’s to my friends who find themselves at the end—again. I am praying for you as you’ve prayed for me. New life WILL come from the ashes.

The Visitation, the Maiden and the Crone

Two lovely women played out a powerful drama at St. Timothy’s during the Advent Season, the Visitation.

Most of know the familiar story of young Mary hurrying to visit with Elizabeth upon hearing that Elizabeth was pregnant, but Susan and Jessica played the roles so well that I could feel the tension between joy and fear for both of them.

The drama has stayed with me for a couple of months now, and this past week, our Wednesday night Scripture group engaged the story again in Luke’s Gospel.

There is so much in this short story: first of all that the story is told at all is miracle. Two named women and their conversations isn’t the usual fodder for Bible stories. It’s usually the man’s story we hear, but this time Zechariah is struck dumb, so we hear the story from the mouths of two women. Selah!

Two pregnant women—one a young unmarried teenager, a maiden; the other a wizened old crone well past child bearing years—coming together to share each others stories, looking for validation from another woman, not from a man. And tell their story, they do! Spirit shows up, and these two women lift their voices and prophesy loudly! This isn’t the shy, demure little Mary hiding behind her veil—it’s a strong lively full-bodied Mary, virgin, one-in-herself, knowing who she is and believing what she’s heard with everything within her. And this isn’t a quiet old woman waiting for the death angel to whisk her off to her heavenly home. She’s a noisy old coot hooting out her welcome and blessing to the young maiden coming to visit. They both recognize the work of God in their lives and they celebrate with great joy.

One of the comments I’ve read talks about women who “hear one another into speech.” For too long women’s voices have been silenced, especially in religious and political circles, but not this time. Louise Schottroff comments, “The two pregnant women beat the drum of God’s world revolution.” Elizabeth Johnson writes, “This experience of female solidarity is unequaled in its ability to support women’s struggles for equal justice and care, for themselves and for others. Whether one sees Elizabeth and Mary as ‘women of Spirit birthing hope’, or as the Spirit-approved ‘pregnant crone and the unmarried, pregnant bride suspected of adultery,’ their meeting is powerful and potentially empowering.”

I’m glad they had each other, and I’m so grateful for the women friends I’ve had over the last 15 years. I’ve had many Mary’s and Elizabeth’s in my life. And I’ve had a number of them “hear me into speech”. We have validated each other, and we’ve “mid-wifed” each other into new places in our own lives. Thank you for giving so much to me.

This was a big day for me. Through a synchronistic scenario of events, I knew it was time to dedicate my art and my studio to the Creator, who has given both to me as gifts. It was a precious time. Liz came as my priest, and Nancy and my mom came as "witnesses". Nancy gave me the beautiful cross, that had, too, been changed in the fire.

Liz did a beautiful ritual of blessing, including this prayer:

O God, in the beginning your Word created the heavens and the earth, and when your Word became flesh, he worked with his hands in the carpenter shop in Nazareth: Be present, we pray, with Sheila who works and creates in this place, that laboring as an artist together with you, she may share the joy of your creation; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

I responded by giving back to God the basket of "first fruits", the tools of my art and my prayer, then read this poem that I wrote back in October:

The Good Land

(Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances. Robert Hass)

Having lived as a wandering Aramean in foreign lands
and not belonging
feeling alienated
stranger
non-fit
for the most part voice silenced
the value of personhood denied
and gifts counted as useless and unnecessary--

at least that’s the way it’s sometimes seemed.

Until now.

Divine Love has delivered
and set me in this good land.
Like the missing piece of a jig-saw puzzle
it seems “home” has found me.

And I have been brought here.

In all the stumbling and missteps
the blocked doorways and blind allies
Love has worked quietly unseen guiding each step
to this good dwelling place.

I didn’t know

I wasn’t ready

Until now.

How good it feels to be home.

(wandering Aramean, Deut.26.1-11)

I am so blessed to have this space, and these frinds, and the grace of my God. Blessed be.

January SAS, Aleatory Painting, with Kevin Cromwell

Today was Brazosport Art League's first Saturday Art Special of 2010, featuring "aleatory painting", demo'd and taught by Kevin Cromwell. It was an intersting method, and really good for a chance to get "out of the box". Aleatory means "to gamble, depending on chance, luck, or contingency". In other words, this is a painting that depends on LUCK! :)

It was a lot of fun. We looked through magazines for beautiful colors and textures, collaged papers onto bristol board, found a figure, then pulled the figure out. Kevin's a fun teacher, and most of us got at least one painting we really liked. Talk about using the right brain--the left brain doesn't have a clue! It was a wondeful way to spend the day.

Thanks Kevin!

ECVA National Show Entry, Baptism: Recognition & Return

Wandering like the children of Israel, lost and looking for “home” for nearly 20 years, I finally entered what seemed to be a birthing canal for something new in 2005. Since 2006, I have been working on a series of 4 poems about my rebirthing process. This mandala is an illustration of that time in my life—of being “reborn” into a place that was strange and foreign to me, and finding there, my mother’s face.

Marked as child of the Holy by baptism, at age 7, I have since gone through the flood waters of another baptism that have brought me “home”. The Divine Presence has been faithful as I have followed what seemed for the most part to be a distant longing.

Today I thrive in the arms of Mother. I am home. I am one in myself, one with God, and one with Mother Church.

From Below

One of the things I'd like to do this year is read more poetry. An easy place for me to begin is with Denise Levertov. I discovered her, well, over a year ago now, back in the Fall of 2008, when Andy was doing a Poetry as Prayer class at St. Tim's.

I read this poem yesterday, and have pondered it, simply remembering the giant redwoods of Northern California, and the lovely tall pines of the Cenacle. This photo was taken "from below" in the Redwood Forests. Remember?

I move among the ankles
of forest Elders, tread
their moist rugs of moss,
duff of their soft brown carpets.
Far above, their arms are held
open wide to each other, or waving--

what they know, what
perplexities and wisdoms they exchange,
unknown to me as were the thoughts
of grownups when in infancy I wandered
into a roofed clearing amidst
human feet and legs and the massive
carved legs of the table,

the minds of people, the minds of trees
equally remote, my attention then
filled with sensations, my attention now
caught by leaf and bark at eye level
and by thoughts of my own, but sometimes
drawn to upgazing--up and up: to wonder
about what rises
so far above me into the light.

Reflections of a Blue Moon

A friend noted on Facebook yesterday that we ended the year with a Blue Moon. That seems like it should mean something, huh. I looked a little on the net, and found some who believe there's a special significance to the fact that we have one on New Year's eve, that a blue moon gives a lot of energy specific to making change. Then of course, there's always the skeptic, who believes that's just bunk. I rather enjoy looking for "signs" of encouragement, signs that might bring meaning. And even just being that kind of person ups my energy level for expecting something different, some kind of change this year.

But before I look to the new, it's important for me to reflect on the old, what this last 365 days brought. It was a year of chanage for me, and year of walking into new light. And it started with a little poem. It's odd how innocent little words can pack so much meaning that they seem to forge a new path.

Last year about this time, St. Timothy's was about to start a new Inquiry class, for potential new members. I had no intention of taking the class--been there, done that way too many times. I just wanted to enjoy the ride, but had no desire to make a commitment. Then Pastor Andy asked me if Mother and I would like to take the class, no pressure, just "come and see". So we did. And we both enjoyed the classes immensely, then it came time to decide if we wanted to go the next step. A step closer to commitment.

My history with organized church hasn't been very good. I've moved around a lot, and I've heard my dear daddy's words over and over about people who go "church hopping." I had looked for my spot for nearly 20 years, and had about decided I didn't really have one. And I wasn't sure I wanted to risk trying again. Someone told me a while back that they thought I might be one of those people who lived on the thrill of the "next new thing." That kind of stung, but it might be true. So there were several reasons, I drug my feet about signing on the dotted line.

But there was another part of me that still hungered and thirsted for a church home, a place to belong. And there was something that really drew me to St. Timothy's.

Then one morning, I read a little poem by Denise Levertov. This little poem gave me the boost I needed to risk trying again.

Let's go--much as that dog goes,
intently haphazard...
--dancing
edeways, there's nothing
the dog disdains on his way,
nevertheless he
keeps moving, changing
pace and approach but
not direction--'every step an arrival."
(Denise Levertov, Overland to the Islands, 1958)

That's how I felt that day, just thinking about St. Timothy's and the people there. I felt like a little puppy, dancing edgeways with excitment, tail wagging, moving haphazardly forward toward "home", wherever that might be. And every step I had taken along the way had been an "arrival".

So, I took the plunge, and signed my name in the Book, telling Andy that I didn't know if this was "it" or not, but I knew that for now, I had arrived.

And I'm so glad I did.

I never noticed the name of the poem until now--many years ago, I had a dream that my boat capsized, and I took a huge cruise boat over to an island that I knew might be home. The Episcopal Church feels like home. Safe, comfortable, small enough to feel homey, large enough to grow and expand.

I guess for me, that was the biggest thing I did last year. It had been a long time coming. I had been in a dark night for nearly 5 years, not sure what I believed, or if I even still did. And that's the way St. Timothy's took me. Full of questions and doubts. The questions and doubts still haven't been answered or aswayed, but you know, it doesn't matter any more. At least not for now. There is for today a place for this little puppy to dance sideways and wag her tail.

And 2009 was also a year to allow old relationships to die, and new ones to be born. I lost a "daughter-in-law", but we remain friends. And we are committed to staying friends while each allows the other to go her new way.

My life has changed, and it hasn't changed. We live in the paradox, the already, but not yet.

But back to our blue moon last night. I choose to take from it what I can. Here's what others have said...

"This moon puts a lot of pressure on us to make change," Killion said. "It is a not-so-gentle push from the universe telling us to get off our butts and change.

"The blue moon is considered somewhat of a blessing, like a doorway might be opened for miracles."

I believe in miracles, I believe in change, and I believe in new beginnings. I look forward to 2010. I believe in the new day, and the new hope that enters. The blue moon has set, and the sun has risen on a new day. As I finished this mandala, this song was playing, Sunrise, by Deva Premal and Miten.

Sunrise
Over the mountain
Spreading your light
Over the land
Sunrise
Another new morning
We celebrate
We are the new man

Blessed be.