Let's Talk About Christmas, Shall We?

Let’s talk about Christmas, shall we?

For the better part of my adult life, I’ve struggled a great deal with Christmas.  As much as I enjoyed Christmas as a child, I’ve dreaded Christmas as an adult.  It’s been too much for too long.  The season is always so full of unmet expectations that I’ve found myself tending to grieving more that rejoicing

But something seems to have happened over the last few years – four, to be exact.  It seems Advent must be a part of my chemical DNA, and I didn’t know it.  So, I haven’t lived into the season the way I was created to.  Raised as a Baptist, most of my life has been lived with no knowledge of Advent, so there’s been no appreciation for darkness, waiting, pondering, living in anticipation of…like a baby born with no pregnancy, I’ve been expected to enter Christmas without the womb.  Maybe that’s it.  I don’t really know, but the shift began in 2009.  Even before the end of October that year, I found myself once again in the funk of Christmas—it happened no matter how determined I was that it wouldn’t happen. No matter how hard I tried to escape it, the Christmas funk settled on me as surely as Christmas Past haunted Scrooge. 

Then one Sunday morning toward the end of November, 2009, Andy Parker made a statement in his sermon that began the shift: “This isn’t Christmas; it’s the season of Advent, when we search for the Light.”

Something mystical and spiritual was planted inside my heart with that statement, and I began on December 1 working each day in a small art journal I entitled, The ABC’s of Advent.  I went on an adventure of the soul, looking for Light.  And the very first entry began with a prayer for a “shift” in my relationship with Christmas.

The next Christmas was so painful I skipped it altogether, and chose instead to go on Sabbatical, a solitary trip for almost three weeks.  I didn’t come home until after the first of the year.  The resistance before the breakthrough - perhaps that time gave me the “space” I needed for something “new” to come.  I’m still not sure what happened, but the last two Christmases have been delicious.  And nothing’s really changed.

So, I sat down this morning and just pondered “the shift”.  My personal experience of the Christian journey has been one of subtraction, instead of addition.  It seems to me that the one constant call of Christ is to “Let it go, give it up, lay it down, less is more, to die is gain.” And I have fought that call every step of the way, only to find that life really does come more fully as we let go of our expectations of “what’s it all supposed to be about anyway?”

I think, for me, Advent and (believe it or not) my Pagan friends have supplied the missing link in learning to respect the darkness and to allow it.  Christianity (as I’ve previously known it) focuses so much on the Light that it seems to disallow the darkness, the mystery, the womb-time.  I just finished re-reading “Longing for the Darkness”.  Interesting how I long for the darkness as I look for the Light.  Paradox, isn’t it.  But the darkness is so necessary to the Light.  It’s only in the juxtaposition of the two that we can even see light, which says to me, “Pay attention.  Darkness is part of the equation.  It’s as necessary as the Light it.”

There is a darkness that’s necessary and life giving.  It seems to me that for the most part, our Christian Scriptures tend to ignore that darkness and speak only of the darkness of evil.  I am a child both of the darkness and the light.  And Advent gives me the time I need to gestate the new life of Light.  At least, that’s what it feels like. Nicodemus asked Jesus if he had to re-enter the mother’s womb in order to be born again.  I think Jesus might have smiled as he continued his conversation with Nick, because I suspect that’s exactly what’s required for new birth.  We have to enter into the Womb of Advent in order to be able to receive the Light of Christmas.  Meister Eckhart indicated that we even have to become a Womb in order for Spirit to give birth.  How could we overlook that—in order to be born again, we have to die first.  And Advent, for me, is that preparation.  All of the Christmas hoopla is too much to be flung at us for 3 months.  My gosh, it’s like a 36-hour labor! 

I so appreciate Advent at St. Timothy’s.  There’s no hoopla—no extended season of carols, no decorations until “Just the right moment”.  It makes for a shorter labor.  Christmas needs a time of preparation, quietness, solitude, darkness, resistance, breathing, and of breakthrough.  Like a little baby being born after the dark time in its Mother’s womb, Advent gives me much needed space to prepare for the brightness of Christmas.  It takes time for my heart to be prepared to receive the Christ Child, time to prepare the Inn so there will be room for Him to be born.  Advent slows me down and gives me time to rest in the middle of all the hoopla.  It shortens the labor and makes birth easier.

Christmas Eve, and my mind is whirling.  It has been for a few days now.  I keep thinking: “What exactly do I believe?  What is it that keeps me ‘positive’, hopeful (full of hope)? Am I just a “Pollyanna” who lives with rose-colored glasses?  Why is it that I find myself inside of Joy and Love, more than sadness or death?  Is it that my life is so much easier that others? What do I really believe about life?

So, this morning, I feel compelled to sit down and write—to perhaps organize my thoughts, put them down on paper, in black and white, to somehow sit with them, to test them, to see what is Truth for me.  And this is what I’ve come up with so far.

I have not always been a happy-go-lucky Pollyanna.  Ask my husband.  For years, Jim has asked the perpetual question, “Did my lady have fun today?”  And for years, my wry reply has been “The point of life is NOT to have fun.”  But something has happened over the last few years, and there is a current of joy that seems to continually flow through my life these days.  And, “Yes Jim, I seem to have more fun now-a-days.”

So, why?  How did this happen?  Jesus said, “I have come to give you life; life more abundant.”  One of the fruits of the Spirit is “joy”.  Abundant life and joy have been missing most of my years.  But over the last few years, something has changed.  For the most part, I love living my life.  I enjoy being Sheila Conner.  I enjoy my relationships, and I’ve even fallen in love with “the world” around me in some crazy kind of way.  Just last week, I told my massage therapist, “I love my life, and I feel so loved. I live in a universe that is love. I am cared for, and I know it.  Why do I ever doubt tomorrow—I have never been left alone.” So, what??? Name it, Sheila.

I believe in God – not an old white man “upstairs”, nor a “God” out there, who has a white beard, but I believe in a Universal Presence/Intelligence that is trustworthy and ultimately good.  I believe in a Good Presence that permeates time and space, and even matter—It permeates even the cells of my own body so that I cannot tell where It begins and I end—yet, It exists without me, even though I cannot exist without It. This Universal Presence is LifeSource, Ground of All Being, Love, and I live and move and have my Be-ing inside this Source, even as It lives and moves and has It’s Be-ing inside of me.

I believe it takes more energy to resist this Flow of Life than it does to open to it and allow it.  But, resist it I can.

I believe Life needs a reference point, so what is my reference point?  Jesus.  Wow…It always seems to come back to the Man we know as Jesus (who’s birthday we celebrate tomorrow by the way).  Jesus always has been, and I guess at this rate He always will be, my reference point.  I may love the Black Madonna, the Goddess, Mary Magdalene, Sophia, Hagia Sophia, but even them I love and embrace in reference to Jesus.  He has been all things to me: Father, Brother, Friend, Companion, Husband, Lover, Spouse, Partner, Teacher, Way Shower, Truth Giver – all things.  When I come back to Center, it is always in reference to my relationship with Jesus and his journey to the cross, the ultimate reference point.  When I lose my focus, I see hundreds of partials, with fly eyes; but when I come to Center, connect to Ground, my eyes refocus and my experience of Jesus becomes once again my reference point.

I believe my Ground is Love.  That’s where my roots go—straight down into the richest of soil, Love: God’s great love for me and for all sentient beings.  I am rooted and grounded in the Goodness of Ultimate Presence.

And Love requires me to let go of the old stories that perpetuate the story that I am a victim.  As long as I keep repeating the old stories of who has wronged me or what has gone wrong in my life, those old stories remain alive; they take on a life of their own and become my reference point.  What may have been true 50 or 60 years ago is not necessarily true today.  What happened to me as a child or a young adult cannot continue to be blamed for who/what I am today. As an adult, I have not only the capacity, but the responsibility to become the Good Mother and/or Good Father to my wounded child, and to stop blaming others for the injustices done to me.  The old stories have to be broken open.  Cracks in the story have to appear…that’s how the Light gets in.

Recently one of my priests, Andy Parker, shared a poem with our Centering Prayer group:

Prayer at Winter Solstice

Blessed is the road that keeps us homeless.

Blessed is the mountain that blocks our way.

Blessed are hunger and thirst, loneliness and all forms of desire.

Blessed is the labor that exhausts us without end.

Blessed are the night and the darkness that blinds us.

Blessed is the cold that teaches us to feel.

Blessed are the cat, the child, the cricket, and the crow.

Blessed is the hawk devouring the hare.

Blessed are the saint and the sinner who redeem each other.

Blessed are the dead calm in their perfection.

Blessed is the pain that humbles us.

Blessed is the distance that bars our joy.

Blessed is this shortest day that makes us long for light.

Blessed is the love that in losing we discover.

 ~  Dana Goia, Image 73, Spring 2012

I find it so interesting that this poem blesses resistance.  It’s crazy, but it just might be that in blessing the resistance, our armor begins to crack.  I have a body that, thanks to fibromyalgia, feels resistance, even the slight tinges of it.  And as I’ve learned to recognize the resistance, to bless it, and to allow the resistance to relax inside of me, the walls of Jericho come down—thick, stone, armored walls of blame, rejection, anger, and fear seem to tumble, and in all that rubble, I can find Truth.  It is my own resistance to life and love that keep me inside any prison walls. On the other side of that brick wall is Love.  Love waits for me.

My truth, the one I’ve discovered over the last few years, is to bless the resistance, relax, and let the walls tumble.  Let the old stories go. Release the blame, and the light come in through those cracks in the walls.

There IS a Love stronger than death…It won’t die without me, but I shall die without It. And in Love, there is no room for blame anymore.  There is no room in this Inn for anything but Love and an open heart.

PS: This was written Christmas Eve morning, but I've been unable to post because my Internet has been off and on down.  But maybe there's another reason.  This post was written in response to an ongoing "conversation" with a friend of mine who has a very different experience of life than I do, and even as I wrote this, I knew I was still feeling resistance.  Over the last couple of days, I realized the resistance is that I can't fore-feed her my experience of Love.  I once more agonize with the 5 virgins of Scripture who were unable to give their oil away.  We cannot give our joy and our experience in God to someone else, especially if there is resistance to receiving the Good News.  And there's my own point of resistance.  There's got to be some place in the middle where we can meet and still relate, but I don't know how.  So for now, the only thing I know to do is wait, be still, breathe, and trust that the resistance - at least my own, will pass. I wish for my friend all things beautiful. I wish for my friend the joy of knowing the Lover of my soul. That's all I know how to do.

Subtraction and My Mother

I’ve been running on adrenaline for a couple of months now, and I think I’m running low. I am very tired today, and very sad—lonely. Lonely with the knowing that I am losing a very precious part of my life – my mother and my best friend.

I recently read this line from “Longing for Darkness”: Who is leaving, and who will return? I’ve considered it a number of times during the last couple of weeks.

How many times do seemingly unremarkable happenings in our lives bring such huge changes that we literally “return” as someone totally different from who “left”?

That happened for both us when Mother came to live here with Jim and me over 10 years ago.  Neither of us expected nearly the changes that came to our lives, as well as the greatest gift either of us have ever had, a remarkable friendship. Both of our lives have been changed so much that we are someone totally different than who we were when she moved here in 2002.

And each present-day leaving and returning changes both of us even now.

Two months ago, we packed her bags, left her little house downstairs, and moved her into Cypress Woods, a nursing home nearby.  Then, two weeks ago she left again, this time she left Cypress Woods in an ambulance and went to the hospital. She had fallen and broken her hip.  Both of those “leavings” have so changed our lives.

Many years ago, I felt Spirit whisper to me that the journey of life was more about subtraction that addition.  I’ve found that to be true.

I don’t really know what to write, but I need to write.  I want to write.  Tears have been welling up all morning.  My body has been hurting a lot over the last few days—always a sign to me that it’s in stress.  Adrenaline has helped me ignore it, but not today.  I feel the sadness, the grief, the loneliness, and the loss immensely.  So perhaps it’s time to be still, to sit with the pain and the grief, and to simply let it be.

I have an accuser in my brain who tells me I’m being “melodramatic”, but I miss my mother so much.  Not so much as “Mother”, but as friend, companion, sister, and confidante. I miss grabbing my coffee early in the morning and running downstairs in my jammies to tell her of some incredible “new” thought that’s buzzing around in my head.  We’ve laughed so much over the years about her being my “captive audience”.  When I’ve just had to “preach”, she’s been so willing to listen. And now, she can’t hear me anymore.  Not because she’s deaf or dying, but because her own pain and grief is so consuming. 

In so many ways, the woman I’ve been dealing with for the last two months hasn’t been the woman I’ve known for the last 10 years; yet, she’s had to give up so much.  She’s lost so much that it’s finally become a burden to her, a grief, a suffering that feels beyond any suffering she’s experienced in the past.  There is no blame, only grief on both out parts that she’s having to live into her death this way.

This isn’t what either of us bargained for.  I’ve promised her so many times that I wouldn’t let anyone use extreme measures to keep her alive, that I wouldn’t let her lie helpless and suffer; yet that’s exactly where we find ourselves.  She is helpless and she is suffering – and so am I.  And there’s nothing I can do to ease her pain or make her comfortable.  It is what it is.

And it’s not fair.  Death would be preferred by both her and me; yet death doesn’t come.  A few days ago, she told me that she had been talking to Daddy because God wasn’t listening.  We laughed, but on some level, we cried because it seems true.

Dying is just damn hard sometimes.  It takes incredible strength and courage—both of which grow very low after such a long time. It seems to take a lot of deaths before the final one comes.  And Mother’s suffered many deaths: my dad, her eyesight, her breasts, her independence, her capacity to drive and care for herself, her hearing to some extent, and most recently her mobility.  And now, even the capacity to turn over by herself, or to even wipe her own butt.  That’s where we both drew the line; yet, it’s happened, in spite of the promises we made to each other.

I’m sad for her – and I’m sad for me.  It’s hard to stand by and watch.  My tendency is to get angry.  Lately she been angry, too.  Yet, that’s only because we are both afraid.  Not of death, but of this damned dying process that is so debilitating.

So, today, on this beautiful sunshiny day, I’ll let the tears fall.  I’ll let the curse words come.  I’ll feel the pain in my body and I’ll agree that sometimes life seems shitty.  And I’ll ask for relief for both of us.  And I’ll thank Love Itself for giving us the grandest 10 years ever, for giving us the gift of friendship, for giving us great respect for one another, for giving us faith, hope, joy, and peace in the middle of this momentary hell.  Relief will come. Perhaps later rather than sooner, but it will come.  Either she’ll get well and regain some of what she seems to have lost, or Sister Death will finally call her home.  And when the Great Relief does come for her, it will also come for me.  I will so terribly miss her.  I already do. I will miss her laughter, her deep, deep wisdom, her grace, her tenderness, her love of learning, her love of life, and her great passion for growth.  She has given me so very much of herself.  And today, I miss her terribly.  She has been the face and arms of God for me for the last 10 years. The Great Mother incarnated in my own mother’s life.  I looked for God with all my heart, and I found Her in the face of my mother, and I loved Her deeply. And She has taught me to love my Self.

Until relief comes, I don’t even know how to pray or what to hope for, except peace for her.  She deserves so much more than this.  And yet, even in this, Grace comes, through kind nurses and aides, friends, and even the capacity to put our feelings into words on a page.

The Antidote to Anger – Sabbath Rest

So, then a Sabbath rest still remains for the people of God; for those who enter God’s rest also cease from their labors as God did from his. Let us therefore make every effort to enter that rest…(Hebrews 4:9-11)

I wondered for years how the writer of Hebrews could put “effort” and “rest” in the same sentence.  I didn’t know that the Divine Lover would teach me by letting me experience the tension between the two.

In the Fall of 2004, I began experiencing symptoms of fibromyalgia.  I knew at the time that my intensely painful body issues were symptomatic of me “swallowing” unhealthy emotions, particularly anger, for almost all my life.  Anger wasn’t “nice”, especially for women, and super-especially for “Christian” women.  Worry wasn’t good, either, nor sadness, nor fear…so if I wasn’t supposed to express those feelings, what the heck was I supposed to do with them??? What “overly-emotional” women have always been told to do, “Just get over it. Suck it up.  Quit being hysterical.  Let God help you (what the heck did that mean???) Chill.”  So, how did I do that?? But I tried.  I swallowed all those negative emotions and held them inside, until I would explore—making a pretty huge mess all over everything.  Then I would be ashamed, so I’d get even angrier and begin projecting that anger onto someone or something else.  Surely it couldn’t ALL be my fault.

By 2004, my body finally said, “NO MORE!”  The pain was really bad and all the time. Doctors weren’t much help, and I even was depressed.  I would pray and hear, “Love yourself back to health.” So, what did that mean? Eventually I began going for Reiki and massage therapy, and then Mother and I began going to the water class at the gym.  I didn’t KNEW if this would help; I simply didn’t know what else to do.  I just knew all of these things were gentle and felt a little like “love”.

Over the years, I took some yoga classes at the gym and really liked it, but they had a tendency to “power it up” or cancel it.  I missed it, but I learned to enjoy Body Flow (a blend of yoga, Pilates, and tai chi).  I had tried Pilates earlier, and hated it—it hurt, and I couldn’t do it without pain. But in Body Flow, I could ease into it a little better.

Now, to anger and the connection…I’ve known for a very long time that I’ve had anger issues.  For the last 20 years, God’s worked with me and quieted my soul, and the anger episodes had pretty much disappeared.  But I had an episode this last Summer that made me pause.  I got so angry, viscerally angry, angry enough that I felt my blood pressure rise, my heart beat so fast it nearly leapt out of my chest, my whole body stiffened into a very cramped “board”, and I knew I was “in trouble”.  If knew I didn’t learn to deal with the anger in a healthy way, I was going to die.  I told my husband, “Either I go to therapy, or I find some way to hit something.” 

So I signed up for boxing classes at the gym.  At the same time, a friend introduced me to her Pilates class, and she took care of me.  For years I’ve seen myself as a “weak” person, and often said, “I don’t even have a core!”  But when I took my friend’s class, I discovered my core had been strengthened over the last few years.  Then my friend introduced me to spin classes…WOOHOO!  I discovered it’s as good as hitting something!  And no one gets hurt!  All my pent up frustration and angry energy just goes flying off somewhere as I pedal along!  All these new exercise classes showed me something I didn’t know—I have grown strong over the last number of years.  I’m stronger than I’ve ever been, and I didn’t have a clue.

So with all that, my exercise routine totally changed, and I signed up for yoga classes, as well as Pilates classes this last week, and I’m loving it.

Now, what does all that have to do with Sabbath Rest??  What does Sabbath Rest have to do with anger??

My book study group at St. Timothy’s is working through, The Good and Beautiful Life, by JamesBryan Smith.  This week’s chapter was on learning to live without anger, and the spiritual exercise the author chose as anger’s antidote is “Sabbath rest”.

So, I’ve spent a lot of time over the last week reflecting on the connection between anger and rest, and I am amazed at what I’ve learned through body awareness.

And I’ve discovered how my body finds its best “Sabbath rest”. From the experience I’m currently having, I think Sabbath Rest just might be a rest that energizes us, as well as relaxes us.  Sabbath Rest is like a healthy diet…it takes a little getting used to when all we’ve eaten is junk food, but it really pays off by giving us super nourishment in every way.

Centering prayer over the last few years has taught me to focus and pay attention without judging what’s going on in my mind or my body.

Massage therapy and Reiki has taught my body how to relax.  I thought I knew, but I don’t think my body had ever seriously relaxed.

Yoga has taught me about balance, and how to stand in the tension of the opposites.  Savasana pose has taught my body how to rest and focus at the same time—a heightened sense of awareness.

Pilates has strengthened my core.

And Spin is a great way to disperse all the negative energy that my body has a tendency to hold onto all these years.

What a paradox…I am making effort, and I am finding rest.  I am learning what it means to live and move and have my being in God.  I have learned to breathe into the work so that my body can relax as the work gets harder.  I find that I am energized physically, emotionally, and spiritually when my practice for the day is done.  And I leave my “work” with a sense of well-being.

And to top it all off, my body has become my friend.  Yes, I still have fibromyalgia symptoms, but they don’t rule my life, and they don’t stop my body from responding to the goodness all around it.  I have learned to listen to my body and trust what I hear.

For too many years, I saw my body as something that held me back from God.  Women have always been taught not to trust their bodies, so I longed to escape it and “go home” to heaven someday.  But I’ve discovered that Heaven is here inside this time and space of form and matter.  The Kingdom is here.  And I’m learning to physically live in it.

And I’m learning what to do with my anger instead of swallowing it.  I’m learning how to use it to move me to a new place.  I’m learning not to be ashamed of it, but even to listen to it and let it lead me to the Larger Story of transformation.

Another Session of Hogwarts is Ended...

It has been an immense personal privilege for me to serve on the staff of St. Timothy's Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this past week.  We celebrated our week last night by closing with The Great Feast--Eucharist.

And I've been meditating on what this past month of being immersed in the Harry Potter phenomenon has meant to me, personally.

The first Harry Potter book was released stateside in the Fall of 1998.  In January of that year, one of the "prophetic" people in my church at that time prophesied "This will be the year that God reveals 'fear' in people's lives...people who have never recognized fear will learn that they live by fear."

And I yawned!  I was pretty skeptical of that "word", and knew for certain that was NOT what God was doing in my life...

Then came the first Harry Potter book.  I remember the fear-full frenzy well.  For example, I was sitting in the choir loft one Wednesday night at choir practice, when one of the other choir members passed around a petition to keep the Harry Potter books from being in our Lake Jackson library.  And I was torn--should I sign it or not?  I had heard enough of the rumors to be absolutely terrified of what that book was doing to our kids, but--should I sign a petition to censor it?  Fortunately for me, I didn't sign it. At the same time, I was very concerned because my step daughter was a HUGE Harry Potter fan, and had consumed the book in record time.  I didn't know much, but I knew that THIS series of books was meant to take our children straight to the depths of hell, because that's what I had been told.  You see, at that time, I didn't trust my own Inner Knower very well, and I had, as usual, depended on Outer Authority to keep me informed.

So I fretted and wrote in journal about my concern for my step daughter's soul, and I prayed...then one day, my Inner Knower spoke in a very quiet inner voice--"Why don't you read it for yourself? Then YOU decide if it's something to be concerned about."

So, I went to the public library (a very PUBLIC place), and I checked out the book, "put it in my brown paper bag", and took it home.  I never finished reading it, but I confess, I didn't see much difference between it and Tolkein's Lord of the Rings, which had been loudly applauded by the same Christian Circles that had renounced Harry Potter.  So, I quietly "let it go", and decided to trust God with my step daughter.

And even thought I didn't understand it, I made peace with Harry Potter.

At the same time, I discovered that Fear HAD ruled much of my life, and I was one of those people to whom that discovery had been prophesied.  I discovered Fear in my life through Harry Potter.  And I made a pact with God--I chose to no longer let Fear rule my life.  I told God, "When I discover that I am making decision based on Fear, I will purposely "kami kasi" into the other direction.

I am certainly NOT recommending that choice for others, but that was my heart-felt decision at the time.

So, here we are 14 years later--2 cycles of 7's (the number of completion, the number of Christian Sacraments, the number of chakras).  And I've spent the better part of a month immersed in Harry Potter, through my "institutional church," no less!

I've laughed with others this week about Christopher Corbett playing the role of Valdemort and Fr. Andy Parker playing Snapes--both really "good" people of "Light", playing shadow parts and loving it!

It wasn't until I began driving home last night that I realized I ALSO played my fearful shadow part!  I was a "Witch", Professor Prism, all week long!  I've laughed as I've told people, if reincarnation is a possibility, I probably killed witches in a past life. Not only did I play the part, I made my own Wand this week, and I posted a picture of me with my shadowy cat Athena on a very public Facebook!

The women of our last session's Grace Group went to Angleton back in May to meet Janet Davis, a Christian author who addresses women's issues in her books. She commented that a person who has been wounded by religion will be healed by religion, and a person who's suffered abuse in the church will be healed in the church.

That's been such an important thought to me over the last couple of months.

During the Great Feast last night, I knelt at the alter rail dressed as Professor Prism, with my own special hand-made wand in my pocket.  I looked around the rail at all the little witches and wizards who had worn their wizard garb last evening.  I was served the Blood of Christ by Professor McGonagall (better known as Carol Boley) still dressed in her pointed black hat.  And I was served the Body of Christ by the Head Librarian of Hogwarts (better known as Liz Parker)--all inside the 4 walls of my institutional church.

And I knew, that like Harry, I had found my place in the beautiful Body of Christ.  I am now walking this Christian journey linked arm-in-arm with others of like mind and heart.  Like Harry, my own Mother has given her life for me so that I might become who I was meant to be.

And I am one grateful woman.  Jesus Himself has brought me home, both inside and outside myself.

I am quite sure the adventures aren't over, but, like Harry, I have faced one of my biggest fears (being accused of being one of "them"), and I'm not afraid of that anymore.  I am suspicious that there are other fears lurking in the shadows, but I am also just as sure that Jesus will be on one side of me, even as Sophia holds my hand--Mother and Father God BOTH are watching over me, and I am in a community who loves me, Warts and all.

OWL MAIL

Isaiah 30.21 Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, "This is the way; walk in it."


For a while now, I've wanted to paint some of my dreams that have meant so much to me over the years.  I started this one a few weeks back, but I felt compelled to "finish" it this morning.


So, we've been involved in a Harry Potter Vacation Bible School this week at St. Timothy's, and it's really been an awesome experience.  For those of you who've known me for a long time, when Harry Potter first showed up a number of years ago, I was invited to sign a petition to keep it out of our public library.  Fortunately, I didn't, but the books certainly worried me, what with all their witches, warlocks, wizards and magic.  As I fretted over the books, and the fact that my step daughter was voraciously reading them, and I couldn't stop her, I heard this "voice" inside myself saying, "Why don't YOU read it for yourself and decide."  So, I checked it out of the library (in a brown paper bag) and took it home to read.  Couldn't figure it out!  But something even then changed inside of me, and I just knew it was ok--not to worry.


And now, here I am all these years later, participating in VBS Hogwart style.  That's the story of my life! Actually, it really is.  I had this dream back in the 90's, and it's dawned on me this week, that this was my own initiation into the heroine's journey--my own "owl mail", so to speak.  I hope to illustrate how the dream unfolded, but this was my invitation to leave the pack and follow my own path. I take so much more liberty with Scripture now-adays, so I hope you don't mind if I take a very well-known passage and put a twist on it.  


Jesus said, "I am the way..."  That Scripture has been interpreted for most of my life to segregate us into two camps: the Right Way, the Jesus way, or the Wrong Way, any other way.

But what if Jesus meant something else? What if he heard a voice in his own ear saying, "This is the way; walk in it."  And he did.  What if that's what he's saying to us.  What if he said something like, "I've had an invitation to walk my own path with integrity.  I've left the herd mentality behind, and I've learned to walk MY path, the way of the heart.  And that's YOUR invitation as well.  Walk as I've walked.  Follow your heart.  Listen to the Voice inside of you, and walk with integrity the path opened up before you."

I don't dare argue this--I'm not a theologian as has been pointed out to me many times before, but this is MY experience.  I heard a voice.  I dreamed a dream.  I received a letter from the Owl--an invitation to go in a different direction.  And I've followed it as best I know how.  This is what Jesus has taught me.

O, by the way, that path isn't "safe".  I read this poem a couple of months ago, and I love it.  Following our own path, listening to our own heart, and singing our own song isn't safe--but it's honest, and it's real.

The Fire in the Song

The mouth opens and fills the air with its vibrant shape
Until the air and the mouth become one shape
And the first word 
your own word 
Spoken from that fire
Surprises burns
Grieves you now because you made that pact
With the dark presence in your life 
He said, “If you only stop singing 
I’ll make you safe”
And he repeated the line, 
“I’ll make you safe”.
Knowing you would hear it as the comforting sound 
Of a door closed on the fear at last 

But his darkness slipped under your tongue and became the dim cave 
Where you sheltered and grew in that small place
Too frightened to remember the songs of the world
Its impossible notes
And the sweet joy that flew out the door 
Of your wild mouth as you spoke

~ David Whyte ~

PS There Is No Map

A few of us in The Well have been pondering "mapping" the journey from head to heart.  I started playing with the images in the second photo a couple of weeks ago, and it's just kind of morphed.  It took me a while to realize I wanted to do a black and white head, since that's "where I came from".  I've really had so much fun working on these, the this morning, would you believe about 3:30, I woke up wanting to finish it, and write this poem:

PS There Are No Maps

Black or white,
true or false?
Just the facts m'am,
that's all you need.

From head to heart?
What does that matter?
Neat little boxes
hold all your answers.

Ask me no questions
I'll tell you all lies.
Don't open the door;
you'll let the light in.

Eve ate the apple.
The rabbit hole swallowed Alice.
The cyclone swept Dorothy away.
What a trip!

What matters is that you're turned
upside down,
and walk on your hands
with your feet in the air.

Whether you're cast from Paradise
or wind up in Oz,
just go.
The adventure begins.

WHY I BELIEVE IN THE WORK OF 

THE WELL

I made this little piece last month—it was an art journal prompt (All Torn Up) for our 3^rd Act group, and there’s a fun little story behind it, but it’s also the story of the Soul and how she’s formed and cared for.

In my reading this morning, Marion Woodman writes a whole chapter on how we have lived most of our lives disconnected from our bodies.  I know that to be true—I was diagnosed several years ago with fybromalgia, and I currently live with its every day.  I know it’s telling me that the pain locked in my body is emotional pain, old “stuff” that hasn’t been healed yet.  Woodman discusses how important it is, especially for women, to get back into our bodies, to learn to listen to them, and to help them heal from the inside out. 

Woodman writes: :In other words, life has not been lived in the body; the soul has not taken up residence. The body has become a machine, running on willpower, and the soul, the young feminine, has been left to stave in the darkness…We can choose to rescue the little girl from the manure pile. We can give our soul child time to play; time to imagine, dream, perceive; time to put those images into painting, writing, music, dance [journaling, SoulCollage®, active imagination writing and painting].  This is the food that will nourish her.  In our creating, we are created.”

THIS is the purpose of The Well.  We don’t meet there to come out with beautiful art work to hang on a wall; we meet there for self discovery, to aid our souls on the journey, and to help nourish our little child inside along the way.

It IS important work.  I have to remind myself of that because of the times that I sit in The Well by myself.  I have to remember it’s not MY Well, it’s The Well that Christ invites us to.  It can be a place where each one of us is nourished by our own Living Water.

It’s a new ministry.  It flounders.  I’m not sure how to proceed.  You’re not sure it’s worth your time.  None of us are sure what we’re doing.  All I know is that space is opened.  And it’s waiting for you to come and drink.  And if you come, I can at least promise that we’ll keep seeking and knocking until we find the water.  It may take us a while, but we’ll find it.

And if you still don’t come, promise yourself that you’ll find a way to nourish your soul in your own space: write, pray, draw, read, cut out paper dolls, play, and set your little child free to just be, with no Great Expectations.

SoulCollage® Meets Grace Group at The Well

I went to The Well yesterday, knowing something delicious was going to happen because I saw a rainbow on the way there.

It was just The Beloved and me yesterday, and a space of quiet reflection as I made SoulCollage® cards celebrating some special women in my life.

I give all credit to Sondra Griner for taking this wonderful photo of Liz Parker. Liz is one of the priests at St. Timothy's, and she's also one of our leaders in Grace Group. I love this photo of Liz. I remember thinking the first time I saw it, "I bet she's listening to one of the kids chatter!"



It is such a gift to me to see Liz on the alter every Sunday--she and Andy rotate celebrating the Eucharist and preaching the Gospel, so I get to see her take every position possible, up there, in front of me every Sunday. Seeing her there completes my vision of God, neither male nor female, both male and female, more than either male or female.

As I worked yesterday, this picture of the little girl absolutely jumped out to me. A friend of mine would call her a "woman-in-training", and the tug was so strong, that I decided to make a card with her, too.



As I worked, I just "felt" that Liz was communicating with this little girl, who somehow lived inside of me. It was as if I could hear Mother God saying, "Yes, you can be anything you want to be!"

Then, last night at Grace Group, someone asked me "How do you see God waiting on you?" Now, most of the time, I envision God as "Energy" swirling in around and through, so how do you picture that??? Then all of a sudden, this picture came to me--it's as if Mother God gave me tools for life; then said, "Go, girl, make something and I'll watch!"



My primary dream as a very small girl was to "be a preacher" like my daddy, but that dream was extremely short lived because I was "a girl, and girls can't be preachers". So I lived for a long time trying to figure out what I could be that would please "the Father".

This morning as I put this all together, I can feel the nurturing love of Mother God saying, "YES!!!" Have you ever noticed how mother's tend to "give permission", and daddy's make the rules? At least that's the way it was in my house.

And over the last number of years, I have found God to be much more of a Permission Giver than a "nay-sayer". I can't remember the last time God told me "No."

Liz has a nurturing capacity as large as that sun behind her head. And she has nurtured the wounded child inside of me, as has every woman in Grace Group. I am very grateful.

Thank you Liz Parker. I love you!

Celebrating Internat'l Women's Day - Liberating Eve

I've been doing SoulCollage® again!

It’s not that I’m angry with my dad. I’m not. I’m not mad at him, nor am I mad at men in general. But I am angry with the culture that formed my dad and me, the culture that stereotyped and shaped both of us into what we were “supposed” to be: “Men are to be big, strong and important, leaders, of course; and women are to be small, weak, insignificant, “helpers”, naturally. Not only were Daddy and I both raised in that mileau, but when Daddy chose a career, he chose one that “tricked” my mother into becoming no larger than a fly—a fly on a wall, always observing, but never invited in as equal. O, equality was preached all right: "Eve was created from the rib of Adam, not from his head to be lorded over, but to walk side-by-side", but that sermon was always quickly followed by “Wives, be submissive to your husband in all ways.” This damn patriarchal culture made both my mother and me so small and so “less than”.



But, to further complicate the story, I am a “Father’s Daughter”, Athena, birthed from the crown of her Father’s head, birthed fully grown and fully armored, sword drawn and yelling her war cry! The “Athena’s” of our world have been taught to promote, defend and protect this culture, and I faithfully did for over 50 years. Then one day, my body failed, and my eyes opened. The armor became way too heavy. Like the Tin Man, it had rusted so that I couldn’t even find my heart anymore, and I realized I didn’t have a clue how to rest and trust myself and my intuition, let alone God.

It’s amazing how hard is for me to rest and trust. That’s another “gift” of the Patriarchal culture. We are taught: be ever on guard, every watchful, lest the Enemy lie to you and trick you into rebelling. God help the woman who becomes like “them”, one of those “Feminists”, who, are like Eve, are easily deceived and demand equality with God.

Well, I AM Eve’s daughter: naked, unashamed, listening to the snake (an ancient symbol of women’s intuition). Well, at least that’s who I want to be, except I find I can’t get rid of all this damned armor. My armor is made up of words, and these words have taken their toll on my body. I’m always tired, no matter how much I rest. I, we, women, we’ve lost so much. Our battles seem endless, even today, in 2012, there are men who would still have us barefoot and pregnant, cooking their dinners, raising their children, promoting their careers, and serving their “Lord”. Here it is, 2012, 2000 years after Jesus the Liberator came to help set us free, and men are still trying to take back our basic right, our reproductive rights, the most intimate choice we can make.




Damn it, I’m ready to liberate Eve—I took a bite of that apple in 2004, and it tasted very good. I want this armor off, and I have the keys—it time, maybe I will truly be like Eve. NAKED AND UNASHAMED, awake, continuing to make the choice to live the bigger life that I am supposed to live. I am FREE on the inside, now to help set my body free to relax and enjoy!

An Illicit Affair

Got your attention this Valentine's Day, didn't I? Actually, things like the day of the month typically sneak up on me when I'm working on art images, like this mandala. I didn't think about it being Valentine's Day until it was time to date my work.

I began working on this mandala last Saturday at The Well. I enjoy being surprised by art work, and it seems mandalas are really good at bringing surprise. I think most of us who were there Saturday came with something in mind to work toward, but as is typical with mandalas, we were surprised. Who knew my neat little design around the edges would turn into carrots? Believe me, that was NOT my intention. But apparently it was Spirit's.

And I "intended" to put a heart at the center, but this morning, that just didn't work. When we shared our mandalas Saturday, one of the ladies wondered if the spirals I drew were symbolic of water? Usually, they've represented "journey" for me, and this morning as I continued with another spiral in water at the center of this mandala, it dawned on me that water is a Jungian symbol of "the unconscious". That's when it came to me that the key to exploring my issues with food, my illicit love affair, would be found as I continued exploring the unconscious.

I eat impulsively--for comfort, to cover boredom, to disguise some other hunger in my soul, and as one would expect, that unconscious eating leaves me still unsatisfied.

One of the things working with images does for me, whether it be through mandalas, SoulCollage, or active imagination work, is take me on a journey into the unconscious. Answers are there. Keys can be found there. Metaphors to life issues turn up, and healing is found there.

So, what do I "do" with this information? Receive it, ponder it, and let it "be" in me. This process takes more time than a crash diet or liposuction. It takes more time that most of us want to spend, but it's the only way I've found to lasting salvation. The process of doing "the work", whether it be through visual art, journaling, writing poetry, sharing with my Grace Group, or just comtemplating the world around me heals. And that's what we're here for. That's what salvation is about, being made whole.

A Learning Week

One of those weeks--a learning week, and time spent in the studio processing feelings and new information. Ever had a time you flat wanted to disappear? Apparently one of my favorite poets has:

The Art of Disappearing

When they say Don’t I know you?
say no.

When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.

If they say should we get together,
say why?

It’s not that you don’t love them anymore.
You’re trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees.
The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.

When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven’t seen in ten years appears at the door,
don’t start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.

Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.

“The Art of Disappearing” from Words Under the Words: Selected Poems by Naomi Shihab Nye, copy right 1995.

A friend introduced me to that poem a few months ago, and I love it.

A few days back, it was Super Bowl Sunday. I had been at a Grace Group conference the day before, and was tired from the trip, and too many things were coming at me at one time, and I wanted to disappear. Instead, I ate a huge chunk of lemon pie--NOT the Weight Watchers' variety. And I was "bumbed" for a couple of days.

So, I began to journal the poem and how I felt and what I'd really like to do--just pull a sheet up all around me and quietly fade away. (Yes, I realize I mispelled a word, but I really like the hisssssing sound--it fits).

Tuesday I went to my monthly Reiki therapy, and I talked about the feelings with my therapist. She reminded me that it's all "energy", and she told me something that really impacted me. She said, "Stuck energy, if it's stuck long enough constellates, and constellated energy becomes 'a beast'. It's not you. It's not your friends. It's not the lemon pie. It's the beast you're dealing with, constellated energy that has a life/mind of its own." Perhaps that what "evil" is??

Anyway, I've learned from experience that if I image something and name it, I have a better chance of actually dealing with it realistically, rather than feeding it lemon pie, so on the way home I had a little conversation with the beast, and I asked him his name. FARKLE.

I knew I had heard the word before, so I went home and googled it and found out some interesting things about Farkle. 1) IT'S A GAME, and the game goes by several names; "cosmic wipeout", "squelch", "greed", and "zonk" to name a few. That in itself gave me enough information, but that's not all, 2) the word Farkle is a combination of two words: sparkle and function. So, when this beast attacks us, our sparkle begins to simply try to function--yes, by eating lemon pie, or some other disfunctional behavior, and 3) Farkle is one of Shrek's triplet sons, the one with little ogre feet.

A few weeks ago, the same friend who introduced me to The Art of Disappearing, sent me a quote that fits this picture to a T:

"There is A DEEP HOLE where the lies go. Not just downright falsehoods, but misaligned intentions, omissions of truth, innuendos, and the like. And don't go nosying up for a look-see, hear? Because there's a hand that will come up, quick as THAT! and graby your ankle or your coattail, see? And it won't let go, you'll be captive. And it won't let go, oh no, no, no."




So that's what happens. Farkle grabs my ankle, and pulls me into his hole, squashes me into the gloom box, and slams the lid shut tight. I think I smell Farkle dung, too. Sometimes I catch the scent even before I get snatched, but I didn't know what it was. Maybe the next time I get a whiff of Farkle dung, I will watch for the hole, treading carefully, lest the HAND grabs me again.

Maybe not.

But at least now that I have a picture, and I've pondered Farkle's tricks in my life--at least now, perhaps I'm more aware and with time, maybe I won't get Farkled quite so often.

The Chalice Well

On most Thursday evenings now-adays, you'll find me at Grace Group, or maybe The Well. For the next few weeks, it's Grace Group. Grace Group at St. Timothy's is affiliated with Open Hearts Ministry; some groups are called Journey Groups, but at St. Tim's, it's Grace Group. I appreciate the name difference. We all have journeys to make in our lives, but to survive them and grow in them, we must encounter "grace" along the way. Grace to me is "total acceptance by the Other", whether it be God, or the women who sit across from me on Thursday evenings.

Those Thursday night meetings usually open doors that I'm invited to walk through during the next week. Such was my experience this past Thursday. We were invited to write letters, and I was invited to ponder my response to someone else's story. That was my "work" yesterday morning. Love woke me at 3:45, with an invitation to write, ponder, and work out my feelings through the image-making process we call "art".

As I wrote my letter and pondered my response the night before, as often happens, tears flowed; tears of shame, embarrassment, anger, hurt--and even the question, "where was God in all this". After a couple of hours of writing in my journal, the thought came to me, "Now, go work a mandala."

And this was the result. A friend recently sent me a photo of a "chalice well necklace," and I read on-line about the Chalice Well in England. I already have personal symbols of chalices and wells, and I knew Spirit was inviting me to draw my own Chalice Well mandala. And as I worked this one, remembering one stormy day in 1963, I felt as if Love spoke to me--"I was there in your shame and in your embarrassment. I was there in your fears of being abandoned, not enough, and unworthiness. I saw what happened to you, and My tears fell like the rain that fell that day, as I waited with you in the storm. I was there for you then, and I am still here for you now."

Using the Bling Bling Paper Towel

My 3rd Act Circle women are making our own art journals to work in this time around, and I think I bit off a little more than I can chew. I decided to make a hard cover photo album, and its a little more complicated that I thought it would be. But that's the way I learn.

Remember all that beautiful dyed and stamped paper towel? That's what I'm using to make the cover. So, I've got my hard cover cut from the back of an old drawing tablet, and I use mat medium to glue the paper towel to the cover, rolling it down tight with a brayer. Don't worry about wrinkles--we know wrinkles add character.

Scissors to trip the paper after it's glued down on the front side, gel medium, brush to spread the medium, and brayer to smooth and flatten...but to really flatten after gluing the paper all down, put the cover between two pieces of wax paper under a big book to dry.




See, there really is a good reason to keep big books around.

Now, all I have to do is drill holes, fill with watercolor paper and fasten together. Stay tuned!

Vision Board for 2012

On Saturday, January 14, a few of us met and The Well to make vision boards for this year. I finished mine this morning, and now I have my New Year's resolution: Assimilate, Create, Relate, Loose Weight.



There were some surprises on my board, one of which was the quote at the center, "the sum of her parts". One of the things art has given to me are the many "parts" of myself that have been hidden, some for as long as nearly 60 years.



I knew one of my "words" for this year was "assimilate". When you add a tea bag to boiling water and allow it to seep, you get tea. That's my picture of "assimilate"...it's time for me to "seep". It's also like "savasana" at the end of a yoga workout--the resting time when your body assimilates the work done into it's DNA so that it can change. The work becomes a part of you.


And always I must create--spending time with the Creator and the Muse do replenish my energy and care for my soul. It's life-giving work for me.

And it's time to bless and hopefully improve my relationships. I've been given so very much--so many friendships of all different kinds. Different communities that bless my different parts: my spirit, soul, heart, and body. Friendships that bless the grown up in me, and friendships that bless the kid in me. I am so grateful.


And "always we begin again". I have "battled" my weight for years, but this year feels different. I'm a human being. It's my "job" to begin again. So, here we go.

I hope you have a vision of what you and Spirit can do this year together. Share it.

Sow's Ear?? or Silk Purse?!?

So far on my "blinging paper towel" experiment! I LOVE it! The papers are almost translucent and, at this point in the stamping process, look like Japanese silk...ME? I think their gorgeous! Who knew?

Paper Towel Art???

Well, am I onto something? or will it be "a mess"? Stay tuned!

The Red Door

Circle Way Poets met for the first time in 2012 yesterday. I so enjoy learning in that small space. If you want to be an artist, surround yourself with other artists and make images. If you want to be a writer and write poetry, surround yourself with other writers and poets and write poetry. It's the best way to learn--that and keeping a "beginner's mind". So, this is my first poem of 2012, and it's the one I presented to the circle of poets yesterday for critique. Thank you all for your guidance and help. I think I have a better piece.


THE RED DOOR

In the cacophonous central hall of this temple,
an endless maze of voices shout curses,
demand time and energy,
moan, and
weep past tragedies.

But there is also a red door
through which one may descend
into another time and space.

Circling round and round
Deeper,
then deeper still

into the caverns of
this holy place

Time slows

voices fade

until one passes an opening
into perpetual silence

only one Voice
in this deep space

…listen.



During the critique session, Andy asked, "Why a red door?" I was caught off guard, and hadn't really thought "why red", but as I worked on the mandala this morning, I thought about my love of red.

Simply said, I love red. Red stops me in my tracks and says, "Pay attention." In a noisy, busy place, I won't easily miss a red door. Red is my "power" color, not so much about having Power Over someone else, but power to become who I was meant to be. Most of my life has been spent trying to live up to someone else's expectations of what/who I was supposed to be. Something happened on the inside nearly 10 years ago when I simply died my hair red. All of a sudden, I was "free" to be who I wanted to be, and free to become what I wanted to be. Perhaps that's what Love's Red Door does for me. God's agape love sets me (and you) free to be and to become.

So welcome to The Red Door. All one has to do is grab the golden doorknob and enter.