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.

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."

Ceridwen, the Archetype

I love the old goddess myths and stories, especially the myths of the crone godesses. In Christian spirituality, she's the Black Madonna. In Celtic spirituality, she's Ceridwen.

I've been drawn to the Black Madonna for years, ever since I was introduced to her by Sue Monk Kidd, in her book Dance of the Dissident Daughter (gosh, has it really been 10 years???). I see her in the Christian Scriptures often; Shekinah, Sophia, and the maiden in The Song of Solomon in the Hebrew Scripture, as well as represented by Mary Magdalene in the New Testament. The Song's maiden and I have been intimately acquainted for nearly 20 years, and Mary Magdalene and I have walked together now for at least the last eight or so years.

Each of these women have an archetypal energy--and archetypal energies seek us out. We don't go looking for them, but they seek us and guide us and have a great affect on our lives.

And it seems that Ceridwen, pronounced Ker-RID-Wen, the Celtic Lady of the Lake is also a prominent archetypal energy in my life.

I discovered a wall sculpture of her a couple of years back and bought it simply because I was drawn to it. She was black and strong, her strong arms and legs encircling a great cauldron, and she was stirring the pot. Something inside of me moved when I first saw her, and I've learned to pay attention to those feelings inside.

I didn't know much about her then, and I still don't know much about her, except that her name and her story showed up on the Eve of Winter's Solstice this year--and that too caught my attention. Here's a little info I found on the internet:

* she, too, is a cauldron, which symbolizes wisdom, transformation, new birth, and creative inspiration.

* she is wise, powerful, resourceful, and she's a crone, associated with the moon, science, prophecy and poetry.

* she's past child-bearing years (a crone).

* it seems her one great weakness is interfering in her children's lives??? (o yeah???, me?, never!).

* and it seems she is the mother of Bards, Singers, Healers and Poets, in fact, one of the most honored Bards of the Middle Ages.

Since she showed up this year on the Eve of Winter's Solstice, I decided to honor her energy in my life and paint her.

It's sad that crone have been labeled "witches" and so dishonored. It's given all of us older women no place to go as we watch our lives be transformed. I'm grateful to Jung, Kidd, Bolen, Bourgeault, and so many others along the way who have taught me to welcome the crone energy, especially with it's shadow side. Their stories have taught me not to be afraid of darkness, to not be afraid of the inner journey (the journey into the abyss or the underworld), and to rest in the knowing that life changes, and to welcome those changes.

So, here's to Ceridwen, another "dark mother", who has helped me on my journey.

Blessed be.

October's Journal Pages

You know, sometimes we get too busy or too distracted to plug into our creative side on a regular basis, so it really helps to have an incentive. Our 3rd Act crones are working on collabrative journals over the course of a year, so each month I have an extra "push" available. This month, I was given 4 white pages to be creative on--it's usually only two, so this was really cool. And I had so much fun.

What's really neat about these journals is there's no plan when we begin. All of us have talked about how special it is that the Muse shows up and something wonderful happens with each journal. This month, it seems Spirit was speaking: "Wake up, and stay awake!" It's good to be reminded.

SABBATICAL, SEVEN YEARS, THE GREAT MOTHER (MY OWN), AND ME

I sat with Jim last night and discussed me taking a “sabbatical” the last two weeks of the year. He “high-5’d” it. Isn’t that the coolest?

Sabbatical – bringing a period of rest to the end of a cycle.

Seven, one of THE prime numbers in every tradition. In my own tradition, the Hebrews considered the number 7 to be the most sacred, the sum total of the most perfect world number (4) and the most perfect spiritual number (3). The number 7 marked “completion”.

My mother moved down here 7 years ago in May. Little did we know how HUGE her move down here was, especially for the 2 of us. Moving Mother here, into my space, has been a welcoming of the Feminine.

Father God (my Daddy) was “out there”, different from me, beyond me, always a “mystery” that in my femaleness I would never be able to measure up to. There is no doubt in my mind that my Daddy loved me, absolutely, but that love was from a distance, the way Father God did—from out there, above and beyond me, a Mystery I would never be able to penetrate, a God I could never pretend to be like. Father of my Spirit.

Mother, on the other hand…my Mother.

Mother God, (my Mother) is God IN me, God in my shape, in my form, speaking with my voice, God revealing my Self to me, God loving me from INSIDE of me. She is Mother of my Soul.

When we asked Mother to come live here with us, little did I comprehend that I would be inviting the Feminine, yes, the Goddess, the Mother of my soul into my psyche. As a new Catholic, I had just met Mary, and I knew I loved her—immensely. And Christmas, 2003, was huge for me. I received what I believe to have been a supernatural gift, the gift of mandalas, for nearly 3 months, pictures and words from deep inside of me, marking me and preparing me for what I know now to be a huge paradigm shift, and I knew even then that those mandalas were a gift to me, not from the Father, but from the Mother.

All that happened 7 years ago, and the changes in our lives have been cataclysmic—perhaps not so much from the outside, although even those are big, but on the inside, as well.

When Mother moved down here, I wanted to be open and honest with this sheltered woman. So I told her the biggest and baddest things about me and my family that I could come up with. “Mother, Jim and I occasionally drink, and I find myself saying bad words pretty often, and Robin’s belly button is pierced.” That was it. I had now come clean.

Good heavens—it’s almost comical now.

In the past seven years, Mother and I have been introduced to all kinds of new things, new words, new thoughts; i.e., alternative life styles, bi-sexuality, polyamory, Burning Man, the Wisdom of Hoboses…my family itself, so beautifully intact in 2003, has crumbled. Two of my sons have gone through psyche shattering divorces. Another son has decided that we’re too much to deal with, so he stays away. I’ve lost two of the very best friends I ever had in my two daughters-in-law. I’ve watched my grandchildren lose their innocence. I’ve seen alcoholism rare its ugly head in the lives of friends and family. Divorce has once again not only ripped my family apart, but it's ripped apart the families of very dear friends. And even now, I'm reminded again how short life can be, and how everything can change in a moment.

That’s outside. Inside? I lost God for two years. I couldn’t figure out what to do with Jesus. I lost my faith. My body froze in fybromalgic pain in November, 2004, and it’s still frozen. I live with it all the time. And, god forbid, I’m on anti-depression medication, they tell me for the pain, but I also know it’s also for the depression.

What has my mother done during all this? She’s done what God does—she’s loved. She’s watched. She’s been there. She’s seen it all and heard it all, and she loves us still. She watched especially close as my image of God was shattered. Father, Son, and Bridegroom no longer work as well as Mother, Daughter, or better yet, Ground of All, Source of Everything, River Beneath the River, etc. God is not so much “out there” speaking from outside, as IN me, speaking to me in my own voice. And from my own creative experiences (also in the last 7 years), God didn’t so much just speak creation into being as birth Creation. Neither did God “finish” in 6 days; She’s still giving birth to an ever-expanding Universe all around us.

Mother (God? Or Millie?) has walked me through the Great Shift in my soul—from evangelical Christian to catholic (universal) Christian. She has watched as my religion, politics and heart has changed. She’s watched as what was very neatly boxed and defined broke into billions pieces—and like Leonard Cohen sings, “That’s how the light gets in.” How has Mother responded? With blessing. Yes, blessing. Mother Millie hasn’t exactly understood (nor have I) or embraced (nor have I) all the changes, but she’s blessed it all. Mother God on the other hand?

Well, that’s what the Feminine does. She takes your hand and circles you round and round, down and down, until you come into the Abyss of your own soul. And she sits with you in the depths of hell until you die—and She stays with you until time for your resurrection.

Then, She says, as a Good Mother does, “Rest Sheila. It’s time to rest your soul and your body. Take a Sabbatical.”

So I will—not so much a “silent retreat” as I first thought, even though The Great Silence sounds delicious and I expect to enter it often, but a Sabbatical, a time of rest after a cycle of energy being spent. I highly recommend it. And I’ll let you know how it goes. I suspect to come home after the first of the year refreshed, healed in mind and spirit (maybe even in body), and ready to tackle the next 7 years of growth.

Selah!

BTW, I'm still a Christian. I still love God the Father, I adore Jesus, both God and man, and I believe in resurrection. It's just all bigger and far more glorious that I first imagined.

The Eye of God

I created this mandala Thursday morning, then received a wonderful "new" book in the mail Thursday afternoon...SYNCHRONICITY!

I did a mandal "demo" for the Brazosport Art League a couple of weeks back. After the demo, a fellow artist recommended that I buy a copy of A Beginners Guide to Constructing the Universe, which, of course, I promptly ordered.

I got the book Thursday afternoon, and began reading Thursday evening, AFTER I created "The Eye of God" Thursday morning. And it's only in reviewing my notes this morning for my mandala workshop, that I realize the synchronicity..."God-talk".

I have hated using a compass since my geometry days in high school, but I've fallen "in love" with the compass after only a few pages of this book. The compass was called "the eye of God" by the ancients, and it was symbolic of the creation of the universe (the circle). The two legs of the compass symbolized the opening of God's eye to allow the light to flow out into the darkness. The still "point" of the compass symbolized the "still point/center" of the universe, or the Self. The compass itself standing straight up on it's legs, represented the axis of the world, the high mountain of God, the Holy Center...

When I looked at this drawing this morning, I saw all that there. What I love about "truth" is that it is experienced in the cells of our bodies. You can teach me rote facts, but truth must be revealed. All that to say: I can't wait for our day at the Center (I think that, too, must be prophetic!).

I love circles! :)

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.

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.

Joy Comes In The Morning

I started working on this mandala a couple of weeks ago, then put it aside. I found it and began working on it again this week. I thought it significant that I finish it here on the last day of 2009.

This has been a particularly hard year for some people I know. Yet, it seems to be ending on an "up" for some of us. Myself, I've had a long season of "night" for a while now, especially spiritually, but the night seems to have given way to the dawn, and my way seems clearer again. And for others who I love, the season of struggle seems to have subsided, and there seems to be a "newness" in the air.

There is a beautiful verse in Psalm 30 that tells us weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. Perhaps the season of weeping has passed for now. And joy is just peeking over the horizon, with the dawn.

There's another verse that I particularly love: Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. Isaiah 43:18-19

So, with this mandala, my last painting of 2009, I believe in the new thing. I believe joy is coming for those who have been weeping. I believe a way is being made. All things are being made new, fresh, green, alive.

I'm ready--I'm ready for myself, and I'm ready for my loved ones. And I'm ready for you, too. 2010 will be here in just a few hours. This will be our joy year. I feel it.

Happy New Year!

Intuition - The Zygogenesis of Partnership

I bless the Lord who gives me counsel in the night;

also my heart instructs me.

Psalm 16.7

Animated by something other than reason, the seed planted
becomes fully alive in the heavy soil of Night.
Consciousness breaks like Day through what appears as
Darkness and Death, fully and completely
energizing the seed, bringing same to
fruition. What has caused this apparently dead kernel to
germinate, exploding root Downward into
heavy, heaving earth?
Intoxicated with an undeniable
joy, this suddenly alive
kernel, once dead, reaches for new Life.
Limited only by its own deeply-held pattern of truth held in the
matrix of Time and Eternity, this kernel
nudges with life, also Upward, as if driven by some
olfactory sense toward the Light, breaking ground into a
profusion of form: a flower, a tree, an answer
quickly coming with no explanation. The mind and the soul finally at
rest, the heart
stilled.
Time has become a haven, the
ulterior motive of the All: to teach the patient act of seeming
vanity, simply to
wait,
xeno,
yielding only to the familiar but unseen Source of it all, the true
zygogenesis of Partnership.