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.