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.

Relating to God

Last evening a group of my spiritual soul sisters and I got together for dinner, a concert, and a pajama party. What a delight--but at 60, my body doesn't quite last as long as it used to. By the time the question of the evening was posed, "So, how are you relating to God today?", it was 5 glasses of wine, and far too many hours too late for me to respond.

But on the solitary drive home this morning, I had time to ponder my relationship to God. How am I relating to God today? Much the same as I have been over the last 10-12 years. My perception of God has changed, but God has not changed. I think that's finally sunk deep into my soul.

I lost God about 6 years ago, and I panicked. But over the last year or so, I've found my way back home. The God I know today is the same God I've always known. The only thing that's really changed is my "picture", the way I see God. God is no longer a "being" as I am a being; instead, God is Being, the Ground of all being, the Source of all being. God does not give life; God is Life.

And I still relate as I've done in the past, by staying awake, by paying attention, by taking note, by listening closely. I haven't prayed much with words for many years, but I do practice stillness. When I sit quietly in centering prayer or meditation, all my parts come together, and I can hear--softly in the temple of my soul, the voice of God. When synchronistic acts line up and the eyes of my understanding gets it, God shouts, and I hear. My worship method has changed from singing songs, to simply noticing how my heart lifts, like a large flock of birds lifting simultaneously from the pasture and soaring in beautiful pattern through the bright blue sky. My heart soars with them, in unison, as God and I delight together in the beauty of Creation.

Is God energy? Yes, no, maybe--God is infinite. No one word can define. Is God me? Is God you? Yes, no, maybe--God might be me, God might be you, but God definitely is more. God exists without me, but I don't exist without God. One thing I know--God isn't "he", nor "she"--dispite our distaste of the thought, I rather believe God to be "IT", in me, outside of me, around me, through me, part of me, and apart from me. To know God is to know my true Self. To know my true Self is to know God.

Should I worship this "Energy"--how can I not? Worship is a response of the heart to something more--I don't plan it, nor do I "do" it, but instead, it does me. I was created to worship--remember those vast flocks of birds lifting up into the sky and flying in pattern? How can I keep my heart from following?

To me, worship isn't a song of notes and words, but a gesture of recognition that Something More has caught my heart and given me wings.

I am more sure today than ever before that God is. We are in partnership, God and I. I was born to "see" God, to "know" God, to worship God. And I was born, like those birds, to fly. Even though gravity pulls my earth suit downward, my spirit flies because God is, and we relate.

Tree Huggers

This post is dedicated to my nephew, Brandon. Brandon, I wrote this little poem several years ago when I was at a Women Who Run With the Wolves retreat at the Cenacle in Houston. Hope you enjoy! :)

Have You Hugged A Tree Today
Dedicated to Laura Lerod, a "real tree hugger"
part of my "pack", May 21, 2006
The face of Mother True in my dream
Thank you for your part in my evolving.

Have you hugged a tree today?
I have.

Walking the perimeter of the Cenacle,
I chose a path not made of asphalt or cement.
Instead I chose a path into the woods--
albeit a path well marked.
Still, it had the feeling of adventure and journey.

I took the spot of the farthest chair as my place of solitude
to listen and learn from She who was around me,
then I sat with Mother Earth and heard,
"Hug a tree."

How foolish and tiny it seemed--
yet I have done foolish and tiny before
and received great joy--so
I hugged a tree.

Mother Pine stood straight and tall,
firmly rooted, yet stretching into the sky
so high I could not see her top.
Timidly I touched her, then put my arms half-way 'round.

Foolishly, feeling silly, timidly--
then with sublime audacity,
I embraced her fully.

She did not hug me back,
but instead received all I had given her with a grateful heart.
She received me and let me practice hugging her--
And somehow I felt restored.

I stood there,
at the Cenacle,
in the woods,
at the farthest chair,
hugging Mother Pine,
my skin touching hers...
I smelled her fragrance
as she sniffed mine.

We became acquainted, she and I,
standing there in the woods that day--
me foolishly hugging her,
she lavishly receiving me.

I too know what it is to hug a tree--
and why.

Ripple...

My middle son and I were discussing my newest painting, and he gave me these words to the Grateful Dead's Ripple:

There is a road, no simple highway,
Between the dawn and the dark of night,
And if you go no one may follow,
That path is for your steps alone.

Ripple in still water,
When there is no pebble tossed,
Nor wind to blow.

I can only use my key to get into the Garden, and I can only walk the road laid out before me. Someone else's key won't work, and someone else's road won't lead me to the Center. Thanks Barton. I love the words to the song.

A New Start

I've been thinking about the feminine face of God, and how she seems to haunt me, no matter how I try to "avoid" her. She appears everywhere in my home--on my mantle and especially in my paintings. My mandalas are her gifts to me--it's as if I paint them from her womb. And my other paintings hold her face for me as well.

This is my newest painting--yet unfinished. It's called, She Holds the Key. I have a skeleton key that I'm going to place in the palm of her hand. The idea was sparked by a dream I had many years ago. I dreamed of a garden--lush and beautiful--hidden behind a wrought iron gate. A friend of mine was inside the garden, and I could tell she was contented and happy to be there, but I couldn't find my way in. I was talking to her through the fence. She told me that I had to find my own way into the garden--that there was a gate just for me, and I had to find the key that opened my gate.

Recently, I've been reminded through some of my reading that She may hold the key for me.

It seems strange for me to say that--I've run hard after God, and loved Jesus exceedingly. So this turn in my journey feels "unsafe" in so many ways--yet it has drawn me for nearly five years.

I remember many years ago walking into the chapel at Dickinson Retreat Center and sitting in the back to pray--and looking up to find that I was sitting at the feet of Mary. I felt so safe--that was long before my journey to the Catholic Church.

Even before that, my love was the Bride and the Bridegroom and the partnership with God that spiritual marriage meant.

And I remember the day that Jesus invited Her into my "home" (my heart). I was praying, saying to Jesus, "You are welcome to move into this 'house', rearrange the furniture, make it your place to just 'be'." And I "saw" in my mind's eye Jesus grin and put at picture of Mary the Mother on my mantle.

And it seems She's been there every since--as maiden, mother and crone.

I've found her face in Scripture: the maiden in the face of Solomon's maiden and the face of Mary of Bethany; the mother in the face of Mary, Jesus' mother; and the crone in the face of Mary Magdalene, as she buried the only Jesus she knew, waiting for "something new" to come.

In my forties, I found Jesus' face. In my fifties, I found my own. And now as I enter my sixties, it seems I have an invitation to more fully explore hers.

Blessed be.