If you have read some of the previous posts here you will have gleaned the impression that I love autumn! This most delicious season of colour, of texture, of scent and cool mornings with Indian summer afternoons. Yesterday was yet another glorious autumn gift, added to the fact it was a day free from activity and so my friend, visiting from New Zealand, and I were able to have a long walk by the sea and then pull out two folding chairs to be still. The inhaling and exhaling of the sea, playful seals slapping at the water with their tails, gulls, herons, and crows wandering in their habitat here at the edge of the sea.
Seasons come and go within us and around us don't they. We cannot stop them though we may try to block them and find we have remained stuck somewhere in a season that no longer gives life. I have been pondering how the second half of our lives has to count. At least I want the second half of my life to count in the Kingdom purpose. I want to live it wildly and passionately, with the blend of voice and community and the contemplative, infused with the scent of freedom.
So when I read the following quote by Carl Jung "Stages of Life", it grabbed my attention:Wholly unprepared, they embark upon the second half of life. Or are there perhaps colleges for forty-year-olds which prepare them for their coming life and its demands as the ordinary colleges introduce our young people to a knowledge of the world and of life? No, there are none. Thoroughly unprepared we take the step into the afternoon of life; worse still, we take this step with the false presupposition that our truths and ideas will serve as hitherto. But we cannot live the afternoon of life according to the programme of life's morning - for what was great in the morning will be little at evening, and what in the morning was true will at evening have become a lie." pg 9 When the Heart Waits - Sue Monk Kidd
What is this afternoon of my life? Certainly for me it is a span of time where freedom has become the scent, the theme, and the humour blended with tears in my life, along with creativity being birthed, nurtured and named within my body, mind and heart. An unusual dichotomy of waiting and action, and the incomprehensible see-saw motion of it requires time in order to accept the reality of it.
Reading Sue Monk Kidd's words in When the Heart Waits have encapsulated many of my thoughts and questions. This morning these was Light from the Spirit as I read them: LIVE the question, God whispered. That was the moment that knowledge descended into my heart and I understood. Really understood. Crisis, change, all the myriad upheavals that blister the spirit and leave us groping - they aren't voices simply of pain but also of creativity. And if we would only listen, we might hear such times beckoning us to a season of waiting, to the place of fertile emptiness.Page 13 When the Heart Waits by Sue Monk Kidd.
This second half, this autumn season, THIS season of waiting, of creativity, of birthing freedom - I simply inhale it deeper within and cradle the beauty of it, let it write within and wait and listen for what those words are, those words of life. I wait for the Spirit to speak in the language of life and love - and to be made in the image of the Giver of life and love.
"Every word I've spoken to you is a Spirit word, and so it is life-making."
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Monday, September 26, 2005
Bruderhof Quote Today
Killing Him Softly
C. F. Blumhardt
Nothing is more dangerous to the advancement of God's kingdom than religion. But this is what Christianity has become. Do you not know that it is possible to kill Christ with such Christianity? After all, what is more important - Christianity or Christ? And I'll say even more: we can kill Christ with the Bible! Which is greater: the Bible or Christ? Yes, we can even kill Christ with our prayers. When we approach God with our prayers full of self-love and self-satisfaction, when the aim of our prayers is to make our world great, our prayers are in vain.
Source: C.F.B, "Action in Waiting"
Link
C. F. Blumhardt
Nothing is more dangerous to the advancement of God's kingdom than religion. But this is what Christianity has become. Do you not know that it is possible to kill Christ with such Christianity? After all, what is more important - Christianity or Christ? And I'll say even more: we can kill Christ with the Bible! Which is greater: the Bible or Christ? Yes, we can even kill Christ with our prayers. When we approach God with our prayers full of self-love and self-satisfaction, when the aim of our prayers is to make our world great, our prayers are in vain.
Source: C.F.B, "Action in Waiting"
Link
Friday, September 23, 2005
Long Road of Solitude
Road of Solitude
The road stretches out ahead
so much seems blurred, unclear
It can feel so ...alone
But like a fallen leaf
waiting for the wind to move it on
It is a season.
We wait in this season
we walk through this season
knowing it is not forever
knowing that Abba
is moving the seasons forward
and moving you and I
in those seasons.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Breathe - Just Breathe
Earlier in the day I read this article by Wes and smiled at the thought of a 15 minute celebration break – as I then continued on at breakneck pace to accomplish the tasks with “today” invisibly written on them. Dashing off to pick up the mail I rolled my shoulders to ease the tension in them and realized that the distance between my shoulders and earlobes was decreasing! Soon my feathery silver dangling earrings would be brushing my shoulders! My thoughts swirled about in my brain as if in a tumble dryer that had no off switch.
After stopping at the local post office I guided my little VW down the hill to the waters edge to take one of those 15 minute celebrations! I just needed to breathe, breathe, breathe.
The Strait of Georgia stretched out in the distance but the ocean exhaled rhythmically on the shore close by. The smell of salt water and fish was in the air as the brisk cool wind ruffled my hair, gave me goose bumps and made my eyes smart and my ears ache. Frogs croaked in stereo from their hiding place under logs that had washed up on shore after escaping the log boom that slowly headed to the mill near Vancouver. The drying leaves had more staccato in their lilting melody, and some sunflowers stood proudly up against a cottage daring autumn to steal the remains of summer from their plot of soil.
As I swung my limbs trying to ease the tension; exhale it, inhale those unforced rhythms of grace, to slow down and just breathe, breathe, inhale, exhale. I thought of what Anj writes here on the stiffness she experiences and how she no longer has this ease of movement and how that affects her life. The unforced rhythms of grace do not depend on my ease of movement but on my breathing in, and breathing out that grace, which, like the water in front of me, stretched into the horizon beyond my vision, past my comprehension.
This short space of time drew up the breathing of the Spirit from the artesian well They have placed within. The visible horizon was a reminder to keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly (Matthew 11:30 Message)
I am grateful, as my shoulders lower, my breathing slows, and the tension begins to ease, for these words in the Psalms: You didn’t leave me in their clutches (tension/business) but gave me room to breathe. There was a breath of worship in there, in gratefulness as I joined every living breathing creature praising the Almighty, as He breathed upon creation in this 15 minute celebration! Maybe it was a 15 minute choir practice!
After stopping at the local post office I guided my little VW down the hill to the waters edge to take one of those 15 minute celebrations! I just needed to breathe, breathe, breathe.
The Strait of Georgia stretched out in the distance but the ocean exhaled rhythmically on the shore close by. The smell of salt water and fish was in the air as the brisk cool wind ruffled my hair, gave me goose bumps and made my eyes smart and my ears ache. Frogs croaked in stereo from their hiding place under logs that had washed up on shore after escaping the log boom that slowly headed to the mill near Vancouver. The drying leaves had more staccato in their lilting melody, and some sunflowers stood proudly up against a cottage daring autumn to steal the remains of summer from their plot of soil.
As I swung my limbs trying to ease the tension; exhale it, inhale those unforced rhythms of grace, to slow down and just breathe, breathe, inhale, exhale. I thought of what Anj writes here on the stiffness she experiences and how she no longer has this ease of movement and how that affects her life. The unforced rhythms of grace do not depend on my ease of movement but on my breathing in, and breathing out that grace, which, like the water in front of me, stretched into the horizon beyond my vision, past my comprehension.
This short space of time drew up the breathing of the Spirit from the artesian well They have placed within. The visible horizon was a reminder to keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly (Matthew 11:30 Message)
I am grateful, as my shoulders lower, my breathing slows, and the tension begins to ease, for these words in the Psalms: You didn’t leave me in their clutches (tension/business) but gave me room to breathe. There was a breath of worship in there, in gratefulness as I joined every living breathing creature praising the Almighty, as He breathed upon creation in this 15 minute celebration! Maybe it was a 15 minute choir practice!
Monday, September 19, 2005
Autumn Leaves and Soup - in Season
Soup Season
Autumn has truly arrived here on Canada's West Coast. Days are shorter, nights are cooler, the perfume of autumn - her own crisp cool fragrance permeates the air, and the warm sensual colours she wears are in fashion for all creation. Autumn leaves and soup season go hand in hand.
In the kitchen soup is on the stove often with root vegetables more plentiful in the produce department. Soup - that wonderful dish that has come to the table after hours of it's simmering flavours permeating the house. My large heavy orange coloured dutch oven sits on the stove and holds the flavours and stories of many years of soup making.
There is a certain sympatico between autumn and stock-making. Perhaps it is the pervasive aroma that fogs the kitchen windows as the broth simmers and thickens, imbuing a home with a sense of well-being.
Molly O'Neill
20th-century American writer
A Saturday evening dinner began with soup - rich steaming vibrant orange in colour. Its creation began with chopped carrots, celery and onions sweating in a touch of oil and a hint of bacon fat. Yes that bacon fat can add just the right hint of flavour to this soup. The clang of the stainless steel spoon again the pan as I stirred the vegetables mixed with the sizzle of their cooking. Sweating the vegetables releases much of the flavour required for a good hearty broth to result. Next goes in the finely chopped fresh ginger and a new fragrance is carried into the air. Stir that for a few minutes and then chop in some apples for a fruity hint....hmmmmm one must lean over the pot and inhale the aroma. Almost as if leaning over for a facial!! A few more ingredients are required before the lid goes on and the slow simmering can really begin. I love the blend of exotic so along with the ginger and apples I added a healthy spoonful of curry paste and then a hint of nutmeg, as well as taking the sea salt in my fingers to feel the right amount to add. Lastly add the chicken broth, bring it to a boil and then on goes the lid and down goes the heat. It will do it's own thing for a while and allowed me to get on with other tasks. In the end, after it was blended to a fine smooth thick texture it could be refrigerated overnight for the flavours to continue to blend. Soups are almost always better after hibernating overnight in the fridge. There they wait for just the right moment to be heated and served in all their steaming glory to those who come to the table.
Soup - the starter for a great autumn meal or the warming bowl that gives a hearty lunch, or perhaps just comfort food on a rainy autumn day to warm you up. Soup that has you leaning closer to the table, bending your body forward to bring that spoonful of flavour to your lips and taste buds.
How ever you like it, soup season is beginning again so enjoy every bowl of it!
Thursday, September 15, 2005
My Bunch of Balloons
It wasn't an unusual morning, just ordinary, as I had slipped out of bed before the light had filtered through the blinds. It is cooler now so turning on the gas fireplace gave a comforting glow and warmth. I wrapped my hands round a mug of warm water with lemon slices floating in it. I have been rising, wrapping my robe around me and sitting in the fire glow these past few mornings and waiting, listening, for the whispering of a theme thread to follow in the day. This particular morning I had not found any threads.
At work, the ministry house I work in, I arrived, let myself in, and the silence surrounded me. Those who live there are away for a few days, and with no guests until the weekend, the 8000 square feet seemed almost too much, the silence seemed too big. I fixed myself another cup of warm water and lemon, wrapped my hands round another mug, as if it could warm me and take away the silence that seemed to penetrate my heart. This silence needed to be welcomed and embraced. I wanted to continue searching for the threads of theme in the day. I didn't need company, but I did want to hear the whisper of Ruach in the largeness of the silence in the Victorian house.
The silence gave way to the opening of a phone conversation with a dear friend. Listening to her heartbeat, her passion, the call to community brought me to the place of finding the threads for this day - threads of community. Long after the conversation ended the passion I had heard was lingering in my thoughts. They revolved around community here, now, where we are - what is the community surrounding us that needs our/my participation? The silence had begun to unfold just like one of my favorite piano pieces - Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata. We can reach out to Africa, to New Orleans, Mississippi and those in this heartwrenching tragedy unfolding, but what about the community at the end of our sidewalk, across the street, the corner store down the block? I cannot forget that that is where I am now.
Before long a weaving of the theme of community began to roll out in front of me.
Someone stopped by at the ministry house and asked if she could share her story with me. Threads of her story were revealed, her brokenness, her wrestling, and her courage. What an honour to hear a story that had those haunting yet distinct notes of the Pathetique. What a privilege to hold her tears, and fears, open to the Light of Abba's eyes.
I needed to rush off to do the business banking on my way to the ferry to the city to attend my faith community get together, The Whatever. The teller wore a delightful shade of green, not one her normal colours, and I commented on it. Therein began another story, threads of a story of childhood struggles, poverty and a green bedroom that was so hated - hence it took courage for her to wear that colour. Another stanza in the Pathetique sonata - part of the melody of one in my own community.
In our faith community, hearing the passion of one who wrestles, and was honest and courageous enough to share it, revealed more threads of the call to community right where I am, for my heart to listen and participate in the continuing sonata I live in.
I remained in Vancouver overnight and another friend gave me a bed for the night. We both needed a good brisk walk before the day finished so we headed along some of the busy downtown streets. I watched her passion for her community as she greeted and hugged "Eagle" who was panhandling - her love for people oozes out of her. We were startled when a young man ran out onto the road, yelling and screaming, stumbling - and being ignored by all around. We looked at each other and said "should we help him" but both of us were a little afraid he would be violent. Not long afterwards he was on our side of the street, calmer, crying, and saying "why is everyone so mean". My friend stopped, looked in his eyes, asked his name, and his story, and gave him significance and dignity as she listened. He desperately needed to know he was not invisible on this city street.
I was holding many threads of community, like the strings of a bunch of balloons, that caused me to look up in wonder and awe. A delightful morning conversation was pivotal in my day. As I lay down to sleep I felt like a child with those balloons, amazed that I had been given them to hold today, loving the uniqueness of each one.
At work, the ministry house I work in, I arrived, let myself in, and the silence surrounded me. Those who live there are away for a few days, and with no guests until the weekend, the 8000 square feet seemed almost too much, the silence seemed too big. I fixed myself another cup of warm water and lemon, wrapped my hands round another mug, as if it could warm me and take away the silence that seemed to penetrate my heart. This silence needed to be welcomed and embraced. I wanted to continue searching for the threads of theme in the day. I didn't need company, but I did want to hear the whisper of Ruach in the largeness of the silence in the Victorian house.
The silence gave way to the opening of a phone conversation with a dear friend. Listening to her heartbeat, her passion, the call to community brought me to the place of finding the threads for this day - threads of community. Long after the conversation ended the passion I had heard was lingering in my thoughts. They revolved around community here, now, where we are - what is the community surrounding us that needs our/my participation? The silence had begun to unfold just like one of my favorite piano pieces - Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata. We can reach out to Africa, to New Orleans, Mississippi and those in this heartwrenching tragedy unfolding, but what about the community at the end of our sidewalk, across the street, the corner store down the block? I cannot forget that that is where I am now.
Before long a weaving of the theme of community began to roll out in front of me.
Someone stopped by at the ministry house and asked if she could share her story with me. Threads of her story were revealed, her brokenness, her wrestling, and her courage. What an honour to hear a story that had those haunting yet distinct notes of the Pathetique. What a privilege to hold her tears, and fears, open to the Light of Abba's eyes.
I needed to rush off to do the business banking on my way to the ferry to the city to attend my faith community get together, The Whatever. The teller wore a delightful shade of green, not one her normal colours, and I commented on it. Therein began another story, threads of a story of childhood struggles, poverty and a green bedroom that was so hated - hence it took courage for her to wear that colour. Another stanza in the Pathetique sonata - part of the melody of one in my own community.
In our faith community, hearing the passion of one who wrestles, and was honest and courageous enough to share it, revealed more threads of the call to community right where I am, for my heart to listen and participate in the continuing sonata I live in.
I remained in Vancouver overnight and another friend gave me a bed for the night. We both needed a good brisk walk before the day finished so we headed along some of the busy downtown streets. I watched her passion for her community as she greeted and hugged "Eagle" who was panhandling - her love for people oozes out of her. We were startled when a young man ran out onto the road, yelling and screaming, stumbling - and being ignored by all around. We looked at each other and said "should we help him" but both of us were a little afraid he would be violent. Not long afterwards he was on our side of the street, calmer, crying, and saying "why is everyone so mean". My friend stopped, looked in his eyes, asked his name, and his story, and gave him significance and dignity as she listened. He desperately needed to know he was not invisible on this city street.
I was holding many threads of community, like the strings of a bunch of balloons, that caused me to look up in wonder and awe. A delightful morning conversation was pivotal in my day. As I lay down to sleep I felt like a child with those balloons, amazed that I had been given them to hold today, loving the uniqueness of each one.
Re-Framed
Reframed
Thoughts, ideas swirl around
in the perameters of where we are.
Sometimes the exercise of reframing,
moving the picture slightly
is all it takes to get new ideas flowing.
Right now I am doing some re-framing
so creativity will flow,
new ideas will begin to take shape,
they will take flight
and soar.
It isn't about getting the picture
but about letting the ideas become
3 dimentional right now.
Ever been there?
Friday, September 09, 2005
Musings on Inner Life
St Peter said Your life is a journey you must travel with a deep consciousness of God(The Message). This consciousness/awareness/knowing is meant to be felt in community, in contemplation, with the scent of hope. I believe that consciousness grows as we begin to love our own story and hold it in the Light with the Almighty who co-authored it.
Parker Palmer says "a circle of trust holds us in a space where we can make our own discernments, in our own way and time, in the encouraging and challenging presence of other people.
Hidden Wholeness page 27
This balancing of dialogue and silence is not an easy learning process. Both bring out our own wounding and yet both will offer great healing if we learn to trust the One who we journey with and become more conscious of the Almighty's presence. And learn to love our own story.
Palmer also writes about cultivating the inner life. As I pondered these things in the coolness of an autumn morning I saw the "garden" of our lives that must be tended, nurtured, respected and honoured through each season of living. Our inner life is the sacred property on which story is planted, faces seasons, life, death, and redemption. Inner life is also the sacred canvas upon which our own stories are painted with dark and Light, and every colour in the spectrum. It is a masterpiece worth loving. There is also the fact that it is sacred parchment upon which every detail is written. Whether it is the property, the canvas or the parchment your life is a journey you must travel with a deep consciousness of God and where community, a circle of trust, is a safe place to share the wonder of this "inner life".
Lord in Your mercy lead us to safe places. Let us be unafraid of silence, and fill our dialogue with grace and truth and Light.
Parker Palmer says "a circle of trust holds us in a space where we can make our own discernments, in our own way and time, in the encouraging and challenging presence of other people.
Hidden Wholeness page 27
This balancing of dialogue and silence is not an easy learning process. Both bring out our own wounding and yet both will offer great healing if we learn to trust the One who we journey with and become more conscious of the Almighty's presence. And learn to love our own story.
Palmer also writes about cultivating the inner life. As I pondered these things in the coolness of an autumn morning I saw the "garden" of our lives that must be tended, nurtured, respected and honoured through each season of living. Our inner life is the sacred property on which story is planted, faces seasons, life, death, and redemption. Inner life is also the sacred canvas upon which our own stories are painted with dark and Light, and every colour in the spectrum. It is a masterpiece worth loving. There is also the fact that it is sacred parchment upon which every detail is written. Whether it is the property, the canvas or the parchment your life is a journey you must travel with a deep consciousness of God and where community, a circle of trust, is a safe place to share the wonder of this "inner life".
Lord in Your mercy lead us to safe places. Let us be unafraid of silence, and fill our dialogue with grace and truth and Light.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Breaching the Levee
Living below sea level
keeping the water out by a dike system
Storms that breach the dike system and the resulting floods and destruction have done catastrophic damage. New Orleans will never be the same again.
Humans have run and left all behind, only to be herded like cattle into stadiums. No dignity or honour in that, simply surviving - if only barely. Animals have been left behind starving to death on rooftops. Animals that afforded comfort have been abandoned and now are slowly dying, watching rescuers work to find any alive. People stayed behind and died while waiting for rescue.
Our stories have this very theme in them. We have built walls around us to keep out the sea, the power of life, the water that can overpower us and carry us away from where we are. Storms may have put us there, or perhaps the storm is what breaks the heart levee, the walls around, and the resulting flood is so powerful, so overwhelming there is no where to hide, no where to shelter, no where to run - we are at the mercy of being rescued.
For some, this soul flooding is so catastrophic that numbness is the only way to survive. Yet have we been living in unreality, below sea level all along? Is this not an unreal place to begin with? It is our own reality but may not be truth. Truth as opposed to lies we have believed.
The levee broke and flooded their world. The pain of what they lived in, with and through and the losses were too great and they took their own lives. Suicide.
Maybe it is a slow leak, not a sudden massive flooding, but the slow leak that little by little swamps hope and energy, vision and truth.
The only visible answer is to end the pain, the sorrow, the incredible horrors, by forever stopping the heart beat yourself. Living is too painful. Suicide seems to be the only answer to quenching the pain.
Reading about the law enforcement officers who have taken their own lives, there is a mixture of sorrow and a tinge of pity and contempt in the words I read. I am so sorry for their pain that had to end this way, and sorrow is not a deep enough word to convey the agony their relatives and friends will live with. Sorrow is not deep enough for the tragedy that precipitated it.
Yet I understand their pain that sees only one way out. I have been there - at that very edge of despair that has been dealt a final, and fatal blow. For them this was a catastrophic pain that I can never begin to understand.
I continue to weep with those who weep, for those whose lives can never be "as before". I also weep for those that are geographically no where near Louisiana, Mississippi, Texas, Arkansas or any other place Katrina swept through. It is the ones whose hearts have built a
levee to keep living out, or to protect themselves from the flooding of past pain. Life has breached the levee and in the overwhelming aftermath their soul is barely alive. I pray that somehow their silent screams will be heard today. The pain of a thawing heart is incredibly painful but I do know, yes I really do know, that the spring thaw does bring LIFE through the pain.
I pray for men, women and children who are numb and soon will face the thawing and the incredible pain that will begin then. God help them.
keeping the water out by a dike system
Storms that breach the dike system and the resulting floods and destruction have done catastrophic damage. New Orleans will never be the same again.
Humans have run and left all behind, only to be herded like cattle into stadiums. No dignity or honour in that, simply surviving - if only barely. Animals have been left behind starving to death on rooftops. Animals that afforded comfort have been abandoned and now are slowly dying, watching rescuers work to find any alive. People stayed behind and died while waiting for rescue.
Our stories have this very theme in them. We have built walls around us to keep out the sea, the power of life, the water that can overpower us and carry us away from where we are. Storms may have put us there, or perhaps the storm is what breaks the heart levee, the walls around, and the resulting flood is so powerful, so overwhelming there is no where to hide, no where to shelter, no where to run - we are at the mercy of being rescued.
For some, this soul flooding is so catastrophic that numbness is the only way to survive. Yet have we been living in unreality, below sea level all along? Is this not an unreal place to begin with? It is our own reality but may not be truth. Truth as opposed to lies we have believed.
The levee broke and flooded their world. The pain of what they lived in, with and through and the losses were too great and they took their own lives. Suicide.
Maybe it is a slow leak, not a sudden massive flooding, but the slow leak that little by little swamps hope and energy, vision and truth.
The only visible answer is to end the pain, the sorrow, the incredible horrors, by forever stopping the heart beat yourself. Living is too painful. Suicide seems to be the only answer to quenching the pain.
Reading about the law enforcement officers who have taken their own lives, there is a mixture of sorrow and a tinge of pity and contempt in the words I read. I am so sorry for their pain that had to end this way, and sorrow is not a deep enough word to convey the agony their relatives and friends will live with. Sorrow is not deep enough for the tragedy that precipitated it.
Yet I understand their pain that sees only one way out. I have been there - at that very edge of despair that has been dealt a final, and fatal blow. For them this was a catastrophic pain that I can never begin to understand.
I continue to weep with those who weep, for those whose lives can never be "as before". I also weep for those that are geographically no where near Louisiana, Mississippi, Texas, Arkansas or any other place Katrina swept through. It is the ones whose hearts have built a
levee to keep living out, or to protect themselves from the flooding of past pain. Life has breached the levee and in the overwhelming aftermath their soul is barely alive. I pray that somehow their silent screams will be heard today. The pain of a thawing heart is incredibly painful but I do know, yes I really do know, that the spring thaw does bring LIFE through the pain.
I pray for men, women and children who are numb and soon will face the thawing and the incredible pain that will begin then. God help them.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Quote de jour
In books our dreams take refuge so as to not freeze to death
Quote by Don Gregorio in the Spanish FilmLa Lengua de las Mariposas (Butterfly)
Beautiful movie on the wonder of a child's thirst for "awe" in purity and innocence until the moment it is corrupted by our adult thinking (and often religious ideology at that).
Quote by Don Gregorio in the Spanish FilmLa Lengua de las Mariposas (Butterfly)
Beautiful movie on the wonder of a child's thirst for "awe" in purity and innocence until the moment it is corrupted by our adult thinking (and often religious ideology at that).
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