When by daughter was a preschooler we got her enrolled in a swimming class and the swimming instructor made an error in judgement and had all the children hold hands and go into deep water. Well it worked until some of the children let go, and then they started going under. She rescued them but my daughter was shaken and so was I.
I was thinking about that today and reflecting a bit on the spiritual support and religious teaching children need. They just haven't learned to swim yet and it's dangerous to send them out without any guidance and trust that they'll find their own way somehow together. I am deeply grateful for the religious instruction I received from adults as a child, even though my beliefs have evolved and changed over the years. A dance-teacher once told me that it doesn't really matter which kind of dance you enroll your child in, that they all learn the fundamentals. I think the same is true of religion--the basic teachings, the ethical foundations, are very similar. But you also have to be in the water with the child, you have to be fed too, following your faith (or even being deeply engaged in your atheism) and sharing the joy--the very real joy--of that faith with your child. You have the advantage of years of seeking and growth. You are teaching them not so much what to believe, but why belief, religious foundations and spiritual maturity are important and life-giving. Your love for them is grounded in it and upheld by it. And if you are unsure of what you believe, don't be content to rest in ambivalence or cynicism. Take a chance and choose, then commit to give it a real chance to take hold in you. My mum was baptised the same time my brothers were. She taught Sunday school even as she was learning about the bible. Make it part of your life and it will grow and like a tree you plant, will give pleasure and shade to your whole family.
And I haven't even got started on the ways it will nurture and uphold you as a parent. I'm always promoting continuous prayer (I use the Jesus Prayer: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.") and observing how beautifully it can under gird all your activities and also help you navigate the common parental realms of boredom and waiting. It even eased me during the birthing of my second child. As the labour pains increased I swayed back and forth and prayed in my heart, and those prayers gave me the strength I needed.
The love of God is constant but easily forgotten or turned from (this turning away is what I call sin). Continuous prayer, along with other spiritual disciplines like meditation, fasting, gathering with other believers to worship or share food, studying and reciting the scriptures, laughing, dancing and giving back to the community, will remind us of this love and turn ordinary life into an adventure, intensify the smallest details of life, offer sharpness and clarity, fill us with joy. I know this from experience and try to live it (yes, it's received as a gift, but only because it is lived) as best I can because, right now I can honestly say, it's what gives me energy and life. And it's the best thing I can offer my children and the world.
Thursday, October 26, 2017
Wednesday, October 11, 2017
the company I keep
It's taken me an embarrassingly long time to admit this basic fact about myself:
whoever I watch watches me
So I will find my life being scrutinized by a fictitious TV character rather than by God or the Nameless One. I'll literally find myself chatting them up in my head as I go through my day, so great is the need to connect to an audience. I'll note what would meet or not meet with their approval and even find myself apologizing to them. But if, as I believe, my real audience is God, then the best response to this reality is continuous prayer.
whoever I watch watches me
So I will find my life being scrutinized by a fictitious TV character rather than by God or the Nameless One. I'll literally find myself chatting them up in my head as I go through my day, so great is the need to connect to an audience. I'll note what would meet or not meet with their approval and even find myself apologizing to them. But if, as I believe, my real audience is God, then the best response to this reality is continuous prayer.
Saturday, September 23, 2017
speaking of God
April 23, 2014 I shared some of my experiences of God with my faith community as part of our "Speaking of...God" series. It's interesting to notice what I've called "God" through my life:
How do you experience God? As I reflected on this I realized my answer is going to sound like physical symptoms I might rattle off to a doctor or psychiatrist. Nevertheless, here goes: My experience of God is always in the moment and is usually accompanied by physical sensations. Just being in the moment or mindful has it's own set of sensations, a sharpness or clarity to things (acute awareness of sounds, sights, smells), a feeling of alignment—improved posture, alert but not fearful, relaxed. Motion in stillness, stillness in motion, flow forward, being in time rather than out of time. But the experience of God is another layer, not independent of this basic condition, but with more of a sense of wonder and knowing I'm not in control. There's an emotional component. Often there are tears. Always there is love. Often gratitude—I may feel compelled to kneel or sing or pray or maybe create something. Or it can lead me to be kind of silly. I remember being by myself in the forest once and shouting “Hi God, I'm here!” As if God didn't know that. Sometimes there's something visual like a blue light but it's usually in my body, a warmth, a shiver, a lightness, and sometimes a bodily fear that doesn't translate into mental fear exactly.
Can you recall experiences of wonder, mystery, or transcendence? Little girl in a brush pile that wasn't really a brush pile anymore because there were all these new little trees growing in it. Anyway there were suddenly all these birds and they were all around me and so close and it was like they either couldn't see me or weren't afraid of me. Another time when I was a kid I went out side one evening with my glasses on and remember really seeing the stars for the first time. I think I felt dizzy and had to sit down. Then later I was in college and there was a bit of bush behind our dorms and a railroad track. So one afternoon I was walking along the railroad track, balancing on the rails, and found myself following a deer. A doe. She stopped a couple of times and looked back at me but then just kept on walking. Finally she turned and in a couple of leaps disappeared into the forest. I remember thinking I want to be like that. Graceful like that deer. More recently I remember looking at my son when he was newborn and it was as though one minute I was looking at a newborn, the next a teenage boy and it was so beautiful and mysterious. I don't know how long it lasted but I was mesmerized.
Can you recall a time when you felt you were in the presence of God? Now this is going to sound strange because it's a negative experience or a feeling of prohibition. But it also felt like God's presence. It happened more than once—and it was when I was going to commit suicide and changed my mind and I experienced it as partly fear and partly resignation—like a child being pulled back from a hot stove or something, I also experienced a feeling of God's presence almost everywhere on the west coast but it came with a feeling of awe and not belonging in that particular place.
Can you share about a time when you experienced the love of God?There's a lot times but I'll just mention two occasions right now: In the first one my mum and I were talking and she shared some visions she had and I confessed a relationship I'd had with a married man and I was sure she'd judge me for it and all I got from her was grief and empathy. Another time more recently I was pushing the stroller through really deep snow totally exhausted, aching and discouraged took me at least twice as long as usual to get home, and when we were just about to turn onto our street my daughter suddenly said “I love you Mummy,” I laughed and cried at the same time.
Where and when do you feel closest to God? Walking down the street praying the Jesus prayer, washing dishes, singing, late at night when I can't sleep, at bus stops, in the forest, or even in the city when I see a bug on the sidewalk (yeah, I know the last one's a bit weird)
Has your experience of God changed over the years? How so? It's largely locational. This is something pagan in me probably, but my experience of God is different depending on where I am—it was different on the west coast than in Alberta or here in Toronto. Then also situational, different now I'm a mother, different when I was at my parent's place. Being a wanderer or stranger and not knowing why (West Coast) belonging and not understanding how or why (Alberta) both are experiences of God. Being a child and being a mother.
Do you see God in the world? Where? How? Everywhere I see people loving and hurting each other I see God. The other day I saw a man really upset that another child had taken a toy from his son and his son was crying. He so wanted justice for his son was just aching for him, you could see it on his face, also his helplessness because there was a limit to what he could achieve by interfering, because even when he gets the toy back he can't take away the feeling of powerlessness. So he's telling him later, “If someone takes something from you, you ask him to give it back, and if he won't you just take it...” and the boy didn't seem convinced and I felt the futility of that response and the man's anger clouding his judgment, and beneath it all this intense love...it's the flaws, the cracks I guess. Because even though, and maybe because, his response was not the best one, it was also beautiful in a way that perfection can never be.
Can you recall a time when you experienced God through others? It's hard to answer this one just because it happens so often. Maybe somebody sings or writes or says something that resonates inside me in a way that says pay attention, God has something to do with this. And it's not just in the Christian faith--I've experienced God through everyone from rock and roll musicians, to Wiccans and Buddhist monks. But I also regularly experience God through you folks. That's probably why I'm here ultimately. Because I'm convinced that God has something to do with what's happening here, in this community. Because being part of a faith community is something I've yearned for—and it's the missing piece of the puzzle for me. I've done a lot of stuff on my own, reading, studying, praying, meditating. As a Wiccan I was what they call a “solitary practitioner” mostly. But when you're on you're own, while a lot of growth and good stuff can happen, it's also pretty easy to get lost. Eventually you need to be held accountable by someone or something. Faith communities are good for that, especially small communities. And you have so many teachers. When people impress me or people annoy me there's always learning and where there's that kind of learning there's always God.
Have you ever had an experience that you were too afraid to share because you didn’t think others would believe you? No. I guess I'm a bit naïve. Maybe because my parents shared so much with me that was pretty out there and I always believed them. Actually yes, there was an experience—not a direct experience but it directly impacted me. I was just going to be starting kindergarten in the fall and it was summer time. Now my mum loved planning parties and stuff and she was really good at it. And making halloween costumes, anything creative like that. Well one day she just got this strong feeling that God was telling her that she shouldn't let me celebrate Hallowe'en. She didn't know why, it didn't make sense, but she felt like she had to obey. She was still on her knees when the phone rang. It was someone asking her to help plan the kindergarten halloween party for next year. So I grew up with this story and needing to explain to folks why I didn't celebrate Halloween. People didn't get it. It was hard for Mum too because everyone thought she was nuts, including the people in our church. But I respected her for it. Even though I went on to become a Wiccan. It's funny though, even though I performed elaborate Halloween rituals I never liked Halloween the way it's usually celebrated, as a scary greedy kind of holiday where there's this kind of mild threat—give me candy or I'll play a trick on you. And the tricks could be mean sometimes. My brothers got shot at once while playing a halloween trick on a teacher but that's another story.
Have you ever experienced God’s absence? When I was 21 I spent five weeks in a mental hospital. The first night I prayed before going to bed but I felt like it was pointless because I was in hell. That's why I really love the part of the Apostles Creed where it says Jesus descended into hell. Even when we are in the place—whether it's physical, emotional or spiritual—that feels like the opposite of God's presence, we find a little “I was here” scrawled on the cement wall.
Have you ever felt God in the midst of suffering? There are two significant times of suffering I can recall that totally transformed me. One was, as I already mentioned, my experience in the mental hospital. After the first night it got better. I remember going for walks on the grounds, once I had privileges, and there were these big old trees, I felt literal reassurance from these trees, hard to explain how. Also from the other patients—a lot of them were religious. For example I remember this one teenage girl thought she could heal me by laying hands on me, and well, maybe she didn't, but there was something beautiful about her willingness to try. Then there's the whole experience of childbirth that's all about life and suffering and fear and mystery and God is there too. The mystical part is that the experience of God in that moment is so diffuse and blurry. Because all at once God is in me and the baby and partner and my mum and the midwife. And God is also somehow involved when the fear really hits and you're screaming and not thinking you can go on and yet not being able to stop it.
What are your experiences of silence? Used to be afraid of the time of day right before sundown—until I started being quiet through it. That was the beginning of my meditation practise. Once I started sitting quietly and watching the changing light I found I started to actually look forward to twilight. I remember farm-sitting for my brother. Their house is on a hill and I used to sit there and watch the sun rise and set. And it wasn't the city so it was pretty quiet. While I was there alone I worked through some stuff. I wrote a song called “Judgment Day” that was all about my perennial fear of judgement and how it had started to fade when I looked at it up close. Because if I want to be judged by anyone, and if I'm really going to be judged by anyone in a way that counts, it's by God. One of the prayers I've been saying on my prayer beads lately is “Turn away the reproach that I dread, because your judgements are good.”
What are your experiences of prayer? When I was really little it was a given that it was just something that literally and simply worked. Prayed for a pair of skates so I could go skating and the next day lo and behold. Said I think we should pray for my sick brother right now and we did and he was well. My parents had that kind of faith though, and they were always telling me their faith stories. Then, when I was a teenager I used to always pray the same thing—kind of a repentance for my sexuality—and started to feel disillusioned that nothing was changing. And I told you already about the prayer in that cold room in the mental hospital while a guard sat watch in front of the open door with a flashlight. Sometimes there is no comfort in a prayer, but there's comfort in the continuity, in the habit of prayer. I realized that in a new way when I started praying the Jesus prayer a few years ago—something about it being continuous, reminds me that God is always now. Not a moment ago or a few minutes from now but literally now, as I pray, every time I pray it's different—trying to be in time with God. Trying to be mindful so I don't miss her.
How do you experience God? As I reflected on this I realized my answer is going to sound like physical symptoms I might rattle off to a doctor or psychiatrist. Nevertheless, here goes: My experience of God is always in the moment and is usually accompanied by physical sensations. Just being in the moment or mindful has it's own set of sensations, a sharpness or clarity to things (acute awareness of sounds, sights, smells), a feeling of alignment—improved posture, alert but not fearful, relaxed. Motion in stillness, stillness in motion, flow forward, being in time rather than out of time. But the experience of God is another layer, not independent of this basic condition, but with more of a sense of wonder and knowing I'm not in control. There's an emotional component. Often there are tears. Always there is love. Often gratitude—I may feel compelled to kneel or sing or pray or maybe create something. Or it can lead me to be kind of silly. I remember being by myself in the forest once and shouting “Hi God, I'm here!” As if God didn't know that. Sometimes there's something visual like a blue light but it's usually in my body, a warmth, a shiver, a lightness, and sometimes a bodily fear that doesn't translate into mental fear exactly.
Can you recall experiences of wonder, mystery, or transcendence? Little girl in a brush pile that wasn't really a brush pile anymore because there were all these new little trees growing in it. Anyway there were suddenly all these birds and they were all around me and so close and it was like they either couldn't see me or weren't afraid of me. Another time when I was a kid I went out side one evening with my glasses on and remember really seeing the stars for the first time. I think I felt dizzy and had to sit down. Then later I was in college and there was a bit of bush behind our dorms and a railroad track. So one afternoon I was walking along the railroad track, balancing on the rails, and found myself following a deer. A doe. She stopped a couple of times and looked back at me but then just kept on walking. Finally she turned and in a couple of leaps disappeared into the forest. I remember thinking I want to be like that. Graceful like that deer. More recently I remember looking at my son when he was newborn and it was as though one minute I was looking at a newborn, the next a teenage boy and it was so beautiful and mysterious. I don't know how long it lasted but I was mesmerized.
Can you recall a time when you felt you were in the presence of God? Now this is going to sound strange because it's a negative experience or a feeling of prohibition. But it also felt like God's presence. It happened more than once—and it was when I was going to commit suicide and changed my mind and I experienced it as partly fear and partly resignation—like a child being pulled back from a hot stove or something, I also experienced a feeling of God's presence almost everywhere on the west coast but it came with a feeling of awe and not belonging in that particular place.
Can you share about a time when you experienced the love of God?There's a lot times but I'll just mention two occasions right now: In the first one my mum and I were talking and she shared some visions she had and I confessed a relationship I'd had with a married man and I was sure she'd judge me for it and all I got from her was grief and empathy. Another time more recently I was pushing the stroller through really deep snow totally exhausted, aching and discouraged took me at least twice as long as usual to get home, and when we were just about to turn onto our street my daughter suddenly said “I love you Mummy,” I laughed and cried at the same time.
Where and when do you feel closest to God? Walking down the street praying the Jesus prayer, washing dishes, singing, late at night when I can't sleep, at bus stops, in the forest, or even in the city when I see a bug on the sidewalk (yeah, I know the last one's a bit weird)
Has your experience of God changed over the years? How so? It's largely locational. This is something pagan in me probably, but my experience of God is different depending on where I am—it was different on the west coast than in Alberta or here in Toronto. Then also situational, different now I'm a mother, different when I was at my parent's place. Being a wanderer or stranger and not knowing why (West Coast) belonging and not understanding how or why (Alberta) both are experiences of God. Being a child and being a mother.
Do you see God in the world? Where? How? Everywhere I see people loving and hurting each other I see God. The other day I saw a man really upset that another child had taken a toy from his son and his son was crying. He so wanted justice for his son was just aching for him, you could see it on his face, also his helplessness because there was a limit to what he could achieve by interfering, because even when he gets the toy back he can't take away the feeling of powerlessness. So he's telling him later, “If someone takes something from you, you ask him to give it back, and if he won't you just take it...” and the boy didn't seem convinced and I felt the futility of that response and the man's anger clouding his judgment, and beneath it all this intense love...it's the flaws, the cracks I guess. Because even though, and maybe because, his response was not the best one, it was also beautiful in a way that perfection can never be.
Can you recall a time when you experienced God through others? It's hard to answer this one just because it happens so often. Maybe somebody sings or writes or says something that resonates inside me in a way that says pay attention, God has something to do with this. And it's not just in the Christian faith--I've experienced God through everyone from rock and roll musicians, to Wiccans and Buddhist monks. But I also regularly experience God through you folks. That's probably why I'm here ultimately. Because I'm convinced that God has something to do with what's happening here, in this community. Because being part of a faith community is something I've yearned for—and it's the missing piece of the puzzle for me. I've done a lot of stuff on my own, reading, studying, praying, meditating. As a Wiccan I was what they call a “solitary practitioner” mostly. But when you're on you're own, while a lot of growth and good stuff can happen, it's also pretty easy to get lost. Eventually you need to be held accountable by someone or something. Faith communities are good for that, especially small communities. And you have so many teachers. When people impress me or people annoy me there's always learning and where there's that kind of learning there's always God.
Have you ever had an experience that you were too afraid to share because you didn’t think others would believe you? No. I guess I'm a bit naïve. Maybe because my parents shared so much with me that was pretty out there and I always believed them. Actually yes, there was an experience—not a direct experience but it directly impacted me. I was just going to be starting kindergarten in the fall and it was summer time. Now my mum loved planning parties and stuff and she was really good at it. And making halloween costumes, anything creative like that. Well one day she just got this strong feeling that God was telling her that she shouldn't let me celebrate Hallowe'en. She didn't know why, it didn't make sense, but she felt like she had to obey. She was still on her knees when the phone rang. It was someone asking her to help plan the kindergarten halloween party for next year. So I grew up with this story and needing to explain to folks why I didn't celebrate Halloween. People didn't get it. It was hard for Mum too because everyone thought she was nuts, including the people in our church. But I respected her for it. Even though I went on to become a Wiccan. It's funny though, even though I performed elaborate Halloween rituals I never liked Halloween the way it's usually celebrated, as a scary greedy kind of holiday where there's this kind of mild threat—give me candy or I'll play a trick on you. And the tricks could be mean sometimes. My brothers got shot at once while playing a halloween trick on a teacher but that's another story.
Have you ever experienced God’s absence? When I was 21 I spent five weeks in a mental hospital. The first night I prayed before going to bed but I felt like it was pointless because I was in hell. That's why I really love the part of the Apostles Creed where it says Jesus descended into hell. Even when we are in the place—whether it's physical, emotional or spiritual—that feels like the opposite of God's presence, we find a little “I was here” scrawled on the cement wall.
Have you ever felt God in the midst of suffering? There are two significant times of suffering I can recall that totally transformed me. One was, as I already mentioned, my experience in the mental hospital. After the first night it got better. I remember going for walks on the grounds, once I had privileges, and there were these big old trees, I felt literal reassurance from these trees, hard to explain how. Also from the other patients—a lot of them were religious. For example I remember this one teenage girl thought she could heal me by laying hands on me, and well, maybe she didn't, but there was something beautiful about her willingness to try. Then there's the whole experience of childbirth that's all about life and suffering and fear and mystery and God is there too. The mystical part is that the experience of God in that moment is so diffuse and blurry. Because all at once God is in me and the baby and partner and my mum and the midwife. And God is also somehow involved when the fear really hits and you're screaming and not thinking you can go on and yet not being able to stop it.
What are your experiences of silence? Used to be afraid of the time of day right before sundown—until I started being quiet through it. That was the beginning of my meditation practise. Once I started sitting quietly and watching the changing light I found I started to actually look forward to twilight. I remember farm-sitting for my brother. Their house is on a hill and I used to sit there and watch the sun rise and set. And it wasn't the city so it was pretty quiet. While I was there alone I worked through some stuff. I wrote a song called “Judgment Day” that was all about my perennial fear of judgement and how it had started to fade when I looked at it up close. Because if I want to be judged by anyone, and if I'm really going to be judged by anyone in a way that counts, it's by God. One of the prayers I've been saying on my prayer beads lately is “Turn away the reproach that I dread, because your judgements are good.”
What are your experiences of prayer? When I was really little it was a given that it was just something that literally and simply worked. Prayed for a pair of skates so I could go skating and the next day lo and behold. Said I think we should pray for my sick brother right now and we did and he was well. My parents had that kind of faith though, and they were always telling me their faith stories. Then, when I was a teenager I used to always pray the same thing—kind of a repentance for my sexuality—and started to feel disillusioned that nothing was changing. And I told you already about the prayer in that cold room in the mental hospital while a guard sat watch in front of the open door with a flashlight. Sometimes there is no comfort in a prayer, but there's comfort in the continuity, in the habit of prayer. I realized that in a new way when I started praying the Jesus prayer a few years ago—something about it being continuous, reminds me that God is always now. Not a moment ago or a few minutes from now but literally now, as I pray, every time I pray it's different—trying to be in time with God. Trying to be mindful so I don't miss her.
Friday, March 28, 2008
waiting for freedom
I need to cultivate an attitude of waiting--not postponement, but active waiting. When I wait with hope (not expectation of any particular outcome, but hope in a religious sense of knowing all will be well) I clear away some room in my being for insight, a seeing inside that is not done with the mind and if I even register it consciously it is more like a bodily awareness of change, of deep relaxation and renewed energy. I know I can lie to myself even about this though, and slip into idle introspection or a lazy stupor (though in my heart I know the difference).
So what was my insight while I waited last night? First of all I remembered that I haven't been waiting properly lately, I've been waiting with my mind not my being. See, I had got to this place where I really enjoyed waiting but then lost it because...well I won't get into all that right now. And it wasn't first of all either because insight doesn't happen in any linear way but sort of all at once, and it may or may not ever make it to the mind (or any communicable form--although art sometimes works when words don't). The insight had to do with the incredible passive strength of unconditional love. I was thinking of Jesus and how completely he loved Judas, and everybody else that would betray him. I listened to a Buddhist monk speak once about the simple choice of a bhodissatva--to love all beings without distinction or discrimination. A simple creative, original decision that gets dismissed by the ego as naive and impossible (or even somehow unethical, as if by not choosing to love one person and hate another we are complicit in whatever bad things the offending person has done). Not simply to tolerate or endure but to love. It's a decision to be joyful in all situations and free to make decisions with clarity. Such a powerful decision that our whole lives we get told in different ways how to avoid making it, how to avoid pain at all costs and seek pleasure, how to judge others and justify ourselves. Cultural conditioning. I ask myself why am I still vacillating and slipping into that weak and gutless state when I know better? The conditioning runs deep. But I don't have to run on a hamster wheel. I can wait.
So what was my insight while I waited last night? First of all I remembered that I haven't been waiting properly lately, I've been waiting with my mind not my being. See, I had got to this place where I really enjoyed waiting but then lost it because...well I won't get into all that right now. And it wasn't first of all either because insight doesn't happen in any linear way but sort of all at once, and it may or may not ever make it to the mind (or any communicable form--although art sometimes works when words don't). The insight had to do with the incredible passive strength of unconditional love. I was thinking of Jesus and how completely he loved Judas, and everybody else that would betray him. I listened to a Buddhist monk speak once about the simple choice of a bhodissatva--to love all beings without distinction or discrimination. A simple creative, original decision that gets dismissed by the ego as naive and impossible (or even somehow unethical, as if by not choosing to love one person and hate another we are complicit in whatever bad things the offending person has done). Not simply to tolerate or endure but to love. It's a decision to be joyful in all situations and free to make decisions with clarity. Such a powerful decision that our whole lives we get told in different ways how to avoid making it, how to avoid pain at all costs and seek pleasure, how to judge others and justify ourselves. Cultural conditioning. I ask myself why am I still vacillating and slipping into that weak and gutless state when I know better? The conditioning runs deep. But I don't have to run on a hamster wheel. I can wait.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
truth is joyful
I wear these lies and pretend they're a part of me. They distract and pull me further from myself and my purpose of being available to the guidance of Spirit. And yet, I still entertain them. Choose time away from truth regularly, as if I can escape to someplace, what? more interesting? more immediately gratifying? Instant gratification comes from an attitude of gratitude (hey, that rhymes!)--I know this. So what am I doing? Choosing death over life. Choosing fear over joy. What I pursue is not happiness. If I take a moment and remember then I know what to do that will best express that joy I have to bring to this world, the joy that defines and shapes me, that is not of me but in me. The world did not make us, not at the essential level beneath whatever conditioning we have received--we are not of the world. But we are in the world to bring peace and joy. What could be better? This is the resurrection for me, my new birth, remembering my original truth. Living like I was born yesterday. Like I know that life is wonderful and needs to be celebrated continuously, in everyone I meet or know, in horrible situations and places the intrinsic is still sacred and marvelous.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
the seed
Waiting down here in a cold basement I wonder what keeps certain seeds from splitting and seeking light. I like to think I'm a sprout but maybe I'm still a seed. It will soon be spring. Where will I be? I want to be loved by the sun, to actually feel it instead of just know it's there. Sometimes you might see the sprout if you look in my eyes and if you listen to my silence you might hear it whisper "love..."
Thursday, August 23, 2007
wasteland
For ages I have told everyone that I don't do very much, that I in fact really enjoy living a quiet life. So now it feels very strange to suddenly have quite a lot to do. It's a funny thing that sometimes when there is a lot that needs to be done, time begins to feel "wasted" and vaguely guilty feelings arise that whatever I'm presently engaged in is not the best use of my time. There is probably some truth in this somewhere. Something about the work I'm doing, or more likely the way I'm doing it, is life-stealing. Perhaps there is too much pride in my work (funny how this is considered a positive thing), or my thoughts about it are pulling me out of the here and now. Maybe I have not taken the time to pray/meditate, or am somehow hiding from God and myself, pretending to be someone I am not. Like a dishonest actor I lack character when I lose perspective and assume my work to be more important than it is. What happens when a seed of truth lands in the wasteland of self-important activity?
There is also something a bit greedy about my busyness, (just how, I blush to admit, there was a lot of selfishness behind some of my laziness disguised as contemplation). Not that being busy is always wasteful or greedy any more that being not-busy always refers to laziness. Deep down, I know the difference. I wonder if I always remembered that nothing that is hidden remains so whether I would maybe put more trust in the promptings of my heart than in the cover of darkness or obscurity. But to always remember requires a life of constant prayer.
There is also something a bit greedy about my busyness, (just how, I blush to admit, there was a lot of selfishness behind some of my laziness disguised as contemplation). Not that being busy is always wasteful or greedy any more that being not-busy always refers to laziness. Deep down, I know the difference. I wonder if I always remembered that nothing that is hidden remains so whether I would maybe put more trust in the promptings of my heart than in the cover of darkness or obscurity. But to always remember requires a life of constant prayer.
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