The wholeness of existence

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A few short weeks ago, my hands were wet in plaster, casting the beautifully full belly of a pregnant friend. Thank goodness; she had her healthy baby three weeks early. This week took a different turn: I drove one county over to attend a memorial, prepared food for two visitations at my Quaker meetinghouse, spent last weekend on the phone ironing out burial maps and location and sloshed through a water-logged cemetery.

In the midst of these circle-of-life experiences, I am also studying Luke, reading a book on death by a Buddhist and beginning to understand archetypal astrology all in small groups. I've also begun working with a new chiropractor, whose hands and coaching have made a huge difference in my body, visited my consistently loving and wise shamanic counselor and been nurtured by my spiritual friend with a book about taming our negative thoughts by turning them into blessings. Plus, it's Lent.

Oh yeah – I almost forgot – I received word last week that I have been awarded a grant from the endowment of a wonderful Quaker couple, Clarence and Lily Pickett, for grounding my nurture work, book and art in one place: a studio in the neighborhood school, which as been re-purposed.

So many thoughts, ideas and concepts are rattling around inside of me and I know there is a message, simple and profound, working in me. What comes to mind, momentarily is:

• I am surely in the midst of so much life, creation and chaos, joy and sorrow.
• The universe sings in cycles of death and [re]birth.
• Often, we learn more about others after they have died.
• Grief can bind a community.
• Death is also a celebration of life and its gifts.
• Death is peaceful even when life is not.
• The birth of a child renews the world.
• The birth of a child and the death of grown men hold promise.
• Finding the good in everything makes all of the difference.
• We each need someone with whom we can share our deepest, darkest secrets.
• Also our deepest, sweetest joys.
• We are not designed to be islands; we need each other and we need God.
• In choosing life, we choose to trust, most especially, when it seems uncertain.
• "For nothing will be impossible with God." [Luke 1:37, one of the verses our study recommended we memorize]
• Even at 3 a.m. on an anxious awakening, treating it as a blessing can shift the troubling mind, bringing a message of love and a drifting back into sleep.
• When there seems nothing else, there is always prayer.
• Our double nature means, as human, we are imperfect. As a spark of divinity, we always have God's love and grace.
• Because I have been self reliant for so long, I don't realize I also fear trusting myself. In trusting myself, I am also trusting God.
• Tough times and situations are what make us grow and, also, what can connect us more deeply and directly to God.

So what is the central theme or message here? Trust in God because all things are possible ... especially in trying times?

• What makes me feel the swirl of life?
• What lessons do the hard circumstances hold?
• What [re]births have I experienced?
• What deaths?
• What message has been swirling in me?

the fullness of life,
the initial hollowness of death


one draws us out,
the other drives us in


it's easy to share joy,
harder to publicly wear our grief

yet, if we connect the two
by drawing a circle, we
begin to see their place
in our lives


what they have to give us,
what they have to teach


how we can respond this time
and next


and eventually recognize
the wholeness of existence


includes life and death


http://pickettendowment.quaker.org/

A place for all

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When was the last time ...

That phrase has been echoing in my head awhile, first about my daughters:
– When was the last time I gave them a bath?
– When was the last time I rocked them to sleep?
– The last time we held hands crossing the street?
– Dressed them, helped them write a report or fed them?

Those things slip away almost unnoticed, without announcement and, sometimes, with relief in the moments of heavy parenting.

Today, however, I am asking myself when was the last time I saw or spoke to Fred or Virgil, two wonderful men from my Quaker congregation who died on the same night, last Friday. Virgil has struggled for awhile, was older and, his death was not as unexpected. For those of us not immediate family, Fred's passing was shocking. It seemed to us to have happened quickly. He was absent from monthly meeting for business in January and never returned. Before this, Fred was never sick.

Virgil's mobility was limited and, for most of my 13 years at Cincinnati Friends Meeting, he needed assistance walking. His diligent wife, Ruby, made sure he got to meeting as often as they could from Wilmington. Virgil was always dressed in a suit and tie -- no matter what. I smile when I think about the walking tour of Spring Grove Cemetery [particularly the Quaker portion we own] I helped arrange a couple of years ago and how Ruby told Virgil she was taking him out for lunch, then drove the hour south, accompanied by Virgil's sister. Ruby was determined to make arrangements for inclusion in the lot by her in-laws. When that meeting was happening, I had a flash of the time they would need the space and felt some sense of peace in helping to facilitate that. Saturday I had some follow-up calls to make to Spring Grove, but, again, I felt peaceful; that I could do something that honored Virgil's life.

The joke in my meeting had been that it took my desire to be on the burial committee to finally seek membership. The three years I worked at Batesville Casket company in product and corporate marketing taught me the value of even the smallest acts in a time of grief. I grew to respect the work funeral directors perform, knowing I was not cut out for that level of involvement.

The Comfort-of-Friends group that has been meeting monthly has also offered an interesting look at how we view death. We had to name our worst- and best-case scenarios for dying and I said I knew it would be between me and God in the end and I was fine with that. Another friend suggested my perspective was probably not widely shared. I am certain my funeral-industry background has shaped it; well, that and my growing relationship with Spirit.

Worship was hard yesterday and, funny thing, we sang better than we ever have. Guess we wanted to be loud enough for Virgil's and Fred's ears. My heavy heart gave way to gratitude during the silence as I understood both of these men were responsible for the sacred space we were sharing. Virgil had been a trustee when the meetinghouse was constructed in the 1960s and Fred's long tenure as treasurer and a trustee, combined with his attention to detail, kept the building and grounds comfortable, tidy and beautiful.

Without them, we would not be the same congregation. Their legacy is loving and permanent and calls the rest of us deeper.

• What things have slipped away from my life that I did not notice at the time?
• How can I excess gratitude for having experienced them?
• Who am I missing from my life whether they are no longer living, living away or estranged?
• What prayer is on my heart for that loss?
• What legacy have I been creating?


such a chore to
gather all of the little hands,
link arms and safely cross the street
then


now, I can't remember the time
we just, well, stopped


of course, I still look out
for their safety, but it's
different,
they have grown


what about friends my heart remembers?
loved ones waiting for me elsewhere?
new losses or old ones?


there is a place for all in my heart,
which teaches me how
very big God's must be

God's gaze of pure love

My paper version of a Venetian mask

Two things this week have captured my attention and, while they may seem unrelated, they have a similar lesson. The first is how we carry ourselves and use our bodies simply to walk. I am taking a walking class, which may sound silly, but the chiropractor has a lot to teach. And I, for one, have a lot of unhealthy, old patterns to break.

So, I've been practicing this full-body stride, arms and hips swinging, gliding side to side in what, at first, felt very exaggerated, but now seems more natural. Last week when one daughter, my husband and I were out on a walk – I was warned they would not slow for me – I hit a wonderful stride, not even noticing when I eclipsed them. My husband experienced a minor injury, but I wanted to keep my new-found pace. When I reached home, my older daughter said her friend had texted that I was power walking past. I laughed at the notion, but now see the truth. This more natural way of walking is empowering, forcing me to thrust my shoulders back and my heart forward. Gradually, my confidence is shifting as it feels good and I feel better in this new form.

Because of a shoulder injury, I have backed off yoga, trading it for walking and still swimming. I do errands on foot more and notice how others walk. Yesterday, I was aghast at an older man who never looked up, hunched his shoulders and constantly eyed the ground. I silently said a prayer because his posture said he had either been very hurt, suffered or has no self esteem, It really tugged at my heart. I suspect the man may have been younger than he appeared, his stance adding years.

My new walking teacher/chiropractor suggests that, in our culture, we are always moving forward, forcing our bodies, heads, necks and shoulders out of alignment. With some attention, I see that he is right. I understand, though, that an inward adjustment must happen first. I have been trying to live more in the moment. When I don't, I do notice my body shoves itself forward. Now that I am aware, it seems ridiculous. Pushing, pushing, pushing to get ahead somehow and neglecting to savor the now.
...

My creative project this week has been to design paper masks based on the Venetian long-nosed one I brought back from Venice to Lily. My nurture group's theme this week was "Stripped Naked," and I was playing with how best to facilitate opening to that. Here's the introduction that I offered:

We all dream that being somewhere naked is catastrophic. Nudity often is uncomfortable, unfamiliar and forces us to disrobe, hiding nothing and removing our [turtle] shell. It’s truth.

Shedding my masks, pretentions, ego and willfulness allows me to make my being my message. Lets my life speak. Lets us wear our truth nakedly for ALL to see. 

Like all else worthwhile, paring down and casting away the unnecessary occurs slowly, through many little steps and not one major cleanout. It’s progressions of nakedness.

It may be acquiring new skin after sloughing off, layer by layer, the old armor that makes us tough, numb and non-feeling. We outgrow the thick skin that has scabbed over buried wounds. Ultimately, we want nothing between ourselves and God. When my girls were infants and I’d bathe and hold them skin-to-skin, I thought of it as “naked to naked.” That’s how I feel best with God, when I truly experience her gaze of pure love and see myself as beloved. Those rare and fleeting glimpses are enough to hold me.

Pain is a stripping agent, forcing us to come to terms with our humanness. That discomfort stirs up what’s hidden and brings it to our attention.

Real nakedness is seeing ourselves truthfully and without judgment … through God’s untainted eyes. We must remove the glasses/perceptions/judgment of others that cloud our view.

So the idea of creating masks seemed a good way to chip away at our false selves. First, however, we focused on two queries, which assisted deep and powerful sharing:

• To what do I cling?

• What masks can I shatter or put down?
We discussed how hard it often is to put down those masks and traveled to the conclusion that becoming aware is the first, big step and casting them aside is the journey toward wholeness.
Then there was a wonderfully intense period of creativity when we made our masks, put them on and looked at each other. Our passion drove us past the usual stopping point, so I  asked each person to try in the coming week to look in the mirror (real or metaphorical) and see themselves with God's pure gaze of love.
If we could do that often enough, there would be  no need for walking classes, I do believe!


• How do I project myself in public?
• How can I pay attention to how I walk and what it may reveal about me?
• When have my physical and spiritual selves been in alignment?
• What does that look and feel like?
• What mask am I attempting to remove?

Re-finding the divine within

Finding my divine [in]side

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This has been the week of REs ... as in recover and repent, even rebirth, resurrection and re-find. That second word, repent, has always hung me up until today's selection from Thomas Keating's "The Daily Reader for Contemplative Living" that I use for centering prayer.

I've spent most of the week healing from a shoulder injury, trading yoga for walking, laps and water therapy. It's helping, but slowly, and takes a lot of energy. Have to remind myself that healing does. Even so, I've been intensely working on a new class, submitting a comprehensive grant and helping my eighth-grader plan her whole high-school career (or so it seems). It wasn't until today, Thursday, that I even got around to centering prayer and I cheated. I read the March 1 entry before prayer. It spoke of repent meaning "to change the direction in which you are looking for happiness." Did not seem as sinister as I'd thought. No less easy either.

So I took that word, repent, as my entrance into prayer. It seemed to coincide with an experience I had in my class when I facilitated an experiment-in-light-exercise. Developed in the mid 1990s by a British Quaker, Rex Ambler, the purpose is to emulate the worship experience of early Quakers. While reading the six-step meditation (there are several variations) and keeping time, I was able to experience it to some extent. The point is to let the light reveal Truth through discomfort. It's not intended as a la-la-la blissful meditation, but as transformation. What it revealed to me was stuck anger; no surprise really, except that I was able to visualize where it is in my body and that it is slowly surfacing. I understand it as something I must face instead of letting it seep out onto unsuspecting others.

Somehow, I also think this idea of changing the direction in which I look for happiness has much to do with this stuck anger. Parts of the anger revolve around not living the kind of life I expected; you know not having the American dream of health, wealth and an easy life. Though the older I get, the more I see it as a misguided, perhaps dangerous, myth. I expected to be working full-time in a career right now savoring some success. But that's because I equated happiness with materialism, wealth and success; basically, on external circumstance.

A lesson earlier this week in the pool awakened me to the fact I often look outside for help, when it resides within. My wise spiritual friend and mentor noticed last week that I seem to think of God as outside myself. She pointed that out once before. I can see that of God within others, but forget it's also within me, probably without as well, but I forget that I am part divine. That's where I can look for happiness and to dislodge the emerging anger.

So, today when I was tempted to search for an online job, I opted for prayer instead and am holding fast to my plans to open a studio for spiritual nurture with the glimmer of grant backing. I do know that if I follow my heart into more nurture work that will be my life as opposed to taking some outside job that will split me apart again. I seek wholeness.

• What does the idea of repent mean to me?
• How does that shift if I use Thomas Keating's definition?
• Where do I seek happiness?
• Where do I view Spirit as residing?
• Can I see my divinity within?

on the massage table,
my aching shoulders
were loosened,
relaxed


and Jesus had a message:
"You mustn't carry the burden
of worry. I've already done that."
He undid the work of a heavy cross
on my body.


internally, I am
living the resurrection,
rebirthing myself


and re-finding
the divine within

The moment between bars

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My week has been full of opposites, reminding me how I vacillate and that we all are works in progress.

Sunday, I spent an enriching afternoon in the company of other Quakers as we studied and grappled with death and dying. Meeting monthly, we're slowly reading a book on the subject by a Buddhist that requires self exploration. We shared our responses to what we envision as the worst death possible, then the best. The answers were wide-ranging and astounding. One Friend remarked that I am probably the minority in understanding and embracing that my death will be only me and God. And I am completely happy with that. I should confess that I have had a few mentors along the way who've shown me it's nothing to fear.

Monday gloriously opened casting the beautiful and full belly of a pregnant friend in plaster. She was radiant and I loved gently smothering her 35-week wide stomach with Vaseline, then wetting, wringing and applying the gauze strips. I smoothed each layer, working from chest to lower abdomen, side to side, capturing a wondrous shape that immediately appeared sculptural. One daughter cut strips and the younger,  wandered away. Perhaps it was too much, but for me, one who has given birth, it was a reminder of the beauty in the entire life-giving process. It was a privilege to trap this moment, this shape, reconnecting to my experience and looking ahead to those of this mother-to-be.

Tuesday, I facilitated my weekly spiritual-nurture group on one of my favorite subjects: the living water. We drank Italian sparkling water, listened to a bubbling fountain, were led through a guided meditation as we lay on the floor pretending to float, completely surrendering ourselves and, ended by washing each others' feet. It was lively, fun, moving and life affirming. Why can't we always treat each other this way? I thought. It was humbling to sooth another's feet, but even more so to be on the receiving end.

Wednesday, I was on the phone with an old family friend, listening to her describe her husband dying of Alzheimer's. I had made the call, prompted by my heart in honoring the gift of their friendship. Life was never dull when they visited or we ventured to Chicago: the New Year's their son teasingly locked us out on a second-floor porch in record-breaking low temperatures, sitting in their built-in naughty chair, hearing the story of how ancestors had a copy of the Mona Lisa crated away in a musty attic or the countless times Chris, the one dying, made us laugh ... hysterically. He has the best sense of humor of anyone I've ever known. Last weekend, when his son visited, he saluted his father and asked: "Permission to board?" It was a joke between them, but also a sign of respect as the father had been a Navyman. After two weeks of not uttering a word, Chris replied: "Permission denied" and the room cracked up. His wife confessed how difficult it is to see her spouse withering in the 112-pound frame until he smiles and transforms. She even crawled into bed and held him one night until he slept. He finds comfort when they recite the Lord's prayer together and she continually prays on the trip to visit for strength and receives it every time.

Thursday, I let one daughter play hooky. She's growing up so fast and we rarely get one-on-one time. We shopped and dined at Ikea, then slid into the city, Findlay Market to be precise, for an Indian cooking lesson, drifting to the Korean store after for spices, bumping into an old friend and ending with me quaffing a Bavarian beer in the antique bar where the friend works. It was one of those days you'll always remember as the epitome of the perfect day. Earlier my 14-year-old asked "When have you been the happiest?" Upon my hesitation, she answered herself: "You're supposed to say right now because you're with me." And she was right.

Intermingled with these are prayers for my 95-year-old aunt who, on a jaunt to Florida, ended up in the hospital for surgery, then Hospice and has made a miraculous recovery and a dedicated Quaker friend struggling with a stern diagnosis and complications.

Today, I walked to yoga, but left early and in tears because my shoulder could not handle the planks. Usually it's not an issue, but today, the pain was excruciating. So much so that I almost cancelled a meeting with my spiritual friend. Glad I didn't because it was what I needed most. She let me whine a bit, then I discussed each of the above and we got around to the fact we live many deaths and re-births. I think she was also saying that I am currently in one of those and I agree. Her advice was spot on: "Think of the circus and the person on the trapeze. When they go to reach for the next bar, they have to let go of the other and there is a moment when they are grasping nothing. I think that's where you are."

The space between life and death, death and life. The place we're supposed to trust.

• What glimpses of life have I been given recently?
• What of death?
• How can I string those together?
• What message is there?
• How have I experienced the space between?


looking back,
grasping


and also
forging ahead


wagering
weighing


trying to
hold both bars
for fear of falling


thinking it is
our job


when we must
just let go


and surrender

When God swoops in

Florence convent: God helped lead me here during a 3-mile walk at midnight

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What's the hardest thing you ever been asked to or felt compelled to do? I believe mine, so far in this life, is just beginning. Perhaps the hardest and the simplest, in that I am following my heart, but it's leading me to a more exterior life than I have had in quite awhile... one that, in fact, scares me.

Since I left full-time work to raise kids, flirt with freelance, nurture training and volunteering, I have had the flexibility to deal with chronic issues. It's also what has allowed me time for introspection and a spiritual journey. What, I ask out loud, happens if I don't have the energy and stamina to make this next, big step of taking my nurture work out of a faith-community context and into the real world?

In a surreal labyrinth walk when I wrestled with this question, Jesus met me in the center with the promise that I would not be asked to give more than I would be assisted with. As my shamanic counselor says: "You've got the Big Guy in your corner." He, the counselor, also understood my fear: "Well, you have struggled with that issue before."

Nevertheless, I am forging ahead: beginning to negotiate for a space and applying for a grant ... though I know full well I will secure that space with or without the grant. My Quaker clearness committee for this work and the grant  suggested a partner may help. I agree, but am not sure who or where that support lies. I am being called, I think, to walk forward even in the doubt and trust that I will be given what I need when I need it.

When I inspect my history, I always have:
– Like the time I devastatingly discovered my nurture training in Philadelphia was happening NOW, not next week when my flight was booked, my childcare was lined up and my mother would be back in town. I fell apart but, with my husband's strong support, I was on my way in 12 hours. After three delays, the elder who picked me up suggested that  I unpack and re-ground before joining the group. In doing so,  I noticed I had, fortunately, forgotten only one item: dental floss. As I opened the empty dresser drawer to put my clothes away, something tucked away in the corner caught my eye; an unopened package of floss. This discovery was accompanied by the message of "Trust and I will give you what you need." The bigger gift I received that very day was to know how much I had been missed by arriving late. Until then, I had not felt a very integral part of this community. Apparently, I was traveling on God's time.

– Or, when I was sitting in the bath tub one morning contemplating just slipping away because the pain and violent vertigo were too much. I glanced at the clock and realized Lily would be home from kindergarten in an hour and I could not let her find me. I dressed, then threw a tantrum, pounding my fists on the floor and screaming at God to help me. A small voice said: "Go to what you know." "What the hell is that right now?" I snarled back, then sat down at my nearby computer and began researching drug reactions. It was all I could do. I soon learned that I was having withdrawal from a nasty drug used to treat fibromyalgia my now ex-doc had recommended stopping altogether. But, you know, that little piece of information made all of the difference; it didn't ease the chore of going back on and weaning off, but it showed me just how much God cared and completely altered my attitude.

– On a solo trip to Italy, arriving after 17 hours of planes, shuttles, trains and a bus with no English speakers, I pointed to my map and was anxiously shoved off, completely lost, into an abandoned-looking district. I eventually found that street names are embedded on the sides of buildings and, in tears, not knowing how much farther my journey, noticed a sign in English in the back of a small Italian car window that read: "I am with you" and I knew I was not alone ... not ever.

– Also at midnight in Florence, with no buses in sight,  I began walking the three miles to the convent, praying to arrive safely. I figured out a general path back, ducked into a small hotel to check my map and a kind employee, who spoke English, pointed me in the safest direction. "You have a long way to go," he said. I responded: "But you don't know how far I've come." I felt God's presence the entire way back, returning late and exhausted, but in one piece. When I awoke the next morning, I was exhilarated that we had made that journey together.

When I think about these instances, I am stunned by how much God does, indeed, show up of me, whenever I ask and even when I don't. I am certain there are so many other times, probably daily, that I don't even bother to notice. Wow.

• What is God currently asking of me?
• How have I responded?
• When has God given me what I needed when I needed it?

• How am I able to trust that will happen?

• How can I practice awareness of where God is working in my life?

always at my weakest

alone and frightened

overwhelmed, perhaps

unable to continue

God swoops in

in some unexpected way

and rescues me

that I CAN

count on

Take 20 and call on me ... anytime

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This morning, after a swim and before I sat down to do some work, I worried myself into some centering prayer. I have been trying to make it a somewhat regular (almost daily) practice because it sets a much simpler and happier course for my day if I do.

If you're not familiar with it, it's pretty easy. Basically, you allot 15-30 minutes to sit in quiet with God. There is a recommended way of sitting (in a comfortable chair, but not so much so that you'll fall asleep, back straight, feet planted on floor, hands on your knees palms up – to receive – and eyes closed) and you may want to do a few stretches to prepare. Often a focus word, mantra, image or color is way in and a manner of reminding yourself to come back to the center when your thoughts stray ... and, rest assured, they will. Keep that simple. Breath is also an easy and natural way to focus. Just surrender to God. It's pretty powerful and healing stuff even if it feels as if nothing happens.

My mind gears were churning away playing ping pong with an unspoken fear. Eventually, I could name the fear and relinquish it. It's the fear of how I can do what God is currently asking of me (open a nurture studio) without the normal benchmarks such as a paycheck and boss. I understand that those aren't meant for me right now, but I want to be tethered in some way.

And I sank into the nothingness. I emerged with a start, a few minutes ahead of the timer, but I felt done. Done enough to read the daily devotion from Father Thomas Keating's "The Daily Reader for Contemplative Living." And there were my benchmarks for the subject was Fruits of the Spirit:
• Charity (love),
• Joy
• Peace
• Meekness
• Gentleness
• Long-suffering
• Goodness
• Patience
• Self Control
[Galatians 5:23]

When I had first done centering prayer with the nuns while on retreat several weeks ago, they used this book and it spoke so deeply to me then. It is so clear where I need to grow based just on that list and even the order in which the fruits were listed.

And today being Valentine's Day, I understand why love is at the top.

• How do I make time to regularly connect with the Divine?
• What happens when I do?
• What do I notice when I don't?
• How playful am I in experimenting with ways to connect?
• What's currently working for or speaking to me?

all revved up and
nowhere to go


except into myself
stirring up trouble
and worry


not the best way
to begin the day


so, I take a breath,
regroup and take
20


20 minutes to
sit in centering prayer


a mere smidgen of my day
to just be with God


can't I manage to find that somewhere?


just when it seems like a chore
or one more thing to fit in,
I am reminded that it
benefits me most of all


...
If you want more help with centering prayer:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3IKpFHfNdnE