Natural Truth

Yesterday, I shared coffee and conversation with spiritual friends, spiritual friends who are also mystics. Ever since a June retreat for Quaker mystics, we've carved out a monthly meeting time to check in with each other spiritually, support our journeys and be present to one another. There's no real set agenda, which is such a blessing. We're there to be ... together.

I crave this kind of connection, daily. Perhaps that's why I subscribe to two online meditations and just signed up for a third. I need reminders and companionship. Walking the walk isn't so easy for me. It can feel lonely and desolate at times. Me against the world, when I have forgotten that Spirit is always available. A grounding of like-hearted others is crucial.

We don't even have to talk about much in this group of three, though we usually meander some deep places. I like that we come as equals and can bare our souls. I shyly released a haunting confession yesterday, to which one friend spouted out a silly story and put my heart at ease. "I would have responded with something deeper," the other said and we all laughed. It was just right.

Such an antidote to the fact my life is in high gear as my daughters transition to ungodly wake-up times, heavy class loads and after-school commitments. Toss in six weeks of three birthdays, accompanied by parties and overnights, a major grant, evaluation of another, an Artsy Fartsy field trip and community art day and, well, you get the picture. Fill in your own details, I'm certain you recognize this space. Not much room for God.

"What art are you making?" one of my mystic cohorts chirps. "Are you blogging?" I confess that it's been ages since I've made art and that my usual, holy blogging days of Tuesday and Friday have been shuffled for 13th-year celebrations and pursuing grant finances, something I abhor because it is the least creative endeavor I can imagine.

I have an order for a Turtlebox, plan to open an Etsy shop with more and am dying to get knee-deep in a daylong retreat I am facilitating on naming gifts in October. But not until the surveys, evaluations and event planning happen. Sometimes I think the super structure will eat me alive. Without it, however, there's no funding for work God calls me to.

My husband hints that I wouldn't know myself unless I was stacked to the gills with work. I yearn for spaciousness. Do I make my work work? There have been times when it seems flowing and easy. This is not one of those. Now I feel ultra responsible, with few to share the burden physically, emotionally and spiritually.

One of my escapes when I am busy is to read. Currently, I'm reading Bridget Jones' Edge of Reason for the second time (I need to laugh, plus I love her vulnerability), Henri Nouwen's Spiritual Direction, Quaker Jan Wood's Christians at Work and The Edison Gene, which I find fascinating. Subtitled ADHD and the Gift of the Hunter Child,  I recognize elements of my youngest, but also myself. I have no problem focusing, but the sections on why some people can't function in the public-education system as well as the history of compulsory education help me see the untruth in our society. These artificial systems of dominance defeat our natural and beautiful wild tendencies, beating us into submission. No wonder I detested the corporate world and felt like an outsider in school, even if I could conform and do well. However, what speaks to me most are the sections on spirituality and mysticism. Thom Hartmann supposes with much fact that people with this hunter gene, holdover from ages ago, constantly scan the landscape and, with our changing technology this is, yet, another genetic adaptation not a disorder. These Hunter types stray from the mainstream, seeking a direct experience of the divine, dream and have an inner knowing that's lacking today. THIS is where I want to live.

I'd love to trade the busyness and super structure for dreaming, closeness to God and deep relationship with others. What's stopping me?

• With whom do I share my spiritual journey?
• When do I have a space for that with no other agenda?
• Who are the companions or mystics in my life?
• How do I nurture my spirituality and connection to God?
• What untruths have I recognized in the secular world?


in 20 years,
the NPR reporter says,

productivity has
risen 70 percent

and salaries,
5 percent

craziness, I say

just what are we 
laboring and pushing for?

and when we have trouble
focusing, they suggest
we are disordered

when the truth is
the material world
creates myth and
a vicious cycle

like the lab rat in
a cage, unable 
to see her way out

dreaming, praying
and connecting
are the essential
and natural Truth

Listen to this post:

Lay it down

A week since my sojourn to a Quaker mystics's retreat and, now, the experience smacks of being a dream, one concocted by my greatest desire to be heard, affirmed and seen for who I am, not what I can do. My last post begins to tell this story: 

unraveling the mystery

I want it recorded so that I do NOT forget that it was real. That Spirit spoke to me and, with much argument, I obeyed. That this is a life-changer.

By the second night on the Earlham College Campus, I had become comfortable enough to unpack Mother Turtle for the evening’s open-mic event. So many times I had skipped this portion, but tonight, this time was right. Right enough to offer up the myth I’d drafted after a shamanic waking dream, which explains the personal significance of the turtle that is also universal. As I pulled her out of the blue Ikea bag – it had been drizzling for my trip across campus – I could see the wonder building as I held up the road-weary, damaged and repaired eight-year-old Turtlebox, mother of 60-some commission and gifts. It gave me courage to read the newest piece of the book I’d put aside to live, rather than write, for awhile. I choked at the end as I was reminded of my status as a child of God, one she desperately loves. I noticed heads nod.

The next morning’s home group was bittersweet as we re-capped the way one of us had previously broken open and we responded tenderly, then prepared to leave one another, flowing into worship at the campus Meetinghouse. I had worshipped there before and was looking forward to its peacefulness. There was wonderful ministry that began to work on me:

What? I don’t need a Turtlebox, a book or a studio? No props? Really, God, just me – just myself?

That was a jolt, but nothing compared to the next instruction:

Lay down on the pew and surrender.

What? You’ve got to be kidding? Really – right here, right now. Just lay down on this pew?

Yes.

What will all of these people think? Maybe that I’m just tired?

Lay down on the pew and surrender.

[With heart palpitations mimicking the ones I get when I have vocal ministry, I recognized I could not deny this request.] Well, if anywhere has ever been safe to do something like this in public, it would be here with all of these mystics. OK.

I’m laying here, now what?

Surrender.

I don’t know how to do that. I need help, God. Human help.

Then, ask.

Worship ends, a gentleman walks over me to shake hands with my neighbor and I am still laying there, unsure what to do, but not moving. A female voice says it’s time for prayers and I find myself rising and blabbering:

God just told me to lay down on this pew and surrender and I don’t know how. Can you pray for me and help me?

Did I really just do that? No one much would have noticed me if I had just lain there. But did I have to dramatically rise up and say something?

Yes.

No sooner had I asked than the warmth of a body and a pair of hands was holding my feet and soon another was at my head offering a hand, then a clean handkerchief. I grabbed at the hands by my head. As people began to clear, I looked up to see Allison* at my head. “I had the impluse to come right away, but then I always do and wasn’t sure this was right,” she said. “It was,” I responded.

My angels sat with me, then guided me outside for the group picture. They said I looked remarkably well with my glasses on. I still hid in the background. We went to a bench and Allison fetched a drink for me.

“It’s all your fault,” I giggled at her. “You and that tiny seed idea.”

As I re-entered, people came by with hugs and well wishes. Then the woman who had really begun all of this, the 1994 founder of the Quaker mystics publication that sponsored the weekend (What Canst Thou Say), stopped and I blamed her with the same humor. Someone proffered that we had tended to our spirits, but, perhaps, not to our physical needs during the retreat. Others said this was not unusual after a deep gathering. I had totally opened and trusted.

Another meal and surprising goodbyes. Stuart sauntered up with giant hug. “This clearly was your fault,” I jokingly hissed. “You were the one who asked help me in our first worship.”

Quiet Dave said I’d been an inspiration and we began the new chorus of “until next time” instead of goodbye.

Then my grounded, loving weekend roommate offered to drive home.

How do you come home from that? I've been struggling with that answer all week. By slowing down for one, I've learned. I am not ready for complete re-entry. I am also not forcing clarity on the wisdom I was given ... as if I could. In fact, I have asked my Quaker Meeting (church) for a clearness committee, an amazing process of others listening to where God is working in the requester's life.

Mostly, I'm just grateful for the experience and how it will unfold.

• When have I been truly opened?

• What precipitated the opening?

• What did the opening facilitate?

• How have I been faithful to a call from God?

• Where is Spirit currently working in my life?

Lay down and surrender.

Lay it down:

     fear and anger,

     resistance and reluctance,

     woundedness and disease,

     struggle and hardship,

     control and envy,

     ego and attachment,

     disconnection and isolation,

     doubt and murkiness,

     shoulds and regret.

Know my seed within you,

planted in your heart

long ago when you

were pure Spirit.

Our connection is

tonic for bodily living,

empowerment and joy.

Exactly how you live

in this world,

but not of it.

Your tether to the Eternal,

Source of the seed.

Rejoice in this gift.

Sense its power.

Feel its love, healing

and divinity.

You are worthy of

it – you are

MY child.

Remember

I am here – within –

always.

Call on me.

Share me.

Shine me

within and without.

*During a difficult period, Allison struggled with God and recognized  the tiny seed of divinity within, asking if this is all and simultaneously knowing its vastness. When she pointed to the center of her chest to identify where it resided, I knew this to be true in myself.

Listen to this post:

Living our dreams, not our doubts

The flow of grace has returned to my life. I am sure of myself and my work thanks to a series of affirmations and, of course, Spirit.

These past weeks really have begun to follow a pattern, the same one we've been exploring in the Turtlebox spiritual-nurture group. Last post I discussed the dark night of the soul, which was also the topic of Thursday's Turtlebox and  my most-attended session. I had provided a warning that this was a difficult topic and, still, they came. 

That was an affirmation I sorely needed as I had been struggling with some doubt in my own dark night.

Fallen/pastel on paper

Last Sunday, I experienced a very deep and powerful worship, though I had no vocal ministry, which is rare. I was almost so deep, I couldn't move. Our minister noticed, saying I didn't seem my usual self and suggested we talk. Automatically and surprisingly, I agreed. When I mentioned the dark night, she got all giddy and excused herself to return with a passage from a book on the dark night she had copied for some reason: me, she now believed. Then the talk turned to my ministry and how the Meeting has been puzzled that I haven't finished applying for funding. That when they created the fund, they all had me in mind: a person with many gifts and not in a regular job. She reiterated the Quaker notion of releasing one for ministry by financially helping with living expenses.

I had not been ready for this step because of my doubts, but now see that I am. Another affirmation.

In reading an e-mail from a Quaker friend who plans to volunteer this week with Artsy Fartsy, she said the nominating committing had just met and discussed my "sold vocal ministry." I thanked her on both counts and said I was grateful for the vote of confidence as I struggle with doubt.

A third affirmation.

After posting the last blog on dark night, a wonderful Quaker/writer/friend said it was one he'd read again because it applied so well to his current experience. Then he thanked me for sharing my explorations. I expressed my gratitude, mentioning that I often feel like Bridget Jones who says, at one point, that she doesn't need another person to tell her she's messed up because she feels that way most of the time.

A fourth affirmation.

Unexpectedly, my husband brought a letter to me to the studio. When I ripped it open – it was from a grant funder to whom I'd applied – a check for the total amount of my request spilled out. "Thank you for your commitment to the children in your community," it concluded.

Yet another VERY concrete affirmation.

The doubt really has dissipated along with the dark night. One of the wise women who has been attending Tutlebox said a spiritual director told her a long time ago that God is in your dreams and desires, not the doubt.

I believe that again.

And as we talked about Thursday at Turtlebox, the dark night strips us of ego and things of the world, so we may lose ourselves more fully in Spirit's flow of love, which I am feeling so powerfully and gratefully again.

I am living my dreams, not my doubts.

• When I have felt connected to Spirit, then separated?
• How did I experience that darkness and separation?
• What kept me going?
• If reconnection happened, what was that like?
• Where are my current dreams taking me?

A classic case:

months of near ecstasy
and energy

close encounters,
amazing experiences,
vivid dreams,
visions and images
collecting

best I've been
in years

so open, I
ask for
change

and BAM
it comes crashing
in, loosening
so much
old stuff ...
crud that was
still hanging
like a tether
to the old me

the one trapped
by ego 

and I stewed there
awhile

until I began
to understand
just where I
was – a
spiritual
sorting house

soon it was
time to emerge
and fly

because the
baggage is gone
and my heart
is deepened,
but lighter

Listen to this post:

Playfulness: portal for the soul

Two important parts of my life converge this week: hosting a deeply spiritual gathering, then re-grouping two days later for a wild, wooly and lovable gaggle of preteens to teach them about photography. Rather, my talented and loving other half is doing the camera gig as our guest. Still, it's a big turn-around and juxtaposition in which I am finding great joy.

The Thursday night kickoff with what I call my Turtlebox group seemed perfect. We focused on the idea of opening to the Divine or whatever one feels is greater than themselves. My mantra in this series is not to get too hung up on language ... that we must translate for one another so that we may read between the lines and listen by heart. For me, it is all about Spirit/God, but I don't want to impose my language on another when, in fact, I believe we are referring to the same energy.

In luring participants more toward doing than just discussing, they graciously partook in what I call "heart play," something I was introduced to by a wonderful art coach and have since expanded and adapted to a more spiritual setting. 

Heart-play stash

It also allows me to imbibe my penchant for collecting things, interesting things and displaying them in baskets for just such an exercise. I ask people to select whatever materials – from natural and earthy objects to shiny ribbons and gems and a lot of childhood trinkets such as building blocks, Tinker Toys and puzzle pieces – appeal to them, mindlessly, and begin assembling them in a temporary sculpture of sorts. Playing, arranging and freeing their mind. The point it not to over think, not even to think. Then, when you feel finished, you reflect and journal on the experience and creation. It's pretty amazing what transpires and what people learn from their play. Once, we all happened to unconsciously create altars.

This has always been one of my most favorite activities when I facilitate others in spiritual nurture. Always. Several weeks ago when I had an astrology reading for my birthday and the astrologer got to my soul purpose, she said mine was to teach adults to play. Hum .....

Heart-play temporary sculpture

After the heart play, I will ask when was the last time you played? I understand that having children gave me back that permission and last night, someone said the same for being a grandparent. But we don't need those excuses.

Perhaps that is why I so love Artsy Fartsy and connecting under-served middle schoolers to their creativity. We are playing because that's how they engage. I am so excited for tomorrow that I can hardly stand it. My husband has constructed something called a camera obscura in one of the empty classrooms in the building where we both have studios. He'll have the kids enter into the darkness and actually be in a camera as the windows have been draped. When he unveils a small hole, a reversed and large image from out the window will appear on the screen. It is so cool and I know the kids will love this. When I explained to one of them earlier in the week we were doing photography, she asked "What's that?" In responding that it involves taking pictures with a camera, she understood. Wow, just wait til they get to see actual negatives and film ... things they've never had occasion to experience.

Can you tell all of this playfulness brings me great joy? I tend toward being ultra-responsible and I crave the playfulness as balance. I think we all do, whether we recognize it or not.

Playfulness is a portal for the soul in so many dimensions and can connect us spiritually as well as creatively. Try it sometime.

• When was the last time I played?
• How do I give myself permission to play?
• How has it freed my soul?
• When have I connected spiritually through play?
• How have I re-engaged my creativity in that manner?

Red Bird/paster and pain on paper

RED BIRD

Red bird is my guide.

He first led me to the

woods – to a safe and

wonderful place where

I let my heart play.

And when I let my

heart play often enough,

he appears. As if to

say I’m following the

right path. When I

dive into doubt, he’s

scarce. It’s then I

know to open up

again, become playful.

When I do, he always

returns.

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