Journey to nowhere

Earlier this week, I felt somewhat unglued and ready for a routine. Getting kids back to school in different weeks, with one attending evening college classes as a high-school junior and shy of her driver's license, there's been a lot of chauffeuring or, rather, being chauffeured. Then labor day, a day off and a weekend of 14th-birthday celebrations for the youngest. Summer retreated with a bang. It was a great season initiated by an incredible family trip to Europe.

So slinking off to school and work routines is not, exactly, exciting. Yet necessary.

I crave more-focused work, balance and rhythm. The busyness has caused me to let go of a regular spiritual practice, even weekly worship twice, and my daily gym visits. It's like skipping medication.  For one day, I'd like to just wake up to the day and head onward, no swim, sinus care, supplement taking or gluten-free lunch packing. Just once. And not have to experience repercussions.

Yes, I know that I am whining. Tuesday, I, dutifully, headed to the gym by 6:45 am, swam less than the usual mile (I must build up again), blended and slurped down my spinach-blueberry-and-brown-rice smoothie, dropped my oldest off at 9 am, returned to take my supplements, pack my lunch and get to the studio. Once there, my first action was to light a candle, welcoming Spirit's light, and pull out my daily devotional. The bookmark was still on August 21.

The passage was about beginning the spiritual journey with a reminder that we humans center the universe on ourselves. We can't help it. The shattering of illusions, Father Thomas Keating writes, is the beginning of the journey. The real spiritual journey and the way to nowhere.

The way to nowhere. I can identify with that.

Who likes to admit they haven't the faintest idea where they are headed? Practically no one. It's not practiced in this culture. Everyone knows exactly where they are going: to work, careers, up the rungs of  the social and corporate ladders, and, even Heaven. We are so sure of it. Otherwise, what are we left with? Feeling out of control?

Societally, we are launched on an upward path. I left that long ago and never really understood it until spiritual teacher Richard Rohr wrote that the spiritual path is one of descent ... into the messiness of life and brokenness. THAT I could identify with – over and over again like a skipping record.

With a new awareness, I have begun to notice something pretty radical. When I am slumming in the sludge of life, guess who is always with me? God. I don't especially remember feeling her presence when I traipsed up and down the steps of my corporate job years ago. As I traveled, marketed, plotted and planned I felt, well, hollow. Like I was just pretending. It seemed as if we all were. The lemmings marching in sober-faced, stiff and Zombie-like (perhaps mirroring our product, caskets) each morning and flowing out each evening, together at the same time. Like them, I was probably asleep.

I have since awakened and know Spirit's presence in the depths of darkness, on the average day and the heights of contentment. She is with me when I am alone, when I worship with others, when I struggle with others. I know her most intimately through Jesus and his universal Christ energy.

I know it best when I keep a daily practice that opens me to that energy and love as I journey to nowhere.

• What role does routine play in my life?
• What happens when it's not in place?
• Where do I pencil in time with God?
• What difference does that make?
• When have I felt I was on a journey to nowhere?


beginning of the
week I am
chomping to get
organized and
feel in control
again

that holidays,
and new schedules
become assimilated
... quickly

bouncing from
one busyness
to the other

when I remember
to light the candle
and let Sprit in

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Worship launches whirlwind week

Answered prayers and blessings have abounded this week and, fortunately, I've been in a place of awareness and gratitude. Could I possibly always be this blessed, just not aware?

Much of it has to do with a conscious effort and new spiritual practice to bless everything and everyone. Ok, really, it's Spirit, yet my awareness is more present, focused and tuned in.

IT'S IN THE EYES
Monday, I took a brief road trip with my twin sister to Smalltown, Indiana, to visit a naturopath her co-workers rave about. It was a beautifully sunny day to weave up and down among the rolling pastures, neat farms, livestock, flea markets and forgotten villages. I needed a new perspective after a long winter of hibernating. We arrived early and had a brief wait in the front of the building, where all of the herbs are kept. Several locals strolled in looking for this tonic or that. We had our appointment together, but Carolyn gently insisted I go first. "Just like you pushed me out of the womb?" I jokingly asked.

Terri began by photographing each of my eyes. She practices iridology, which purports your health is recorded in the eyes. I was enamored with the photos and coaxed her into e-mailing me one. She seemed impressed with something about my eyes, though didn't name it. I scribbled a page or two of notes since she had many interesting things to day. Most rung with truth. Those that didn't personally, I could see were family traits. What interested me most, beyond her saying I had a strong structure and healthy heart, was her suggestion that the fibromyalgia is bacterial. That spoke to me not in a new-hope-this-will-fix-it way, but as a truth, one path no one else has uttered, let alone offered to treat – naturally. She bumped up my thyroid treatment, gave me an enzyme for digestion, olive-leaf oil for the bacteria and a sleep enhancer to get me off the Valerian root-melatonin and Benadryl roller coaster. I have had more energy this week. I am struggling with sleep, weaning off a cocktail of many years. However, I am giving it a go. Funny thing, at the beginning of my consultation, she looked at me and remarked: "You're always going and active, aren't you? And when you're done, you drop." I responded that I think of myself more as a contemplative, then remembered how my husband always reminds me that I never stop, unless physically forced to.

I think Terri calls it as she sees it and reminds me I am not sickly and helpless, the way my ego has ensnared me.

REMEMBERING TO FEEL BLESSED
Forgetting NOT to take the thyroid supplements before bed and mixing it with the sleep aid was a mistake that had me up and down all night. Tiredly, I drug myself to the pool, then off to meet my new workshop partner for our final planning session. We're presenting tomorrow (Saturday). Sunday we had been disappointed that no one showed up at our preview session, though we buoyed each other and left undaunted. This work seems like such a blessing and exactly what I am called to that it's not really work. Of course, there's lots to do and much effort exerted, but it's fun, playful and, even, prayerful. Before Monday's road trip, I'd popped into the studio to finish the wall-of-pain piece I'd created for the workshop. We'd gotten the ok to set it up in our venue and use it as a teaser. The owner loved it and it looked great. How could anyone resist? we thought. We have five souls coming tomorrow and are thrilled! I'd caught myself from becoming desperate and used prayer and blessings when it was only two on Tuesday. I also have my diligent partner to thank.

SEEING CLEARLY A SLOW PROCESS
Sunday, I'd left Quaker meeting (church) early, missing the business meeting, to co-host that intro workshop I mentioned earlier. In my absence, the congregation considered a ministry grant request from me for salary and rent for Artsy Fartsy Saturdays, the not-for-profit arts exploration I launched for local, at-risk kids. I'd had mixed feelings about attending. I wanted to be sure people had space to talk freely and me being there would, possibly, inhibit that. The 2 p.m. workshop made it a moot point.

Sailing busily through the week, testing a new supplement regiment and fighting something off, I hadn't thought much about Sunday's business meeting. Actually, I kept thinking I could call our minister when I had time; surely she'd know what happened. The plain white envelope with a neatly handwritten note on a yellow, legal half sheet wrapped around a check beat me to that call. The money, my FULL request, showed up in the mail with a lovely message from the treasurer. She's not one to gush and said how delighted the meeting was to put funds to such a good cause. I was overcome with joy, relief, tears, gratitude and feeling loved and blessed. Something I haven't felt in a very long time. It was wonderful. I did call our minister the next day to tell her how touched I was. "I wish you had been there, Cathy. There wasn't even a hiccup; people really have wanted to do this. We have been clear you have gifts, but, before Artsy Fartsy, they weren't focused. Clearly, they are now."

I can't even remember the number of clearness committees for ministry I have had in the last 12 years.  I have struggled through a number of them, remaining unclear. This last round, however, was so pure and taught me that I have to be clear myself, not rely on others for that. They may help by asking questions, but not by giving advice or suggestions. My group was to have met the first Sunday in March with my request, but a winter storm cancelled worship and anything else that day. So, I e-mailed my proposal, for which I was crystal clear, to the committee and it went to ministry and counsel with their blessing. Apparently ministry and counsel recommended it to the business meeting and, WA-LA, it was approved. On one hand it seemed so easy, on the other, it has taken me along time to get here. My journey was to learn to ask for what I need. When I finally could, it was lovingly given. The next morning as I ticked off laps, I blessed the names and faces of everyone I could think of in my meeting.

ROOTING IN THE PRESENT
Today, as I prepped for tomorrow and blog, I received an intriguing phone call from someone I'd met a few weeks ago who uses shipping pods as gallery space. He's got an empty two-week slot and wonders whether  there's a place around here the show can land. The longer I talked, the more excited I got. Wow, God, I thought, you had him call me! Then, please let me connect him or figure it out. In another time, I would have found it an annoyance. I am grateful to be clear, aware and grounded in the present. Amen.

Maybe there is something about my eyes.

• What is my experience of clarity?
• When have I been clear?
• When have I been anything but?
• When have I heard truth from unusual or unexpected sources?
• How do I express gratitude for the truth, clarity and blessings?


whirlwind
of a week,
bookended

by worship
and teaching
about pain

linked with
truth, blessing
and love

and a new
vision of
myself
as strong,
healthy,
lovable

and
Spirit's
emissary*


*Years ago when I attended School of the Spirit and our small group named each other's gifts, my facilitator wrote this. I couldn't see it then. I am beginning to.

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Banishing the nots

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It hit with a thud the other day, though it's been rattling around awhile forming. Probably even an unexpressed thought at some point, that's how it works with me. Now it's starting to sink in, taking root. I am supposed to live based on God's direction in my life; not my own, or worse, not in comparison to others.

The comparing is killing me. I don't even know when it started and am so entrenched that it's hard to spot. Our culture insidiously promotes it, creating a source of anger, jealousy, self doubt and host of other evils. Awareness, however, is a great detective. 

I don't drive a Mercedes like the guy at the gym. Or have a skinny body like the woman next to me in yoga. I don't rush to a cushy, prestigious corporate job or possess a degree beyond a bachelor's and minute of ministry [let me tell you, that was hard earned!] I don't live in a McMansion. I'm not famous, beautiful or particularly confident ... when I make those comparisons. I am not successful by material, or the usual American, cultural standards.

I'm not, I'm not, I'm not.

I am tired of living with a deficit and ready to embrace abundance, gratitude and my gifts instead of the shiny allure of so-called Western success.

I am often reminded that choosing a creative life [well, it chose me] forces one into a realm apart from the cultural norm. It's a special place not for the feint of heart or unimaginative. The path can be difficult and lonely; much like the spiritual path. They are one and the same for me. Creating as the Creator. Is there a better role model? Frankly, I don't understand how one can live any other way. I, apparently, can't. I felt chewed up and spit out after joining Corporate America once. Now it's time I honor this life, my life.

I am experiencing abundance, though not in the form I or society would have expected: not by my own hand. Instead from the generosity of others: two Quaker organizations funding my creative-nurture studio and under-served kids' art exploration and, more recently and closer to my heart, the 173 packs of crayons so many neighbors, friends, members of my faith community and, even strangers, donated. They will be distributed to the 150 kids who live in the complex where we'll offer an arts sampler program registration. I wanted to give each one something, a gift for creative expression, even if I can only accommodate about 16 in the arts program, nurturing them all academic year. I smile when I recall the giant box an older couple in my Quaker Meeting walked out to my car. It contained 60 packs of crayons! The generosity is astounding.

In a time when I would have expected to be taking on a job and stashing money away for my girls' college, I find myself knee-deep in developing an arts organization with no salary. This is where God wants me and I have no fear that I will receive whatever it is that I need. I have so far, including a rousing example of living into the Mystery of Spirit. A dear friend and mentor recognized her business was consuming her and opposing the very reason she created it. When regular channels broke down, she gave it away. Gave it, I said ... to people who needed it and she walked away RELEASED. I felt the power of Truth when she related the story.

She's helped me re-set my barometer, turning it away from financial gain and toward happiness and being right with God. I am re-penting, re-directing and setting my compass toward Spirit. And, right now, my heart sings of all the things I am and can do. The "nots" are banished.

• How do I let God direct my life?
• What tools do I use?
• How am I swayed by cultural norms?
• Where can I find a mentor, example or support?
• How can I make my heart sing?


once again,
sitting in my steamy
prayerbox of a
sauna after burning
off the anxiety

by letting the
water turn
my heart over

there is
room for God

and my heart
speaks up,
confessing
the brain's
busy comparisons

distilling my
life to deficits

and the
interior
bulb beams
on, strongly
flashing:

I will walk
the path
toward God

and
nothing
else

Taking my travel self home

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What is it about travel that teaches you about yourself? Maybe it’s the interior journey outwardly manifested, making lessons more tangible and visible. Or that you become someone else when away from home. Or more of yourself.

It’s good to get out of one’s element and away from the regular routines, patterns and dysfuntions. Travel is exhilarating, scary, immediate, demanding, forgiving, gracious and a host of other adjectives. And, in my experience, it’s never boring.

It also breaks one’s rhythm, jettisoning soul and spirit too far too fast; confirmed by my massage therapist when I have returned, complaining that I don’t feel all here yet. It also takes me a few days to feel all here, wherever my destination; one or two to release where I have been and another one or so to begin to feel where I am presently.

Being present; that’s my goal in traveling … well, beyond the first day or so.

So when I shake off the sleep of travel, I begin to open to what is before me. New sights, a different tongue or dialect, unusual foods and a reticence to fully engage with language. I am always shy at first, but each time discover that if I can utter the first hello in whatever language, differences melt. Smiles are universal.

I have been trying to define my style of travel: not luxury, or tour group, not quite Rick Steves and not youth hostel. More internet, nearby market, stay with a local and in one place awhile to absorb it, only visit the places and museums that speak to me. Maybe it’s slow travel, like slow food. I like to savor the experience. On my last trip to Italy, I was on art overload. Too many museums and too much art too quickly. As I noticed the burnout, I chose to enter a room, gravitate to the ONE piece that moved me and study only it. There’s always one that calls. Just as there is always one menu choice that grabs me or local food specialty that seems to have my name stamped on it.

When I traveled alone, I wondered how meaningful an experience is if not shared. On solo trips, I especially use my journal and later it jogs memories, but there’s no one with whom to discuss it or help me remember. Having a travel partner also lets me be lazier: all of the decisions are not up to me, neither are the screw-ups. I don’t always have to be the one to ask. I don’t have to eat alone.

I am not certain what I am learning about myself this trip, except just to soak it all in and be present. That’s so much easier away than at home.

• How does travel change me?

• What have been the best experiences?

• What did I learn from the worst?

• What do I know about myself as the result of travel?

• What can I bring home from my away-self that will enrich me?

up for hours

on pure adrenalin, excitement

and anticipation

the truncated sleep and protracted

sitting numb my body

my mind races

to the next place

until I can settle into

where I am, who I am

and be myself

somewhere else

then take the new parts

of that person

home

Messy palette of awareness

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Is life a cluster of unrelated loose ends or do those ends seem to connect when we are listening and aware?

I have to confess to almost a week of roller-coasting with doors opening, closing, then opening in a different direction. I don't appear to be any closer to my goal [and I am learning who am I to judge? My vision is very narrow], but it certainly has been an interesting ride.

Some of it you know. Like whirling off a marketing package to a local business, then bumping into the owner two days later. I danced, dreamlike for a couple of days until I called his office. I never got a live person, but was patched through three times to his secretary, who finally left a voicemail saying he's rarely in this office, so she passed my materials on to their "creative" person. No name or contact info. I called back to ask who, specifically, only to get voice mail. I hung up, called the general number and asked who did marketing. "Jim," the operator said. How about creative services? "Jim," she parroted. The guy I have been trying to get to again. Finally, she gave me the name of someone. I Googled this person and found her on Linkedin. She is real. I guess I should confess that I scoured the internet for this company's corporate structure before I settled on sending it to the Big Guy. There's none on their website, in local news articles or anywhere.

So, I screw up the courage to call this person and a live voice answers. But quickly tells me that, yes, my materials landed with her and no, there are no positions open for my qualifications. "But I'm only looking for part-time or freelance," I brightly respond. The voice seems to soften. "So, shall I keep in touch ... I know you'll be opening a second location?" "We have your things on file," she says.

I hang up deflated. Almost immediately the phone rings. I check caller ID because I am not in much of a mood to talk. The listed name makes me smile and dive for the phone: Renee. I was in her first class of yoga students. She touched me deeply, we share the same Myers-Briggs type and have stayed in fairly close touch over the years. Our journeys also seem to echo each other's. Ostensibly, she's calling to arrange a time to return something she borrowed. We both know that's just the excuse. She's struggling and knows I understand. We often give each other permission to duck out of life and care for ourselves, to lay down our guilt and perfectionism because we personally know the burden of carrying so much. After a few minutes, I share my recent upset. "You know," she says, "my neighbor does [such and such] for that company." My ears and heart perk up. She knows someone there. Not just someone, it turns out ... the someone I have just spoken to. She says if she runs into her, she'll mentioned she knows me.

What in the world does that mean, I wonder:
– That I keep trying?
– That I attempt a different approach?
– That I hang it up?
– That I continue to seek out the big guy?
– That I get more creative?
– That I write nice thank-yous to the secretary and person with whom I did manage a live conversation?

"Why isn't it clear and easy?" I ask Renee. "Well," she says, "that's been my prayer lately."

I am holding several ends in my hands and seeking guidance on how to weave them. Something is different this time: I am aware I have the ends and I hold faith that they will – eventually – connect somehow.

• Am I in a period of scattered loose ends or beginning to sense some connection?
• How can I discern next steps?
• How have I used or can I use prayer in this discernment?
• Do I have a human sounding board I can tap?
• How can I deepen my awareness in the midst of unknowing?


I had forgotten the exhilaration
of the roller coaster


exciting highs,
dizzying lows


a messy palette of 
vibrant colors,
constantly changing


and preferable


to the dull greys of hopelessness


at least now I recognize the ends
may connect

When God's magic unfolds

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Coincidence, karma, sychronicity or grace? I'm not sure what this is, but it's really happening and, I wonder, if it has something to do my my purposely attempting to live in the present. Well, not that I have  much to do with it.

• Last week, after days of deliberating, I sent off a package to a place I would love to work, where my gifts and interests would be a definite fit and I would like to be. Friday night, as we were having dinner in one of our favorite spots, the person to whom I addressed my package was sitting a table away. I approached him, mentioning I'd just sent him a large black portfolio-type envelope that could not be missed. A free-spiritied conversation ensured, ending in my writing my name and contact information on a scrap of paper (I really think had I had a business card with me, it would have looked planned or like I was stalking him) for him, agreeing we'd connect after he got the package.

What are the odds?

• Yesterday, after clipping a newspaper ad out about 10 days ago, I attended a retreat workshop based on some spiritual teachings new to me. A Quaker friend introduced me to the practice about six months ago, or I would not have noticed the ad. I go, enter a bit late and look around to see a former language teacher from my high school. I sit where I can find a free spot and, soon, we are asked to shuffle ourselves. This is a workshop on change, after all. I gravitate to the table where this teacher is and introduce myself. She remembered me, though I was never her student. During a small-group exercise, I extraneously spit out I have fibromyalgia. I am really here to clarify my vocational path. "Let me tell you something," she says at my interjection. "I had fibromyalgia for 12 years and spent a year with a message therapist deeply working all of the negativity out of my body. It's gone now." I almost have no response because that's about how long I've had it. "I used to laugh at it and say, get out of me," she adds, A few minutes later, we are asked if our original intention that we jotted down on a notecard has changed. My hand involuntarily shoots up and the speaker points in my direction. "I am now realizing my has thanks to a comment from a group member," I announce. A shiver runs through my body as I recognize God has called me here for something bigger than vocational change. She has placed me here in a step toward healing. I exchange e-mail addresses with this teacher and we pledge to stay in touch.

What are the chances?

• I also remember several weeks ago searching for a book, one I have meant to read for 10 years, but seems so pertinent now, among my Quaker meetinghouse stacks to be interrupted by the hired minister who "happened" to be holding a just donated copy of exactly the book I needed.

How probable is that?

Do these things happen all of the time and yet we are only aware in rare moments? Do they happen only when we are opened?

Last week during one particular lap swim, I glided effortlessly the entire 44 lengths. That's rare, but I especially noticed and felt like I was encountering the wonderful flow of the living water. Usually, it seems like such a struggle. But my recent mantra has been one of acceptance and detachment, no more fighting and envying what I don't have.

Is that the difference? It's hard to know which is life and which is dream, but I'm not sure it matters as I am in a lovely space: the present.

• When have I felt swept up?
• To what do I attribute that?
• When has sychronicity played a role in my life?
• How was I opened in that time?
• What keeps me open?


accepting what is
not fighting it


is not the American way


we fight for what we believe
we fight for what is right
we fight for our God-given rights


we fight all of the time


addressing a past grievance or
one we perceive may happen


past and future


we don't learn the secret
of living now


when we do,
God's magic unfolds,
sweeping us along